RECENT POETRY.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume III, Issue 16, 20 January 1868, Page 2

RECENT POETRY.

It may be asserted without fear of contradiction, that the British poets of the pres3nfc day are characterised less by splendour of description, novelty, and force of incident, or dramatic power, thau by a deep vein of reflection, a strength aud richness of sentiment, a pervading thoughtfulness and a remarkable undertone of melancholy emotion. The poets of the past with whom they may be best compared arc Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Shelley, for in their works are discoverable a rich and tender melodiousness, a plaintive harmony, an involved and 'linked sweetness long drawn out,' which unquestionably call tip those great names to our memories. Amongst the most eminent of living aspirants to poetical fame is Mr. George Macdonald, a bold, fresh, and vigorous thinker, and in the truest sense, a religious poet, for the sublime truths and glorious hopes, on which, all that is not an illusion in the grandeur of humanity depends, are in the warp and the woof of all his poems. Let us take the following lines as an example in which there is, we submit, a powerful representation of the truth that the motit impressive aspects of the physical universe <io not suffice to reveal the existence cf God, unless the spirit of man enters into communion with the Spirit of the universe: — He that hath not scon ocean, and dwells low, Not hill-befriended, if his eves have ceased To drink enjoyment from the Liilowy grass. Miibt straightwa}' lift his eyes unto the heavens Like God's great palette, ivhere his artist-hand Never can strike the brush, but beauty wakes; Vast sweepy comet-curves, that net the soul In pleasure; endless sky-stairs ; patient cloud! - , " White tiil they blush at the snn's good-night kiss ; And filmy pallors, and great mountain crags. But beyond all, absorbing all the rest, Lies the great heaven, the expression of deep space. Foreshortened to a vaulted dome ot blue; The Infinite, crowded in a single glance, Wh ie yet the eye descends depth within depth; Like mystery of Truth, clothed iv high form, Evasive, spiritual, no li'iiithig, But something that denie-* an end, and yet Can be beheld, 1.-y wondering human eyes. There looking tip, one w.ii may f< el how vain To search 'by God in, this vast wi'clenr.ss! For over him would arc';; void depth for ever; Nor ever would he iind a God in heaven, Though lifting wings wore his to soar a' road Through boundless heights of space; or eyes to dive To microscopic depths: he would crime back And say, There is no God; and sit and weep; Tiil in his heart a child's voice woke and cried, Father! my Faihsri Then the face of God Breaks forth with eyes, everywhere, suddenly; And not a space cfblne, nor floating cloud, Nor grassy vale, nor distant purple height, But, trembling with a 11resen.ee all Divine, Kays, Here 1 am, my child. This is surely noble poetry, and of extraordinary* power. What, too, can he found in our literature on the subject of flowers, more btautiful than these exquisite verses: — No white-robed angels floated by On slow, reposing wings; I only saw, with inward eye, Some very common things. First rose and scarlet pimpernel, With burning purple heart; I saw it, and I knew right well The lesson of its art. Then came the primrose, childlike flower ; It looked me in the face; It bore a message full of power, And confidence, and grace. 'What said the flowers in whisper low, To soothe me into rest?' I scarce have words — they seem to grow Eight out of God's own breast. They said, God meant the flowers He marie As children see the same; They said the words the lilies said When Jesus looked at them. And if. you want to hear the flowers Speak ancient words, all new, They may. if you, in darksome hours, Atsk God to comfort you.