men to feel and to think deeply, and where, if not in the union of thought and feeling, may we look for the origin of true poetry? It has been said that "Napoleon was the greatest poet of his age;" and, strange as it may appear, such might have been his title to fame, had early destiny thrown him into retirement; but he lived to realize that, for the mere imagining of which, others would have taxed their brain with wildness. The convulsion, however, which threw the one into the world to act, called forth others to imagine alone. The same happy results for literature have followed upon like events in all times. Poets have sprung from the scene of blood, as the soul soars to beauty and immortality after the horrors of the most loathsome death. The brilliant day which rose upon the dark but busy times of the League, may be instanced, when a host of genius crowded into existence in France, almost without parallel in any period. What times were those in which the mind of Milton expanded to its godlike growth? Was it not during the consequent restless pause in England-the heavy rolling-the mighty reflux of the sea of public opinion,—and the second burst and clearing of the storm,—that a literature beautifully perfect as some fabulous sea-born island, arose from the bosom of the "troubled waters"? Without arguing that the object of these several struggles had much share in their effects upon literature, they are mentioned merely to recall those effects to the remembrance of the reader, and thus to prove what may consequently be expected to have arisen from the agitated times in which the present race in France have grown up. And these anticipations will not be found vain. “Ut in vitâ, sic in studiis pulcherrimum et humanissimum existimo, severitatem comitatemque miscere,” saith Pliny; but in spite of his opinion, the mixed character of this little volume may be disapproved by some. But why should variety, a recognized virtue in conversation, be found a crime in a book? Why not have a book for all moods, all hours? The day dreams of man are more fitful even than his visions of night—and in every change, either for gaiety or grief, what satisfaction does he not find in the participation and sympathy of one who has joyed and suffered like himself! But this friend and comforter, he who "redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halves," is not always by a man's side, and it is then he will be thankful to those, who have left for him, pictured in immortal verse, an image of their mutual feelings. To illustrate our object farther. Shakspeare has fancifully divided human life into seven distinct ages; but there are few who have not some clinging to, and foretaste for, other stages of life than those in which they stand. In other words, "each man plays many parts" at The lover is not always the mere lover;— he has his visions, perhaps as vain, of honors and of patriotism; while tender thoughts will cheer once. the warrior, when seeking" the bubble reputation e'en in the cannon's mouth." The portly justice, also, with reverence be it said, will sometimes softly seat himself "in the wild woods alone,” and taking out his poet, seek to live with him his lover's day again, and laugh, with pleased mirth over the recollection of his own "woful sonnet to his mistress' eyebrow:" or, in sterner moments, ponder over the musings of genius on questions which of all others most concern one who has experienced all on this side of the grave. Compiled according to this notion of the relief and beauty of variety, the following pages have been divided among four writers of very distinct character,--being, also, the leading poets of modern France. A short sketch of the style of each is now all that is necessary. The Song of De Béranger, by the force of circumstances, has commonly been of the busy side of the world: he is the poet of Society. With his heart ever turned with fond recollections to the green valley and vine-clad hill, still his step has been among men, his searching eye has been upon them, and his voice has sung of their ways. The Burns of France, M. de Béranger's verse is concise, passionate, and simple, yet withal "solemn with mighty thoughts,"-elegant, witty, and often bitterly severe. One great charm of his poetry, is the love of country which breathes thoughout—and to this may be added, the depth of feeling lurking beneath, even where he is gayest. It has been truly observed that he himself has best depicted his poetic character, in the following verse: "D'un luth joyeux, j'ai attendri les sons.” Where his country is concerned, to her oppressors "there is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male tiger;" but his angry emotion arises from too noble a source, to be censured; and, after all, it may be said, in his own words, without fearing to offend by the ignoble comparison— "Les haines, il les faisait taire; In the force and character of VICTOR HUGO'S poems will be immediately recognised the inspiration of the author of Notre Dame de Paris.' In some pieces we find the same awful familiarity with human passion,-in others, the like creative power for tenderness and beauty,-and in all that fertile imagination and power of description, which moulded the Hunchback and restored Paris and its venerable Cathedral to a second youth in the eyes of Europe. M. Hugo's genius is of too marked a character, not to yield its peculiar but beautiful tone to every object that it approaches -though he is evidently capable of the great dramatic art, the withdrawal from self, and throwing heart and mind into the embodying of some other object, — for the time being investing his conception, however grand or, on the contrary, however insignificant, may be its purpose, with his own, and yet a different, soul. Seldom is his varied power at fault, whether it be in picturing the timid adoration of his youthful loves-the charms of his mistress-the thoughts called forth by any simple object in nature-or the ambition of a Buonaparte ;-" But would you hear the sweetest of voices--it is his voice in the utterance of love, whether for a little child, or for poetry, or music, or in terms of mercy and forbearance towards the weak."* The ardent mind of DE LAMARTINE early seized on religion for its contemplation, and the "path of God in his works" for the inspiration of its muse. Happy was this circumstance for him; for he has avoided the rocks on which our best English writers on the subject have wrecked the beauteous bark entrusted to their pilotage. With him, fervour is tempered with benignity. But on one subject, prayer, there are many who feel an impatience of any interpreter of their feelings, and who would leave their soul to its own holy uninfluenced intercourse with its Divine source. Repecting this feeling, the extracts made are chiefly subjects of general interest, though the witchery of his sublime conceptions has often led to a deviation into perhaps the right path. Now pensive, now breaking forth into exultation,-at one time *This last is borrowed from Goethe's criticism on Herder. |