Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 001.djvu/80

This is an elegant, sprightly, and delightful little poem, written apparently by a person of taste and genius, but who either possesses not the art of forming and combining a plot, or regards it only as a secondary and subordinate object. In this we do not widely differ from him, but are sensible meantime, that many others will; and that the rambling and uncertain nature of the story, will be the principal objection urged against the poem before us, as well as the greatest bar to its extensive popularity. The character of Mr Scott's romances has effected a material change in our mode of estimating poetical compositions. In all the estimable works of our former poets, from Spencer down to Thomson and Cowper, the plot seems to have been regarded only as good or bad, in proportion to the advantages which it furnished for poetical description; but of late years, one half, at least, of the merit of a poem is supposed to rest on the interest and management of the tale.

We speak not exclusively of that numerous class of readers, who peruse and estimate a new poem, or any poem, with the same feelings and precisely on the same principles as they do a novel. It is natural for such persons to judge only by the effect produced by the incidents; but we have often been surprised that some of our literary critics, even those to whose judgment we were most disposed to bow, should lay so much 'stress on the probability and fitness of every incident which the fancy of the poet may lead him to embellish in the course of a narrative poem, a great proportion of which must necessarily be descriptive. The author of Harold the Dauntless seems to have judged differently from these critics, and in the lightsome rapid strain of poetry which he has chosen, we feel no disposition to quarrel with him on account of the easy and careless manner in which he has arranged his story. In many instances, he undoubtedly shows the hand of a master, and (as the director-general of our artists would say,) "has truly studied and seized the essential character of the antique—his attitudes and draperies are unconfined, and varied with demi-tints, possessing much of the lustre, freshness, and spirit of Rembrandt. The airs of his heads have grace, and his distances something of the lightness and keeping of Salvator Rosa. The want of harmony and union in the carnations of his females, is a slight objection, and there is likewise a meagre sheetiness in his contrasts of chiaroscuro; but these are all redeemed by the felicity, execution, and master traits, distinguishable in his grouping, by which, like Murillo or Carraveggio, he sometimes raises from out the rubbish masses of a colossal trifle."

But the work has another quality; and though its leading one, we do not know whether to censure or approve it. It is an avowed imitation, and therefore loses part of its value, if viewed as an original production. On the other hand, regarded solely as an imitation, it is one of the closest and most successful, without being either a caricature or a parody, that perhaps ever appeared in any language. Not only is the general manner of Scott ably maintained throughout, but the very structure of the language, the associations, and the train of thinking, appear to be precisely the same. It was once alleged by some writers, that it was impossible to imitate Mr Scott's style, but it is now fully proved to the world, that there is no style more accessible to imitation; for it will be remarked, (laying parodies aside, which any one may execute), that Mr Davidson and Miss Holford, as well as Lord Byron and Wordsworth, each in one instance, have all, without, we believe, intending it, imitated him with considerable closeness. The author of the Poetic Mirror has given us one specimen of his most polished and tender style, and another still more close of his rapid and careless manner; but all of them fall greatly short of , and the poem now before us. We are sure the author will laugh heartily in his sleeve, at our silliness and want of perception, when we confess to him that we never could open either of these works, and peruse his pages for two minutes with attention, and at the same time divest our minds of the idea, that we were engaged in an early or experimental work of that great master. That they are generally inferior to the works of Mr Scott, in