HALF-HOURS WITH THE HALF-FORGOT! EN.

Otago Witness, Issue 2848, 14 October 1908, Page 74

HALF-HOURS WITH THE HALF-FORGOT! EN.

By JOI'CK JOCELTN. The world forgetting by the world forgot. Do not demur, I pray you, at the company to which, urged by a genuine sense of duty, I invite you. 1 am not proposing to take you into uncongenial air or stifling atmosphere, or even asking you to accompany me for a brief visit only to scenes ot suffering, poverty and pain. Not so, though in the history of our day such passages, with their experience of want and sorrow, should be more frequent, in order that oui help and sympathy when needed may be more effective. I have been thinking much of life's realities, their searching, lasting power, and the unnecessary turbulence which sometimes causes, and sometimes in its cataract half drowns, the grief which change and trial bring. A keen grey day, relieved for just an hour or two by, flickering sunshine, but of a cold so penetrating that the fireside, perhaps unwisely, has been my shelter for the afternoon, has set me musing. The leaping flame, the crackling log, the glittering brasses, and the cosy corner, so full of comfort and suggestion, have made toe sigh for th« neglected places — the homes that often are* unhomelike, not through stress of poverty but for want of taste for the domestic habit, which seems to be a growing' eVil. Not that, for a moment, i decry your outdoor pleasures and your social joys; the, merry junketings ohwinter days and nights, the rosy dreams that are better matched by sunshine than the flame that sparkles on the hearth. Oh, no ; I only woo you to a rest occasionally, to a society in which the bracing element shall be as pure and zestful as the winter breeze, as the cheery sumach just parting with the fire-touched leaves: Now, have I tempted curiosity and whetted appetite ? Do you wait with kindled feeling for an introduction to my friends? — friends most dear and personal, hallowed by long association ana gentle memories of the loved ; not neglected by my fireside ; my companions of the summer jaunt, instructors and sweet mentors, consolers at my need and will. At, now; , I-have you with me, and^by your glistening eye, your ready smile, * I know I have your company for a brief half-hour. Sitting by my fire I have shared "A Winter Walk" with Cowper and gathered something „ from his "C6nvers*tion." It has been ho "task" to follow- -the delightful versifier through "Table l Talk," conspicuous for- its" breadth and b9auty. arid I know I shall be profited when Faith, -Hope, Charity, and Truth come under his poetical review. There is something very sweet and sterling in nearly all that Cowper has written, and it does not surprise your friend that before all the poets Mrs Browning has chosen Cowper •as fitting for her elegiac gift. "At Cowper's Grave" is a full outpouring of the most womanly of hearts "in deathless singing" — - - O poets, from a maniac's tongue was poured the_ deathless singing ; O Christians! at your* cro?s of hope a, hopeless Hand was clinging; 0 men! this man in brotherhood your weary path beguiling Groaned only while he taught you peace, and died while ye were smiling. Here is deep sympathy with one who, passing under the cloud, emerged to testify "this solemn truth through clesolated frenzy "—" — Nor man nor Nature satisfy whom only God created. It is not necessary to rehearse for you the story of his chequered life, or the history of those friendships which eased his sadness, and filled, as far as it was possible *to fill, his life with looming ministries. His God, Who suffered once the madness cloud to His own love to blind him, But gently led the blind along where breath and bird could find him, And wrought within his shattered brain such quiet, poetic senses As hilis have language for, and stars, and influences. I am not proposing to discuss the merits of the more popular of Cowper's pieces. Much of his verse will be familiar to many of m" readers, who, doubtless, not long since, have Übed selected poitions as subjects of poetic study. Rather would I ask you to observe with me the wit and polish of his flowing lines in his less-read and more reflective poems, the scathing satire or the gentle play of taste and fancy, the spice of humour which tempts the appetite for more — At Westminster, where little poets strive To set a distich upon six and five, Where discipline helps opening buds of sense, And makes his pupils proud vtAh silver pence, 1 w«3 a poet too; but modern taste Is so refined «nd delicate and chaste, That \erse, whatever fire the fancy warms, Without a creamy smoothness has no charms. Thus all success depending on an ear, And thinking I might purchase it too dear If sentiment were sacrificed to sound, And truth cut short to make a period round, — I judged a man of sense could do no worse Than caper in the Morris dance of verse. Good sense, you say, perhaps, but very little fire, I So let us continue till we find it. Give me the line that ploughs its stately course j Like a proud swan conquering the stream by force ; That like some cottage beauty strikes the heart, Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. ... From him who* rears a poem lank and long, J To him who strains his all into a. eong, j Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, All kirks and braes, though, he was never there^ V I Or having whelped a prologue with great pains, Feels himself spent, and fumbles for hiß brains ; A prologue interda«hed with many a stroke, An art contrived to advertise a joke,

So thai the jest is clearly to be seen, Not in the words, but in the gap between. Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, The substitute for genius, sense, and wit. . . And this, after intervening lines, moves grandly: — Ages elapsed «re Homers lamp appeared. And, ages ere the Mantuan swan -was heard; To carry Nature lengths unknown before. To give a Milton birth asked ages more. Thus genius vose and set ai order'd times, And shot a, dayspring into distant climes." Ennobling every region that he chose, He sunk in Greece, in Italy he roee, And tedious yejrs of Gothic darkness past Emerged all splendour in our isle at last. Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Then show far off their shining plumes again. An excellent review of poetry : a fine piece for recitation. Presently he says :—: — ' These were the chief; each interval of night Was graced with ip-any an undulating light; ; In less illustrious bards his beauty shone, ' A meteor or a %tar — in these the sun. How luminous his phrases. "Strains his all into a song," "Whelp'd a prologue with great pains," "Many an undulating light," "Thus lovejy halcyons dive into the main" I are full of force and music-pictured" ! sounds which stimulate the eye and ear. [ • How wise and altogether admirable is I the pdet when conversation is his theme. |«In these days of flimsy talk and- jests ( that scarce deserve the name, — i Words 3«arnt by note a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse; Not more distinct froni harmony divine - The constant creaking. of a country sign. . . So language in the mouth of the adult. Witness its insignificant result, Tco often proves an ..implement of play, A toy to sport with, and pass time away. Collect at evening what the day brought forth, Compress the sum into its solid worth, And if it weigli the importance of a fly, ' The scales are false, and algebra- a He. Debate, apparently, when pushed too far, was displeasing to our poet — Not th*t al! freedom of dissent I blame ; No ; there I grant the privilege I c!aim. . . Discourse may want an animated No I To brush, the surface and to make it flow, But still remember if you mean to please To press your point with modesty and caie. How many jarring voices would be silenced were counsel taken — if his advice were put in practice regarding \ direct affronts or the more casual slights which prove the want of manners or of breeding. Speaking of the duel, which in his time was common, he argued thus :— Am I to set my life upon a throw Because a bear is- rude and surly? No>. A moral, sensible, and well-bred mpnWill not insult me, spid no other can. Here is a grajiiiic picture from a humorous pen :—: — > S»m-e men employ their health. — an ugly triek — In making knovn^ how oft tfaey ~h*v-e- -bean. sick, v And give us in recital of disease A doctor's ' trouble^ but -without the fees ; E&Jate how many -woaks they kept their bed, How. an emetic or e'athartic sped, . . . Hew the distemper, spite of draught or pilf, Victorious seemed, and now the doctor's skill. And, now — alas for unforeseen mishape — They put on a damp nightcap and relapse. They thought they must have died, they were so bad ; Their pgevish hearers almost wish they had. A light and gentle sarcasm dispensed with snaring hand sparkles here and there — too frequently to quote, but this is certainly more sharp than genial : To find the medium asks some share of wit, And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. Two passages in these quotations are in the- idea? suggested reminiscent of other poets more highly gifted in the general opinion, but Cowper has a charm peculiarly his own — grace and vivacity reminding us of Goldsmith : a clear and sometimes stately diction not much inferior, if at all inferior to Pope. Cowper's style in letters has often been commended, and his epistles, almost classic* to Deodati, his Italian friend, are genial, eloquent and flowing. Time and space do not permit of extracts, but there are still some fireside reflections which bid us linger — 0 Winter, ruler of ths inverted year. . . . 1 love thee. all unlovely as thou se-em'st. And dreaded as thou art. Thou holdst the sun A prisoner in the yet undawning east. Shortening his journey between morn and noon. Arcd hurrying hi in, impatient of his siay, Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still. | Compensating his loss with added hours Of social converse and instructive care. T crovrn thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness. And all the comforts -that the Jowly roof Of undisturbed retirement and the hours Of long, uninterrupted evenings know. . . . Composure is thy gift. And whether I devote the gentle hours To books, to miiFic, or the poet'« toil, . . . I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. . . . The embers dying are still ruddy, but the evening passed beyond the limits I usually allow — forbid my lingering — but from the closing lines I cull a word for each who, following with patience in the field I glean, will surely echo, — ... God gives to every nra-n The virtue, temper, understanding, taste. Tkat lifts him into life and bids him fall Just in the niche he was ordained to fill. To monarchs' dignity, to judges' sense, To artists' ingenuity and skill ; To me an unambitious mind, content In the low vale of life, that early felt A wish for «ase^and leisure, and ere long Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. A grateful heart speaks here — a striken heart that out ot its own sorrow can supply the oil of gladness : He shall be strung to justify the poet's high vocation, "And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration. Nor ever shall he be in praise by wise or good forsaken, Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken.

— Some men never ask & girl to marry j t them till they' are sure she won't.