They are as sincere a litany as the Hebrew songs of
David or Isaiah, and only less than they, because indebted to the
Hebrew muse for their tone and genius. This makes the singularity of
the book, namely, that so pure an utterance of the most domestic and
primitive of all sentiments should in this age of revolt and
experiment use once more the popular religious language, and so show
itself secondary and morbid. These sonnets have little range of
topics, no extent of observation, no playfulness; there is even a
certain torpidity in the concluding lines of some of them, which
reminds one of church hymns; but, whilst they flow with great
sweetness, they have the sublime unity of the Decalogue or the Code
of Menu, and if as monotonous, yet are they almost as pure as the
sounds of Surrounding Nature. We gladly insert from a newspaper the
following sonnet, which appeared since the volume was printed.
THE BARBERRY BUSH.
The bush that has most briers and bitter fruit,
Wait till the frost has turned its green leaves red,
Its sweetened berries will thy palate suit,
And thou may'st find e'en there a homely bread.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101