The feeling of poetry is always deeper than its verbal expression. It grows reserved before the formal line; and, from inability to create the symbols for its communication to others, covers much of its beauty with the inadequacy of words. At best, the poet, in his use of words, can only revive in them the beauty of a forgotten meaning; or he may impart a new dignity by discovering an apposite relation of expressions; or he may summon a word to clothe itself with its finest and most beautiful significance.

If the true feeling of poetry, chastened in dignity and beauty, pervades an author, the inspiration is a spiritual movement seeking a material revelation. For this material investment the offices of art must be invoked; and art is law, art is system, is order and propriety. However controlling the inspiration, whatever may be its spiritual power, it cannot select its own expression in adequate words; or create, through the fervor of the moment, the art for its communication.

The material resources of poetical expression are poorly adapted to its demands. In their common use, words are employed for the narration of ordinary. experiences, for the description of ordinary facts, and for purposes of reasoning and persuasion. The poet has little to do with this ordinary round of experience, unless he can illuminate it with a new significance. So it comes about that words have little intrinsic beauty and spiritual content. It remains for the office of art to redeem

words from their commonplace associations, and endow them with qualities which may make them instrumentalities for the expression of the beautiful in emotion and conception.

When poetry is attempted by writers. who are lacking in this artistic mastery, it is inevitable that the use of words will be commonplace and inadequate, or flagrantly peculiar in an effort to escape this result. Aside from the quality of the poetical feeling, such an author will invariably commit the solecisms of the commonplace expression, and of reasoning, or prosing in

verse.

The disregard of these very elementary principles of poetical writing is one of the responsibilities for the "amateur spirit" (as Mr. Perry calls it in his recent book

of essays) in verse. With those who stop short of mastery in this pleasant art, impatience is mistaken for fervor, and excitement for inspiration. There is no tarrying with these persons until a difficult art has been acquired, and the fancy and emotion chastened and controlled. The result is apparent in most of the published verse which is dictated by the amateur spirit in haste to challenge attention and be convincing as a genius.

A book of verse by so proven and accepted a writer as Dr. Van Dyke* is a literary event. The individuality and the genial personal qualities of his writings have endeared him to a large public of readers. There is no present-day writer who has touched with so loving hand the truer and nobler sentiments of the heart; the very pureness and nobility of his sentiments are more convincing than any technical qualities which his lines may possess. This new volume is a collection of odes, sonnets, ballads and lyrics. In the title ode Music is to him

Flower-folded, golden girdled, star-crowned Queen,

Whose bridal beauty mortal eyes have never

seen.

She is

Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that last night When, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight,

She knew her Love and saw her Lord depart, Then breathed her wonder and her woe forlorn Into a single cry, and thou wast born!

This enchanting theme is led through the variations of song-forms. In the "Hunting Song" are these lines, whose melody is enhanced by the clever internal rhyme,

Drink of the magical potion music has mixed with her wine, Full of the madness of motion, joyful, exultant, divine;

and in "Dance Music" the same effect is obtained by repeating the rhyme word, Now let the sleep-tune blend with the playtune,

Weaving the mystical spell of the dance; Lighten the deep tune, soften the gay tune, Mingle a tempo that turns in a trance.

His apostrophe to the "Symphony," which recalls Lanier's weirdly beautiful poem on the symphony, opens with these

lines,

*MUSIC AND OTHER POEMS. By Henry Van Dyke. Charles Scribner's Sons.

Music, they do thee wrong who say thine art Is only to enchant the sense. Characteristic of Dr. Van Dyke's quiet, optimistic trust in life are these verses from "God of the Open Air,"

These are the gifts I ask

Of thee, Spirit serene:
Strength for the daily task,
Courage to face the road,

Good cheer to help me bear the traveller's

load,

And, for the hours of rest that come between, An inward joy in all things heard and seen.

The same note is heard with dignity and beauty in the sonnet, "Life,"

Let me but live my life from year to year,
With forward face and unreluctant soul.

Thus, the self-revelation of the author goes on from theme to theme; it is a gentle and sweet prospect toward life that sings,

Not from my torch, the gleam, But from the stars above; Not from my heart, Life's crystal stream, But from the depths of Love. Probably this author is confiding something of his own secret to us when he writes to "James Whitcomb Riley," This is the reason why all men love you; Truth to life is the charm of art: Other poets may soar above youYou keep close to the human heart. It is with a feeling of delight that one passes from page to page of Frank Dempster Sherman's "Lyrics of Joy."* The verse which this author has published in the periodicals has been choice and exquisite; and its technique and spirit carries the conviction that he is native to poetry. This exceptional standard is maintained in the present book. Though Mr. Sherman's themes are usually slender, he utters them in pure strains of delightful song. One does not need to read far to feel the influence of Herrick pervade these exquisite lyrics; the unconscious simplicity and the lyrical beauty of the "Hesperides," refined from grossness and vulgarity, wanders through them from theme to theme. These lines from Mr. Sherman's "Confession" are like the master's he follows so happily,

So all my lyrics sing of joy,

And shall until my lips are mute. "The Charm," which is a subtle confession of the poet's own self, shows the

*LYRICS OF Joy. By Frank Dempster SherHoughton, Mifflin & Co.

man.

skill with which the writer evokes his magical music:

Slight is the thing it needs to wake

The embers that have slumbered long Within the poet's heart, and make Them burn again with song.

A rose, a star, a voice, a glance.
Echo or glimpse, it is the same:
Some mystery of time or chance
That finds the hidden flame.

Embers of song and song's desire,
Hushed in the singer's heart they lie,
And softly kindle into fire

If but a dream go by.

This collection of short poems includes two ballads, and one, “Harro," is evidence of considerable power for such themes. The ballad is too much neglected by present writers, who seem contented with the conventional short poem and the more studied sonnet. This little ballad of Mr. Sherman's is the most significant verse in the book, and its distinction should encourage him to more serious attempts with this delightful poetical form. The sonnets at the close of the book are not in keeping with the choice lyrics which precede them. In this form the writer is not at ease; his themes are not happily selected, and the touch is too light; his sonnets are in reality disguised lyrics whose movement is too rapid for the stately measures of the sonnet.

"Lyrics of Joy" belongs to the few remarkable and significant current books of poetry; its lines flow with rare melody and sweetness and, with few exceptions, the technique is superb.

Mr. Knowles in "Love Triumphant"* has essayed a profusion of poetical forms; and, had the results been happily achieved, they would have argued for the facility of the writer. Instances abound in these lines of the crude and chaotic; and the internal evidence indicates not so much facility as an artistic restlessness and an intensity of feeling not made subservient to art. There is a verbal awkwardness about this verse and a lack of control over expression that betrays the need for more serious devotion to pure craftmanship. The abruptness of such lines is startling,

*LOVE TRIUMPHANT. By Frederic Lawrence Knowles. Dana, Estes & Co.

Ark that rode the Deluge wave, Found on Ararat her grave. Aside from Mr. Knowles defections, and they are numerous and serious, he has presented here much good verse, and occasional lines which are real poetry. He exercises no ordinary gift, and shows at times sustained lyrical power; and the intensity and vision of the true poetical temperament. In the love earthly he exhibits a fervor of passion, while in the love triumphant his themes attain the height of moral beauty and spiritual grandeur. Take these lines from "A Challenge,"

Ye cannot. O ye Powers, compel my soul,
For, rob me as ye will, three things are left
Which make your fury impotent and vain:
That pride in self that lifts me from the worm,
These sympathies that join me to my kind,
This higher hope that hands me on to God,
And armors me in immortality!

Under the unpromising title, "To a Modern Office Building," he has contrived some excellent verse; to him it is a

watchman of the city at thy feet, Gigantic Argus with the countless eyes, Hearing the drone of traffic from the street Like some incessant litany arise!

This spirit of modernness has betrayed him into some very poor verse in the lines "To a Locomotive at Night," for

O cyclops with the one terrific eye, is not a promising opening for a sonnet. Edith Colby Banfield, a niece of Helen Hunt Jackson, has left in "The Place of My Desire"* the literary store of a life that had not reached its maturity, when called to its close. The book is a collection chosen by her friends, from her papers. A few of these poems have previously been published, but for the most part, its contents had been reserved for maturer revision. There is evidence in these pages that the author possessed a considerable gift for verse. The lines are frequently musical, and generally correct; while the language is choice and the thought refined. She was under the spell of Keats and Chaucer; and many of the classical poets are addressed in her sonnets. Under the charm of Wordsworth

she says,

*THE PLACE OF MY DESIRE AND OTHER POEMS. By Edith Colby Banfield. Little, Brown & Co.

I behold with an awakened eye The loveliness beneath my native sky, My own hill-girdled lake, whose waters croon As when I was a child.

The poetical feeling is strong, especially in her sonnets.

Such friendliness there is in these fair slopes, is a vision in her "Fields Against the Sky" that reminds one of the landscapes of Cazin. "The Place of My Desire" is a book of refined and beautiful poetry. The publishers have made it the choicest book of verse of the season; it is printed on Old

FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES
Author of "Love Triumphant."

Stratford Mittineague paper, and appropriately bound.

"Petals of Love"* is a holiday book, printed with illustrations in color on each page, from water-color sketches by W. H. Cuthbertson. This book would make a pleasing gift for a bride or a sweetheart. The poems are set to the themes of passion, love and reflection. Here and there are choice coloring and dainty beauty which would lead to the surmise that the author was a lover of Keats. Her personality is revealed in the chaste line,

At thy white feet, O Love, I kneel to pray. And there are these lines to a pansy, A golden yellow, borrowed from the sun; A violet's purple kiss of color won; Rich brown, bestowed where autumn's leaves caressed;

*PETALS OF LOVE. By Edith Hall Orthwein. Dodge Publishing Company.

Love's whiteness caught from a sweet maiden's breast;

And over all the glow of heaven's blue

Here and there the verse is elevated and beautiful, and the author is not the humblest voice in this mingled choir.

Doctor Chamberlain, who is assistant professor of anthropology, Clark University, has collected his occasional poems, hymns and translations into a small volume with the simple title, "Poems."* The title-page is an exponent of the style of the book; the academic title given with the name of the author, the long list of

editorial functions in connection with scientific periodicals, the mention of the scientific books by this writer, would indicate the predominance of the intellectual element over the poetical. While it is delightful to contemplate that a scientist can rise superior to his narrowing profession, as did Sir Humphrey Davy, and prove his spiritual birthright through an avocation of verse, yet these two must be kept out of intimate contact. This scientific titlepage is a jarring prelude to the song.

Mr. Chamberlain frankly acknowledges his inspiration

I point thee to my Tennyson,
The sweetest solace bringer.

The

But it is unfortunate that he has read Tennyson so narrowly, and has not been inspired beyond "In Memoriam." greater number of his poems are' composed in this meter. But it is a dangerous meter for an unskilled pen, and in this instance the complaining monotony of the internal couplet, without the relief of the graceful turn in the fourth line, detracts greatly from such merit as this verse may possess. The themes of the writer are usually ethical or devotional; and it is his sincerity rather than any poetical merit that makes his book pleasing. In the sonnet, "Jesus and Shakespeare" the flagrantly bad taste is sufficiently censured by quoting the opening lines,

Two men at least, earth holds, not less than heaven,

Immortal,-Jesus, Shakespeare. Saxon, Jew.

This serious offense against good taste and propriety mars an otherwise sincere and pleasant book.

*POEMS. By Alexander Francis Chamberlain, Ph. D. The Gorham Press, Richard G. Badger, Publisher.

"The Playmate Hours"* is a collection. of short poems on themes intimate with the life of the author. There are lines to flowers; and these by a process of transcendentalism become similes for ethical reflections. These are the verses, however, of one who writes seldom and carefully. There is in them a stayed personality; the thought seems to have been

hoarded until it found an occasional felicitous expression. The sonnet, rather than the lyric, is the favorite mood of this

pen; and there is a quiet pleasure in such pictures as,

Where pines are stirred to music by the breeze, And on grey rocks the leafy shadows play.

Mrs. Higginson is true to the traditions which her husband has revived in his "Old Cambridge;" and there is in her verses something of the severe attempts at poetry of the Brook Farm days.

There is in the "Songs of a City"† a suggestion of the life of the author; something of unrest pervades them; they have a sympathy with life and a purity of sentiment that transcends the somewhat care

less style in which many of them are composed. At times it is the sea, its mists and tides, that sings in his lines, and his city by the Western Ocean is forgotten. Mr. Sutherland was born in South Africa, practiced civil engineering in Argentine, and introductions to the "Lark Classics" and is now a journalist. He has contributed published several books of verse. houette" one of those singular efforts at literature which defy classification; and, while the first impulse is to condemn it out of hand, more patient judgment discovers the individuality of the author struggling, but finding no adequate expression. There is evidence here of sincere contemplation, with untrained and vague mental vivacity; though one cannot pass over an intrusive self-esteem, and what should plainly be called, the effrontery of ignorance. Much of the verse in it is absurd, yet the writer of it has native

There is to be found in the "Soul in Sil

*THE PLAYMATE HOURS. By Mary Thatcher Higginson. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

SONGS OF A CITY. By Howard V. Sutherland. The Star Press, James H. Barry.

THE SOUL IN SILHOUETTE. By Edward Earle Purrington. Published at Morgantown, W. Va.

talent of a certain order. The commingling of contradictory elements is read in such lines as,

The Lark will warble sweetly whether humans hear or not

To echo back a bird's unbounded joy;

The Rose will waft its fragrance to the drearest desert spot

Where none may melt its breath to perfume coy.

A slender book of commonplace verse appears with the alluring title "Crux Aetatis."* While crude in its methods, the feeling of sincere and elevated poetry is evident in its lines. Here and there one meets with suggestions of Whitman, as

In a daisied meadow circled by dark walls of wood

In the strength of my youth I stood, and flickering fire-flies

Were as stings of passion to my blood.

wholesome in its theme, and the verse moves smoothly, though it is written in the style of J. G. Holland's popular books. There are occasional lines which betray the novice, but there are also passages of real merit. His tribute to a mother is touching,

Old trembling lips, where lover's kisses long Ago have changed to children's milder love.

The frontispiece and the title-page are illuminated, and the text is printed with page ornaments.

The "Enfoldings" of Mary Mapes Dodge's latest book of "Poems and Verses" is a surprise; these hexameter lines can be considered almost real poetry. There is a quaint touch of humor among the pages; and much bright, cheerful writing which will not fail to entertain the two

happens on the astounding lines,

I have drunk the sunset potion
Of that fiery western bowl,
And the heart-beat of creation

Goes a-humming through my soul. And these lines seem to have been written in all seriousness!

child's child's

The author of "Songs of the Soil" presents in "Little Folks Down South"t a collection of miscellaneous verse, ranging from a sonnet to the humorous poem. There is little of distinction in this work, though the verse is at times carefully written. Mr. Stanton affects the colloquial and easy meters so characteristic of the writings of a journalist. There are touches of folk-lore, and one is disappointed that more of his numbers are not given to the provincialism of the South. His little folks of the South are quite like the children of the North. The author's pen is not at ease in much of its work, and there is too much evidence of effort to compass measure and rhyme.

"Breaking Home Ties" is a narrative. poem in blank verse; and its author, Max Ehrmann, is known to readers of certain Western fiction. The book is simple and

*CRUX AETATIS AND OTHER POEMS. By Martin Schutze. The Gorham Press, Richard G. Badger, Publisher.

LITTLE FOLKS DOWN SOUTH. By Frank L. Stanton. D. Appleton & Co.

BREAKING HOME TIES. By Max Ehrmann. Dodge Publishing Company.

writer.

There is a tendency in "Poems," by William M. Byram, to escape from the restrictions of rhyme, and to some extent, from those of meter. But the evidence is not convincing. In the hands of superior talent and craftmanship refined by knowledge, these things may be permissible, and produce excellent poetry. In this instance the result is confusion and uncertainty. The book has no especial merit and is only redeemed by a certain degree of imagination and narrative power.

In "Heavenly Dykes" June E. Downey has discovered an innovation in spiritual. topography. Here we have an attempt at the inexpressibly Peculiar; the lines palpitate with color, and are mystical with incoherent passion. Her "Angel of Music" is described as one,

Whose skyey pinions are white, are frail;
Whose arched foot shines on a planet's trail;
One spirit-hand in God's at rest,
One athrob on man's hot breast.

"A National Pæan" is a collection of songs, sonnets, ballads and miscellaneous Though one cannot accept the

verse.

*POEMS AND VERSES. By Mary Mapes Dodge. The Century Company.

POEMS. By William M. Byram. The Gorham Press.

‡The HeavenLY DYKES. By June E. Downey. The Gorham Press.

JA NATIONAL PAEAN POEMS AND LAYS. By Walter Allen Rice. The Gorham Press.