 ―426―Art. LV.
Poems, chiefly occasional, by the late
|
| —“This once extinguish'd ray | |
| Will ne'er resuscitate another day. | |
| Here, Science, thy last stage of being lies; | |
| No other Phoenix from thy dust shall rise.” |
Group. |
“When an utter apathy has seized on a
whole community, and a perfect indiffer-
ence to science and the works of genius
pervades all ranks; when political rancour
hath subdued every fine feeling of the
soul to that relish which will endure
nothing but malice and fury, the confla-
grating hand of an Omar can add nothing
to the devastation. A veto is imposed
on the efforts of genius, as effectual as a
statute punishing them with death.
“This hath not always been the re-
proach of popular governments. Even
in modern days, under the auspices of
republican forms, rich offerings have
been made at the altar of learning in her
own consecrated temple. Refreshing
―427―
fragrance hath often been heaped on the
censer of genius by priests worthy to have
officiated in the highest honours of Apol-
lo in happier times. Venice and Tus-
cany have emitted rays, the splendour of
which hath illumined every region. —
Switzerland also claims an honourable
estimation, as the prolific source of in-
genious speculation, of interesting and
instructive narration, and of profound
and elaborate research. Even Holland
has had her Grotius—even
In those cold fens, beneath those shiftingthere have yet been found some listeners
skies,
Where fancy sickens, and where genius
dies;
to the voice of learning and elaborate re-
search. And though the few in whose
breasts the vital spark hath there glowed
may not have reaped the fortune nor the
honours of Addison, or Pope, or Rum-
ford, yet their merits never produced to
them starvation nor persecution.”
The great extravagance and ab-
surdity of these reflections would
excite a smile rather than provoke
animadversion, did we not think it
a duty to enter a protest against
such representations, lest, if suf-
fered to pass uncontradicted, they
may, by frequent repetition, gain
the belief of such as have not op-
portunity, or sufficient means of
information, to determine their
truth or falsehood. It has been fre-
quent, of late years, with some
writers, to decry all the literary
productions of their contempora-
ries, and to deny the votaries of lite-
rature in America, every claim to
genius, wit, or erudition. If Ame-
ricans possessed an inordinate va-
nity in this respect, it might be
useful, perhaps, to repress or cor-
rect it, by asserting the folly of
such vain pretensions; but the na-
tional vanity seems to be rather po-
litical than literary.
It would not be difficult to point
out the causes why authorship is not
a profession, and book-making a
trade here, as well as in Great-
Britain, France or Germany; and
to prove that Americans are not
endowed with less genius, or less
intellectual capacity and vigour,
than their fellow-beings on the
other side of the Atlantic. But
such an inquiry would lead us out
of our province; and we must be
content, for the present, with some
brief strictures on the passages
which have been quoted.
The complaints of neglected me-
rit, and genius starving with want,
are, at this time, almost stale; and,
in general, few complaints are made
with so little foundation in truth or
reason. They are too often the
offspring of a disordered fancy, in-
dolence, fastidiousness, or caprice.
In no country are the paths of lite-
rature and science the direct ave-
nues to wealth and power. The
modest and retired votaries of learn-
ing and science must be content
with the humble, but dignified state
they have chosen. To repine at
the want of opulence and power,
while they disdain the only sure
means by which they can be attain-
ed, discovers a childish folly, which
expects the laws of nature to be
changed, to gratify its impatient
longings.
If riches are the object of desire,
they are within the reach of all who
will grovel, with toilsome perse-
verance, in their pursuit. If am-
bitious to lodge in a palace, or be
drawn in a chariot, the closet must
be exchanged for the counting-
house; Homer and Longinus, for
the Lex Mercatoria, and Daily Ga-
zette. He who aspires to a seat
in the Senate, must not support
his claim to the suffrages of the
people, by proving his knowledge
of the art of poetry, his skill in
music, or his acquaintance with
chemistry. The man of action,
not of contemplation, he who is
ready to devote his days and nights,
with laborious diligence, to the
concerns of others, is the person
who will be selected for the ma-
nagement of their affairs, and on
―428―
whom they will bestow honour and
profit, the rewards of his activity
and zeal. He who will not thus
devote his talents to the service of
others, in things which regard their
immediate interest, must be con-
tent to enjoy the admiration of the
few, and the pleasures which flow
from the cultivation of his taste
and understanding.
Switzerland appears to have little
claim to be exalted above the Unit-
ed States, for the spontaneous pa-
tronage and encouragement it has
given its learned and ingenious citi-
zens. The degree of fostering aid
afforded to the great and immortal
HALLER, in his youth, is well
known. That prodigy of genius
and learning surmounted the early
embarrassments of his situation by
his native energies; and, after pur-
suing the bent of his own superior
mind, and visiting the principal
cities and universities of Europe,
where he studied under the greatest
masters, returned to his own coun-
try richly fraught with knowledge
and science; but could not, for
years, obtain from the cold indif-
ference of his countrymen the least
public employment, and was re-
fused even a professorship which
he repeatedly solicited. When a
great monarch, and foreign socie-
ties, offered him their patronage
and honours, as a small tribute due
his unrivalled genius and learn-
ing, then, indeed, the citizens of
the canton of Berne perceived
the value of a man whom foreign
States were ambitious to enroll
among their subjects. It was not-
until the rays of his genius were re-
flected from a distance that his
countrymen could see its magni-
tude and splendour.
The persecution of GROTIUS is
remarkable. That illustrious scho-
lar and civilian was sentenced to
perpetual imprisonment in his own
country, from which he escaped
by the aid and contrivance of a
faithful wife. It was in that dun-
geon assigned him by the patronage
of the enlightened citizens of Hol-
land, that he composed that great
work on the law of nature and na-
tions, which has added so much
glory to his name, and honour to
the place which gave him birth.
It would be easy, by resorting
to Great-Britain, France, and other
nations, to show their inattention
or ingratitude to genius and talents,
and to prove that America is less
deserving of reproach, in this re-
spect, than any other country.
But the envy and neglect which
men of genius experience from
their countrymen is so common,
that the remark has grown into a
proverb, of which many a pretender
to genius avails himself, to console
his disappointed vanity. It is need-
less to dwell on the enormity of
that prejudice which can describe
the people of America as worse
than Goths, Vandals or Saracens.
If genius is not sufficiently pa-
tronized in America, we may, at
least, fairly challenge the author of
these notices to produce an instance
of its suffering by the “ruthless
hand of persecution, or starving
through indigence and neglect.”
Some hints have been thrown
out by newspaper writers, of a plan
for a dictionary of the American
language; but no such performance
has yet appeared, nor do we be-
lieve that it will ever see light,
while we continue to speak the
English tongue.
Those talents which are exercis-
ed in proving “the efficacy of iron
skewers,” have met with little sup-
port in this country. Perkinism has
found its patrons in England, and
it is from thence that volumes of
old women's tales and affidavits are
imported. In no country do pre-
tenders to science find less encou-
ragement than in the United States.
Mr. Webster's Grammar is nei-
ther an uncouth nor ignorant pro-
―429―
duction.—His attempt to alter or
reform the orthography of our lan-
guage is no more ridiculous or con-
temptible than similar schemes pro-
posed by many learned and inge-
nious men in Great-Britain.
Do the publications of Dr. Morse,
for he is the only man who has
written on the subject, deserve to
be called the “shreds and patches
of geography?” If so, what must
we think of the geographical gram-
mars published in England, none
of which are superior in arrange
ment, copiousness or accuracy.
This writer is, indeed, unlucky
in the instances of quackery and pe-
dantry which he has selected for
the purpose of degrading the cha-
racter of the American nation.
Without supposing gross igno-
rance and prejudice, it is difficult to
account for the strange contradiction
and exaggeration which these “no-
tices” discover. We are told, in one
sentence, that works of genius and
merit go continually, in cart-loads, to
the grocer and pastry-cook; and,
in another, that all the energies and
faculties of the mind are decomposed
and destroyed, and that the temple
of genius and learning is wholly oc-
cupied by ignorance and pedagogy.
If this piece of biography and
criticism were selected as a speci-
men of Anglo-American composi-
tion, we should not wonder at being
censured or ridiculed for affecta-
tion, conceit, bombast, and every
impurity of diction: for the annals
of “ignorance and pedagogy,”
or of American literature, might be
searched, in vain, for a performance
in which so many faults of every
sort are crowded into so narrow a
compass. The taste of the writer
is, if possible, more depraved than
his judgment.
The biographical portion of these
notices is very scanty. Those who
are curious to know in what clime
the poet first drew his breath—what
was his early education, habits and
pursuits—and by what accident or
turn of mind he was led to the
paths of poetry, will not find their
curiosity gratified. The following
is all we are told of his life and cha-
racter:
“The rupture of a blood-vessel, at the
age of nineteen, disqualified him for the
active scenes of life. From that period
until his death, at the age of twenty-
seven, he devoted himself, with un-
wearied assiduity, to the cultivation of
liberal letters: endowed by nature with
a lively and penetrating genius, a mind
of uncommon strength, and a judgment
remarkably acute, this application of his
powers could not fail to produce the
mellow fruit of study.
“But the weakness of his frame owned
no kindred to the energy of his mind.
He had accumulated upon it a burthen
over-proportioned to its powers, and, like
ill-sorted travellers, they very early
parted—parted forever. The active vi-
gour of his genius
“Fretted the pigmy body to decay,
And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay.”
“He struggled long against the insi-
dious approaches of a fatal hectic; and,
while he sought by various means to di-
vert its influence, bore, with the resolu-
tion of a stoic, many of the severest ills
that flesh is heir to. From his friends he
studiously concealed those apprehensions
of his dangerous condition, which the
unconquerable obstinacy of his disorder
had long taught him to entertain. Such
was the exquisite refinement of his mind,
so delicately sympathetic was his sensi-
bility, that he frequently resisted his
feelings, and contended against serious
indisposition, rather than disturb the en-
joyments of that frequent circle of friends
of which he was an essential ornament
and delight.
“In the sports of the field he enjoyed
peculiar pleasure; and the frequent ex-
ercise which he derived from the pursuit
of his favourite pleasure, shooting, con-
tributed, perhaps, in no mean degree to
the prolongation of his life. In that
sport which, in spite of the idle inventives
of unthinking persons, is peculiarly wor-
thy of a liberal mind, he was, as in al-
most every thing he pursued, thoroughly
accomplished.
“Nor did he shine less in most of those
other small, sweet courtesies of life, which,
―430―
as Sterne pathetically exclaims, make so
smooth the road of it. An expert swords-
man, a scientific and admirable musician,
an accomplished painter, and a graceful
dancer: he was no less an ornament to
the private walks of life, than to that
higher and more splendid sphere, the su-
perior attractions of which seldom left
him free to display those accomplishments
which were more generally sought after
and admired.
“His company was courted with assi-
duity by men of sense, and by the few
men of rank who figure in that number.
But he sought the shade, delighting more
to linger with his little social circle, on
the banks of Ilyssus, than in all the at-
tractions of patrician pomp and splendour.
“In the month of December, America
lost this bright ornament to her name.
Cut off in the early morn of life, at the
interesting period when the results of
long study were daily maturing to “fur-
ther ends more excellent,’ we are left
doubly mourners, for what he was, and
what he would have been.
“Mr. Cliffton was in stature of the
middle size; his person well proportion-
ed, and not inelegant. The portrait
prefixed to this volume is a tolerable ac-
curate delineation of his features: he had
an eye so animated, and a countenance,
generally, of such interest and prepos-
session, that the most skilful painter could
not have hoped to copy them.”
After forcing our way through
a field of briars and brambles, and
noisome weeds, we arrive, with
pleasure, to a garden where we
expect to be refreshed, and regal-
ed with delicious fruits and fra-
grant flowers.
Mr. Cliffton is introduced to his
readers as a satirist, and his first
poem, “the Group,” affords a fa-
vourable display of his vigour and
adroitness in that character. This
piece, however, labours under all
those disadvantages incident to a
performance connected with local
circumstances, and abounding with
allusions to obscure individuals. It
appears to have been the design of
the poet to pourtray a set of illite-
rate pragmatical demagogues in the
city of Philadelphia, who, neglect-
ing the occupations of their work-
shops, are supposed to come toge-
ther for the purpose of discussing
politics, and reviling the measures
of government. The individuals
of this herd are exhibited by the
artist in the most odious shapes and
ludicrous attitudes; and as they
glide through the magic-lantern of
his muse, we are alternately agitated
by laughter and sickened by dis-
gust. Whether the common prac-
tice of ridiculing personal deformi-
ties be within the legitimate pro-
vince of satire, is a question that
seldom occurs with much cogency
to those who are only the merry
spectators of the show. Most men
are fond of being on the laughing
side, and do not always reflect that
a mis-shapen form, and an un-
gainly visage, are not incompati-
ble with good principles and amia-
ble propensities. As we may pre-
sume, however, that the author was
well acquainted with the moral
turpitude of the men he exposes to
odium, it is natural and very al-
lowable to associate in his descrip-
tion their corporeal with their in-
tellectual deformities, and involve
both in the effusions of his hatred
and derision.
On the intrinsic merits of this
composition we are inclined to be
lavish of our encomiums. It abounds
with wit, and much humorous al-
lusion; and the versification, with
a few exceptions, unites, in a mas-
terly manner, the energy of thought
with the gracefulness of diction.
The following passage is a good
specimen of the ardour of his fancy,
and of the nerves and sinews that
enter into the texture of his verse.
He is describing the future reign
of equality and Gothicism in this
country; and although, in this in-
stance, he displays the eye of a
poet “in a fine frenzy rolling,”
yet, like the poet's neighbour, the
lunatic, he seems to see “more de-
vils than vast hell can hold.”
―431―| “The hour is hastening, when on equal feet | |
| Exalted Virtue and low Vice shall meet; | |
| When Envy, Faction, Indolence shall rage, | |
| In one wild tempest, thro' the troubled age: | |
| Then human dignity shall meet its doom: | |
| Devotion perish, Reason, Worth, a tomb, | |
| In the rude wastes of Ignorance shall find, | |
| And true Equality shall bless mankind. | |
| So when the Kamsin of the desert flies | |
| 'Twixt ardent sands, and summer kin- dled skies, | |
| The gasping trav'ller meets the arid death, | |
| And, prostrate in the dust, resigns his breath. | |
| Then shall no pedant priest, with learned pride, | |
| Point out the sacred volume for our guide; | |
| No more the civil law, or moral page, | |
| The arm shall fetter, or the soul engage; | |
| But pile on pile the File of Arts shall raise, | |
| And all the knowledge of all ages blaze, | |
| As when the Gothic conflagration hurl'd | |
| Its smoky volumes round the sleeping world: | |
| The Fiend of Ruin, with demoniac yell, | |
| Flits round the flame, directs the work of hell; | |
| With sheets of sulphur wings the driving gale, | |
| And shakes destruction from his dragon tail. | |
| Yet, not as then: the once extinguish'd ray | |
| Shall ne'er resuscitate another day; | |
| Here, Science, thy last stage of being lies! | |
| No other Phoenix from thy dust shall rise; | |
| And no sad vestige shall remain to tell, | |
| The temple's basis, where thou lov'dst to dwell.” |
The “Rhapsody on the Times”
relates principally to the adventures
of an Irish emigrant, who is repre-
sented as coming to America with
a view of acquiring popular renown
by intermeddling with the affairs of
our government, and preaching the
blessings of political reform. This
little offspring of a sportive genius
is replete with original conceptions,
gay images, and witty allusions.
The following effusion, upon the
disgrace of the emigrant, conveys
the patriotic spirit of the poet, in
numbers lively and harmonious.
| “Dear Spirit of our happy clime, | |
| With star-deck'd Tiar’, and port sublime, | |
| Who hear'st the savage yell of war, | |
| And giv'st to pity many a tear; | |
| Canst thou believe, oh! Goddess blest! | |
| Such Styg'an fiends thy realm infest? | |
| Yes, such against thy ray serene | |
| Do darkling howl with wolfish spleen; | |
| And wish to see thee crucified, | |
| Thy seamless garments to divide. |
| “Can he who 'gainst his parent rais'd | |
| His impious arm, by us be prais'd? | |
| No; rather, each Columbian breast | |
| The vagrant caitiff will detest. | |
| Can he who made the law his foe | |
| At home, with us be faithful? No: | |
| The dog that bit his Master there | |
| Walks in a longer tether here.” |
We cannot forbear reciting, from
the same piece, the following beau-
tiful apostrophe to Washington.
| “In Vernon's groves whose shade unites | |
| The active joys and calm delights, | |
| The victor's wreath, and civic crown, | |
| Content, love, friendship, and renown; | |
| Where endless smiles Potomac wears, | |
| The halcyon PEACE her nest prepares. | |
| The patriot Chief who there resides, | |
| As down the stream of life he glides, | |
| She hovers o'er, and soothes his ears | |
| With music of the heav'nly spheres. | |
| When late she heard the distant cry | |
| Of war, and spread her wings to fly, | |
| 'Twas he who charm'd her fears to rest, | |
| And sooth'd her on his parent breast. | |
| Yes, Peace, 'twas he who kindly strove | |
| To wed thee to our Eagle's love. | |
| Then still with all thy bashful train | |
| Of golden blessings, haunt the plain: | |
| Bid Beauty loose her musky hair, | |
| Bid Pleasure, wreath'd in smiles, be there; | |
| The Muses sport thy beams among, | |
| And jocund Plenty laugh along, | |
| While safely in thy olive shade, | |
| At ease her careless limbs are laid. |
| “Bless'd Saint, at thy enlivening word | |
| The voice of gladness shall be heard; | |
| And all our joyous vales along, | |
| How charming sweet, thy Turtles' song: | |
| Till War, amidst his wild career, | |
| Suspend his whirlwind rage to hear, | |
| And every weary realm rejoice | |
| To echo back thy angel voice. | |
 ―432― | |
| And thou, “immortal freedom's fire,” | |
| Whom all revere, esteem, admire; | |
| With all that gratitude can give, | |
| For ever in our breasts shalt live.” |
The American edition of the
“Baviad and Mæviad” has already
presented to the public the Epistle
of our author to W. Gifford, Esq.
It is in this address that the youthful
bard concenters all the rays of his
genius, and gives play to the ele-
gant accomplishments of his muse.
The lucid current of his verse re-
flects the beauties of a mind where
taste and fancy are in a very flou-
rishing state. His lines, abounding
with ideas and images, are free from
all redundancy of expression, and
march, with majestic port, to mea-
sures made up of gracefulness and
harmony. The Epistle begins thus:
| “In these cold shades, beneath these shifting skies, | |
| Where Fancy sickens, and where Genius dies; | |
| Where few and feeble are the Muse's strains, | |
| And no fine frenzy riots in the veins.” |
The author here utters a com-
plaint, which we do not believe is
derived from a real cause; and this
complaint seems to imply a regret
that our climate is not so propitious
to genius and fancy as the climate
of England. That a poet is oblig-
ed to dwell in deeper shades in
this country than in Great-Britain
is not true, for it is well known
that we have more resplendent sun-
shine in one day than England en-
joys in six; and as for our ever
“shifting skies,” let a poet of Al-
bion describe the superior uni-
formity of her atmosphere.
| ———“The baleful east | |
| Withers the tender spring, and sourly checks | |
| The fancy of the year. Our fathers talk | |
| Of summers, balmy airs, and skies serene; | |
| Good heaven! for what unexpiated crimes | |
| This dismal change! The brooding ele- ments, | |
| Do they, your powerful Ministers of wrath, | |
| Prepare some fierce exterminating plague? | |
| Or is it sixt in the decrees above | |
| That lofty Albion melt into the main? | |
| Indulgent Nature! O dissolve this gloom! | |
| Bind in eternal adamant the winds | |
| That drown or wither: give the genial west | |
| To breathe; and, in its turn, the sprightly north; | |
| And may once more the circling seasons rule | |
| The year; nor mix in every monstrous day.” |
If fancy and genius, then, do
not flourish in America, and ex-
pand with as much luxuriance as
in some other regions, let us not
impute the failure to physical dis-
advantages.
“We ought to blame the culture, not
the soil.”
The masculine talents of Mr. C.
are again exhibited in the “Chi-
meriad,” where there appears much
boldness of fancy and strength of
language. This poem remains in
an unfinished state.
“Talleyrand's descent into Hell”
is a curious and interesting piece of
composition. The writer's descrip-
tion of the infernal regions is awful-
ly picturesque and sublime, and
Talleyrand's situation and feelings
fill our minds with horror. The
torpor and listlessness of the Ame-
ricans, at a crisis when France is
supposed to be plotting their ruin,
is announced in terms the most em-
phatic and alarming.
| “Infatuate men! ah, what avails your boast, | |
| Your rising Navy, and your guarded coast, | |
| Your hosts of patriot youth, in arms ar- ray'd; | |
| 'Tis, all, the wretched shadow of a shade. | |
| For soon the spoiler comes “with wanton wiles, | |
| With quips, and cranks, and nods, and wreathed smiles,— | |
| Disarms your vengeance, stays the lifted blow, | |
| And lays your freedom and your honour low. | |
 ―433― | |
| So the poor girl whose bold seducer flies | |
| With steps too rude to seize the virgin prize. | |
| Frowns on the wretch who dar'd invade her charms, | |
| And all her injur'd feelings rush to arms: | |
| But soon return'd, he drops an artful tear, | |
| And pours his plaintive sorrows in her car, | |
| Till treacherous love admits the wily cheat, | |
| And stamps her ruin and her shame com- plete. | |
| So Satan once, with “diplomatic skill,” | |
| RUSH'd through the tangles of the sacred hill, | |
| Beguil'd the truth of Adams' honest mind, | |
| And nail'd the yoke of mischief on man- kind. | |
| Infatuate men! while clouds invest the air, | |
| You fondly dream to-morrow will be fair; | |
| Still careless, on the same dull road you stray, | |
| Nor heed the stormy dangers of the way; | |
| With you the frolic and the feast is found, | |
| The chariot rattles and the glass goes round: | |
| You still can truck your wares, and go to bed | |
| With some new speculation in your head; | |
| Still strut the 'Change with Haberdasher pride; | |
| Still count the profits, and the gain divide; | |
| Still take the breakfast-paper, and explore | |
| The advertising columns o'er and o'er; | |
| And if the tale should meet your listless glance, | |
| Of some new land a prey to bloody France, | |
| You still can look at home, with vast content, | |
| And underwrite the state for one per cent.” |
The volume concludes with a
few miscellaneous pieces, several
of which tend to raise our opinion
of Mr. Cliffton's poetical abilities.
His “Flights of Fancy,” and his
address “to Fancy,” contain some
lines that are exquisitely fine; and
we are gratified in discovering that
Mr. C. was not only a keen sa-
tirist, and elegant versifier, but that
his mind was enriched with tender
and delicate sentiments, and pos-
sest those nice sensibilities that are
ever alive to the beautiful displays
of rural nature. Where shall we
find sweeter imagery than in these
verses?
| “From crag to crag, with devious sweep, | |
| Some frantic flood shall headlong go; | |
| And, bursting o'er the dizzy steep, | |
| Shall slumber in the lake below. |
| “But on the rose's dewy brink, | |
| Each prismy tear shall catch the gleam; | |
| And give the infant buds to drink | |
| The colours of the morning beam.” |
It is impossible to dismiss this
little volume without a sigh of re-
gret for the untimely fate of the ju-
venile bard. We venture to assert
that a poet of superior genius has
not yet arisen among us. For
originality of ideas, combined with
precision, strength and elegance of
expression, he is inferior to none
of his countrymen; but for a union
of these with genuine wit and
sublime fancy, he is, perhaps, un-
rivalled in our land. —Alas! his
fame can be no farther extended
by the exertions of his genius, for
mortality has extinguished the ray
that had just begun to heighten the
lustre of our literary sphere.