REVIEW.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 4172, 2 July 1875, Page 3

REVIEW.

'Gabrklle and other Poems, by Catherine H. Richardson, M.K.R. J)unedin: Reith arid Wilki.e, Booksellers, 1575. : This little book comes from Maungaataa, situated on the west side of the Taeiri Plains, and our first thought was, is this Maori Olympian mountain, now to be the Pakeha Parnassus ? Certain it is that we have dim recollections « f such a prophecy uttered by a companion as he stood gazing at tho landscape from the Chain Hills, to this «ffeot, " that there was yet hope that a local poet might aris3, and invest the scenery with classic memories." In these olden times, there seemed to be little hope of such consummation. The features of nature, as they presented themselves to the pilgrim fathers, ■were wild, uninteresting, and. objectless, in their dreariness—brown and sullen. Now the plain is spotted with.smilinghomesteads. The green fields are planted with hedges and the very -serrations of the mountain tops .prolonged down the declivities, with mono- | tonous similitude, are, by the hand of man, "becoming " individualised " and remarkable, one from the other, by well denned objects and improvements. From a nook there which a stranger might miss seeing, even if he travelled a hundred times, come the lays that we have set ourselves to criticise, and in our endeavours to do so justly, we confess to a feeling of re- : sponsibility, for when an author or authoress make their first essay—untried by public •opinion, he who would anticipate that opinion places himself also on trial. He Si - may bo as wrong as> Jeffreys was about 18^ Byron, or as right as Burns was about Scott. At all events, he jeopardises the credit he may have for critical acumen, be the value •of this small or great. With so much of preface, we may now enter on our task, and recurring to our first impressions, we may State that we would have no difficulty in • indicating the works of the poet, whom our young authoress has most delighted in. But •we do not say this' by way of depreciation, for at the outset of life all are swayed to a ■ certain extent by-those who have gone before us. The flame of Burns lighted at the altar • of Ferguson, but in this there was no base imitation, nor is it so here. While we see the same sadness—the same pathos, and, in >-many '■ aase3, the same measure as we perceive in the model —yet there is none of the paganism—with a very strong bias to the ■ metaphysical; our authoress leans to the > religious, not to the philosophical. Faith is ■woman's sheet-anchor: when she has not this ; -she is unwomanly, and therefore not by man -admirable. By placing G.ibrielle m the front position, ■we adduce that oui authoress places moßt store in it. In it we also see most plainly the • characteristics which we have noticed above. The poem may be called an allegory of life's ■ unsatisfied longings—its disappaintments. This phantom that will not hence ; Thoughts that so wandering— wandering back Over and over the same old track. ■ Or again— I hid thought her cold, though it wus not so, 'Twas but a triuk of a jealous mind Hart worried me ; and my heart was blind With the bitter blear of an angry pride. Oh ! it were better that I had died Before tho day that wrought such woe ; For out of my wild and angry mood Grew an unbelief of all things good. Dark were my'thoughts ; a dreary doubt Lay on me like a funeral pall. 1 thought of God ; and then I thought ♦' Is there in truth n God at all ? I sought not unbelief ; the thought .." . Came oe'r me w.th great agony, . . Shall tkis creation's mighty plan Begin and end in misery ?" • Or again— I felt Uie touch Of a gentle hun.l on mine, And a siweot soft voice That somewhere I heard before, Spoke to me out of the days of yore; . Softly whispered my name—no more. Gubrielle ! oh, was it thine ? ■ -fir again—here fe a picture of loneliness and .iorlornness— At times, when T sit in the hut at night, With the deep dead silence in mine ear, And muse, or read, in the dim twilight, Though I am not thinking of her, 1 hear A. low s veet voice, that I knew so well, Whisper my name—and a soft farewell. I wonder it it really can be - Slis who has spoken my name, though not to me, U in tho homeland Jar away? We could make many more extracts, but -space is awantiug, so we haste to another phase, which,, if not so engrossing, is far -more enticing, and in the cultivation of which, we opine, will give our authoress a . liigb. place .amongst the composers of lyrics. Farther, the following lines have an interest attached to them, as they may bo accepted ~3S» Q. graceful compliment to the people . among whom iahe (a young English lady) has teen settled, being written in the language of their, and not of her, fathvrs. Regarding the beauty of the sentiments all will concur, •wad the initiated will admit the purity of the Doric. Oh, the hinnle blue heather bells ! But tho vcrra inmo brings back to me ' A thousand scenes o' the dear auld h une And the hills vfherc they bloomed sac boiinius ; O'the braw wee theekit uot, TVi' its Bweetbriar scentin' the simmer air; • O' the wimpliii' bums and sunny braes, '■Where I sported wi' never a thought o' care. 'Mang the bennio blue heather bells. Oh, the bonnic blue heather bells ! •<iuy monie an uuld face gathers roun*, And moriie a dear ane passed awa' Smiles kindly on me frae aboon. Auce mair a hippy bairn, I iseem to be au.ang them a, Wandering bljtlie o'er the rugged hills, II tho dear auld liume sao far awa', 'ilaiig tho bonuie blue heather bells. •Oh, the bonuie blue heather bells ! Dearer nor ilka flower can be. For I mind how J pu'ed them yeirs ago, jh" Fur aue that was mair nor warld to me. * '- -Braid neai aro between us noo, And time, that is waur nor the s'ormy brme ; Buf oh, will ye mind mo kindly, dear, If but, for the sake o1 auld lang syne, And tho bonuie blue heather bells. .INow, New Zealand, young as it is, has its Tp oe ts—greater and lesser —and as cjmparirsons are odious, we will not attempt such; I but there is one distinctive feature in these compositions that it would be unpardonable ")'■ 'to overlook—that is, they are true pocnamu. In other words, their basis and imagery are of pure Middle Hand production; and to make our meaning more clear we- may cite the terms and expressions used by home oreared immigrant poets. Thus, in these we have the "Love of our adopted land," ad .nauseam, "The wilderness blooming as the rose," " I lovo-tliy gold - sluiced hills," 'though nothing looks more abominable, &c, ■&c. In her pages we see nothing of this prurient bithns, nor do we see the modesty of the lily appealed to, the sweetnes-i of the ■cowslip, the lowliness of the daisy, &c.,'&«. .As these are fixed on the minds of childhood, being non-existent here, they could not have /impressed their images in the ideas or knowledge of our poetess; but, instead thereof, ■Behave abuiadant examples of her having ■culled, in her own expsrience, subjects to be wrought up in her own artful fancies. Thus, in "Gabrielle," we see her saying— For here, in this temple of God's own building— This vast cathedral-whose mountain walls Close round a solitude sublime; Where nermons are spoken' tr.im a voice ' Mightier than all morbid thought— A voice that haunts the loneliness, And speaks na if, from soul to soul; 'Where the orgau-pealing thunders roll ./Mm the, <lecj> yoiye, answered back From the ichite 'jtacien arer/tead— Nature's own siiDwy-surpiiced choirsLike anthems through the cathedral aisles. Again, in Kaone, we have My people's fortress and their tomb? Rank crecpem trail around them now, Twining their white fantastic wreaths O'er the Unhurtt grans grown shade. . Again— And the hushed valleys quite in fear; The atua of tUe dead aru mute. Againaii sound was hushed, And o'er Hie ijuict kliam utoof ed Deep slumber and restful dreams. .Again, in Beautiful Spring— from tho Islands of Light Scatter the flowers thou bant borne in thy flight, Shake o'er tho Koahia its tresses of gold. Again, from The Snow, They have home the afar from the stormy South, I"®!* tanned on by the pitiless blast. And tho foamy wreath of their panting speed Froze over the earth as they passed. Now, we hold that no English poet could fcave written this verse, it being so contrary to his innate convictions. But here it comes anost naturally—as if all the world should believe it. And so with the other local "terms. To the stranger they must appear fitrauge. Yet to the new New Zealander how appropriate ! This is what we call the jMenamit of tho compositions. This is the first divergence from our mother tongue and its traditions.. W-- sigh over this, but our ■children viil Jury in >t. Untie- tho influ nee of her accepted modul, Miss Itichardson tends to tragical sadness.

I Disengaged from this she is sprightly, tender, but withall didactic—nay, we even ' perceive a force and energy in her sarcasm that is truly engaging, insomuch that it is very appropriate. But we must now be done ; and we can only advise our friends to make a more intimate acquaintance by doing what they onght to do at the booksellers — viz., to get a copy for themselves.

Health, life, and time being giveD. we are so bold as to predict that this will not be the last appearance. We may add, though the authoress was born in England, she left at a very early age, so her rearing and education have been entirely in this country.