And in this direction Mr. Swinburne's muse has
steadily marched. In his "Erechtheus" he tells how the gods gave
Pallas the lordship of Athens--
"The lordship and love of the lovely land,
The grace of the town that hath on it for crown
But a headband to wear
Of violets one-hued with her hair."
Here at least we were allowed a picture of Athens: the violet crown
was something definite. But now, when Mr. Swinburne sings of England,
we have to precipitate our impressions from lines fluid as these:--
"Things of night at her glance took flight: the
strengths of darkness recoiled and sank:
Sank the fires of the murderous pyres whereon wild
agony writhed and shrank:
Rose the light of the reign of right from gulfs of
years that the darkness drank."
Or--
"Change darkens and lightens around her, alternate
in hope and in fear to be:
Hope knows not if fear speak truth, nor fear whether
hope be not blind as she:
But the sun is in heaven that beholds her immortal,
and girdled with life by the sea."
I suspect, then, that a hundred years hence, when criticism speaks
calm judgment upon all Mr. Swinburne's writings, she will find that
his earlier and more definite poems are the edge of his blade, and
such volumes as "Astrophel" the heavy metal behind it.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273