The book of gemsThe modern poets and artists of Great Britain . , be easyto select from the numerous poetical productions to which we refer, and which havebeen consigned to unmerited oblivion, specimens of merit sufficient to form a valuableand interesting volume ; and the Editor who undertakes such a task, will render goodservice to literature. That which Mr. Sergeant Talfourd describes as the freezingeffect of the scientific spirit of the age, has had its depressing influence upon the bestand greatest of our Poets: it has completely destroyed the ambitious hopes of thosewho were seeking afte
The book of gemsThe modern poets and artists of Great Britain . , be easyto select from the numerous poetical productions to which we refer, and which havebeen consigned to unmerited oblivion, specimens of merit sufficient to form a valuableand interesting volume ; and the Editor who undertakes such a task, will render goodservice to literature. That which Mr. Sergeant Talfourd describes as the freezingeffect of the scientific spirit of the age, has had its depressing influence upon the bestand greatest of our Poets: it has completely destroyed the ambitious hopes of thosewho were seeking after distinction. We trust, nevertheless, that a time will comewhen in poetry, as in art, some portion of celebrity may be attained by all who de-serve it. If we must place Mr. Hervey somewhat below the great makers, whose namesprecede his in this volume, we must class him considerably above the host of minorPoets, of whom our age has been so amazingly fertile. Some of his productions, indeed,verge upon the higher standard ; and none of them are much beneath HERVEY. A TWILIGHT LANDSCAPE. Oh ! come at this hour, love ! the dayhght is g-one. And the heavens weep devir on the flowers; And the spirit of lonehness steals, with a moan, Through the shade of the eglantine bowers : For, the moon is asleep on her pillow of clouds. And her curtain is drawn in the sky ; And the gale, as it wantons along the young buds, Falls faint on the ear—like a sigh! The summer-day sun is too gaudy and bright For a heart that has suffered like mine; And, methinks, there Avere pain, in the noon of its light. To a spirit so broken as thine I 294 HERVEY. The birds, as they mingled their music of the roses that smiled in the but tell us of feelings for ever gone by,And of hopes that have passed like a dream ! And the moonlight,—pale spirit! would speak of the time When we wandered beneath its soft gleam. Along the green meadows, when life was in prime, And worshipped its face in th
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Keywords: ., bookauthorwordsworthcollection, bookce, booksubjectenglishpoetry
