rising solidly inexpugnable. He sees the century going down on a world which science has sufficed to make only more inexplicable, and the sight is solemn. Just now we feel grateful to Mr. Aldrich for putting all this away in order that the charity and sweetness of his art may not suffer; now we feel something like reverence for the man who in the conditions which make for contentment and quietness has not been able to escape these large afflictions18." VIII Of his place as a poet there can be no question. In the article just quoted the Atlantic ranks with him as one of our two most honored living poets. John J. Piatt says: "Mr. Stedman is undoubtedly a poet, -a poet whose most original vein is, perhaps, in light and essentially lyric poems, but possessing occasional imaginative power, fine fancy, some dramatic vigor, true and tender sentiment, the quality of poetic passion, with knowledge to command and artistic skill to treat worthily many of the higher themes of poetry. * * * No more sincerely classical piece than Alectryôn, in His Rank as a Poet 307 manner and feeling, occurs, so far as I know, in English poetry 10." IX One critic says of his verses: "Finish is their distinctive quality. There is not a careless line; not one verse rapidly and carelessly struck off; each has felt the shaping and polishing of the graver's exquisite touch 18." This would not be the general verdict, though there is frequent imitation of Tennysonian music: 66 Softly the rivulet's ripples flow; Dark is the grove that lovers know; Here, where the whitest blossoms blow, The reddest and ripest berries grow"." "And soulless servitors came gliding in, Handmaidens, wrought of gold, the marvelous work Of lame Hephaestos; having neither will, Nor voice, yet bearing, on their golden. trays, Lush fruits and Cyprian wine and, inter Olympian food and nectar, earth with heaven"." "Splendors of morning the billow-crests brighten, Lighting and luring them on to the land, Far-away waves where the wan vessels whiten, Blue rollers breaking in surf where we stand. Curved like the necks of a legion of horses, Hither they speed in perpetual courses, "The Prince's eyes and hers Met like the clouds that lighten. In a breath Swift memory flamed between them, as, when stirs No wind, and the dark sky is still as death, One lance of living fire is hurled across; Then comes the whirlwind, and the forests toss!” Here is a poem for his birth-month: AUTUMN SONG "No clouds are in the morning sky, The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs In the clear October morning. "Along our path the woods are bold, The buckwheat tops are red: Then down the lane, love, scurry again, And over the stubble tread! Ho! hilly hi! heigh O! Hilly ho! In the clear October morning." XI While Mr. Stedman ranks well among American poets, among American critics he stands first. The writer's appreciation of him is shown by the frequent citations made throughout these articles. (First Series, pp. 20, 42, 138, 139, 171, 239, 301, 317, 339, 350, 352, 354; Second Series, pp. 45, 51, 59, 88, 95, 190, 222, 416; Third Series, pp. 200, 223), and reference to these quotations will show how fair and sound and trustworthy his conclusions are. His opinions are sincere, positive, virile, sympathetic yet discriminating and candid, with what Dr. Holmes calls "the stroke of characterisation 14." "His note is essentially the note of interpretation; he accepts Goethe's maxim that the prime quality of the critic is that gift of sympathy which enables him to put himself in the place of the writer whose work he studies, and to examine that work in the light of the purpose which he aims to accomplish. * **Nothing is more admirable in his work than the largeness of view which it discloses. He discerns at all |