Rocky, such steep declivities did show That towards us with a rapid course it sped, Flank'd were its banks with perpendicular rocks, While, on their tops, and midway up them, seen, So many voices from this river came In summer, winter, autumn, or the spring; So many sounds accordant to each frame Of Nature's aspect, (whether the storm's wing Brooded on it, or pantingly, and tame, The low breeze crisp'd its waters) that, to sing Half of their tones, impossible! or tell The listener's feelings from their viewless spell. When fires gleam'd bright, and when the curtain'd room, Well stock'd with books and music's implements, When children's faces, dress'd in all the bloom Of innocent enjoyments, deep content's Deepest delight inspir'd; when nature's gloom (By consummate tranquillity possesst) Contrast, that might have stirr'd the dullest breast; Yes,-in such hour as that-thy voice I've known. The breeze that bore it)-fearful as the groans Thy voice I've known to wake a dream of wonder! And absolute as is the deep-voiced thunder, Its gradual swellings from the influence One might have thought, that spirits of the air Warbled amid it in an undersong; And oft one might have thought, that shrieks were there But when the heavens are blue, and summer skies From thy swift course, methinks, that it enhances Solemn the mountains that the horizon close, From whose drear verge thou seem'st to issue forth: (Or any wondrous spell of heaven or earth, The tale of Titus and Gisippus which follows, while it is very interesting as a story, exhibits the same great intellectual power and ceaseless activity of thought, which characterize the Thoughts in London. Mr. Lloyd has taken the common incident of one lover resigning his mistress to another, and the names of his chief characters from Boccaccio, but in all other respects, the poem is original. Its chief peculiarity is the manner in which it reasons upon all the emotions which it portrays, especially on the progress of love in the soul, with infinite nicety of discrimination, not unlike that which Shakspeare has manifested in his amatory poems. He accounts for the finest shade of feeling, and analyzes its essence, with the same care, as though he were demonstrating a proposition of Euclid. He is as minute in his delineation of all the variations of the heart, as Richardson was in his narratives of matters of fact;—and, like him, thus throws such an air of truth over his statements, that we can scarcely avoid receiving them as authentic history. At the same time, he conducts this process with so delicate a hand, and touches his subjects with so deep a reverence for humanity, that he teaches us to love our nature the more from his masterly dissection. By way of example of these remarks, we will give part of the scene between a lover who long has secretly been agitated by a passion for the betrothed mistress of his friend, and the object of his silent affection whom he has just rescued from a watery grave-though it is not perhaps the most beautiful passage of the poem: He is on land; on safe land is he come : Where was he then? From death to life restor❜d! And now her pulse he feels; and now-(beware, Of perfume from her lips, which though they were Still were they cold; her hands were also cold; He grew, he kiss'd those pale lips o'er and o'er. Their wonted rubeous hue, he dared do more ;- Thou art undone, mad youth! The fire of love That, had she been a statue, he might prove Of death defy. Well then might he remove The torpor which her o'er-wrought frame sustains.- More sweet, revival by a lover's breath! She feels the delicate influence through her thrill, On this been bent, she felt the power to glance Or half-feign'd show of conflict still sustain'd. At last, she look'd !—They looked!-Eye met with eye! Never till then experienced-swiftly proved!- They were forgotten! Transport unreproved, Then all the world was lost to them, in one Unbound whence Venus sheds upon a kiss To frame such joy, these things are requisite; And antecedent sorrows, doubly bless. And a conjuncture, whence no longer press Impulses-long as these delights we proveFrom one thing foreign to the world of love. This could not last! Not merely would a word;- At last a swift revulsion through her frame And o'er her countenance stole: a sudden pause! Her eyes, which had imbib'd a piercing flame, O'er her fine face! Titus knew well the cause Some minutes they were silent. Night advanced; She starts! She cries "Gisippus!" all is told! They rose and crept along in silentness Sophronia reach'd her home, but nothing said, Her threshold past not Titus-Thence he fled, Like to a madman madden'd more with dread! Nor ever of this night, or of its spell Of mighty love, did he breathe a syllable! We now take leave of Mr. Lloyd with peculiar gratitude for the rich materials for thought with which a perusal of his poems has endowed us. We shall look for his next appearance before the public with anxiety;-assured that his powers are not even yet fully developed to the world, and that he is destined to occupy a high station among the finest spirits of his age. |