Various - Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 69, No. 427, May, 1851

But although Evangeline has not reconciled us to this experiment, there is so much sweetness in the poetry itself, that, as we read on, we forget the metre. The story is a melancholy one, and forms a painful chapter in the colonial history of Great Britain. Whether the rigour of our Government was justified by the necessity of the case, we will not stop to inquire; but a French settlement, which had been ceded to us, was accused of favouring our enemies. The part of the coast they occupied was one which could not be left with safety in unfriendly hands; and it was determined to remove them to other districts. The village of Grand Pré was suddenly swept of its inhabitants. Evangeline, in this dispersion of the little colony, is separated from her lover; and the constancy of the tender and true-hearted girl forms the subject of the poem.

Our readers will be curious, perhaps, to see a specimen of Mr Longfellow's hexameters. Evangeline is one of those poems which leave an agreeable impression as a whole, but afford few striking passages for quotation. The following is the description of evening in the yet happy village of Grand Pré: —

All this quiet happiness was to cease. The village itself was to be depopulated.

If in "Evangeline," Mr Longfellow has hazarded a trial upon our patience, in the "Spanish Student," on the contrary – which, being in the dramatic form, had a certain privilege to be tedious – he has been both indulgent and considerate to his reader. It is properly called a play, for it does not attempt the deep passion of tragedy. It is spirited and vivacious, and does not exceed three acts. Hypolito, a student who is not in love, and therefore can jest at those who are, and Chispa, the roguish valet of Victorian, the student who is in love, support the comic portion of the drama. Chispa, by his Spanish proverbs, proves himself to be a true countryman of Sancho Panza. We must give a specimen of Chispa; he is first introduced giving some very excellent advice to the musicians whom he is leading to the serenade: —

" Chispa. – Now, look you, you are gentlemen that lead the life of crickets; you enjoy hunger by day, and noise by night. Yet I beseech you, for this once, be not loud, but pathetic; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the Moon. Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling dreams. Therefore each shall not play upon his instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. What instrument is that?

1st Mus. – An Arragonese bagpipe.

Chispa. – Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a maravedi for playing, and ten for leaving off?

1st Mus. – No, your honour.

Chispa. – I am glad of it. What other instruments have we?

2d and 3d Mus. – We play the bandurria.

Chispa. – A pleasing instrument. And thou?

4th Mus. – The fife.

Chispa. – I like it; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my lady's window like the song of a swallow. And you others?

Other Mus. – We are the singers, please your honour.

Chispa. – You are too many. Do you think we are going to sing mass in the cathedral of Cordova? Four men can make little use of one shoe, and I see not how you can all sing in one song. But follow me along the garden-wall. That is the way my master climbs to the lady's window. It is by the vicar's skirts the devil climbs into the belfry. Come, follow me, and make no noise.

Chispa is travelling with his master, Victorian. When they come to an inn, the latter regales himself with a walk in the moonlight, meditating on his mistress. Not so Chispa.

" Chispa. – Hola! ancient Baltasar! Bring a light and let me have supper.

Bal. – Where is your master?

Chispa. – Do not trouble yourself about him. We have stopped a moment to breathe our horses; and if he chooses to walk up and down in the open air, looking into the sky as one who hears it rain , that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But be quick, for I am in a hurry, and every one stretches his legs according to the length of his coverlet. What have we here?

Bal. ( setting a light on the table. ) – Stewed rabbit.

Chispa ( eating. ) – Conscience of Portalegre! Stewed kitten, you mean!

Bal. – And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes with a roasted pear in it.

Chispa ( drinking. ) – Ancient Baltasar amigo! You know how to cry wine and sell vinegar. – Moreover, your supper is like the hidalgo's dinner, very little meat, and a great deal of table-cloth .

Bal. – Ha! ha! ha!

Chispa. – And more noise than nuts.

Bal. – Ha! ha! ha! You must have your jest, Master Chispa. But shall not I ask Don Victorian in to take a draught of the Pedro Ximenes?

Chispa. – No; you might as well say, 'Don't you want some?' to a dead man.

Bal. – Why does he go so often to Madrid?

Chispa. – For the same reason that he eats no supper. He is in love. Were you ever in love, Baltasar?

Bal. – I was never out of it, good Chispa.

Chispa. – What! you on fire too, old haystack? Why, we shall never be able to put you out.

Vict. ( without. ) – Chispa!

Chispa. – Go to bed – the cocks are crowing."

This Chispa changes masters in course of the piece, and enters into the service of Don Carlos; but the change does not seem to have advanced his fortunes, for we find him thus moralising to himself at the close of the play —

"Alas! and alack-a-day! Poor was I born, and poor do I remain. I neither win nor lose. Thus I wag through the world half the time on foot, and the other half walking… And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox. Who knows what may happen? Patience, and shuffle the cards! I am not yet so bald that you can see my brains."

It would not be difficult to select other favourable specimens both of the graver and lighter manner of Mr Longfellow; but we must now proceed to the second name upon our list.

Mr Bryant is a poet who not unfrequently reminds us of Mrs Hemans. Perhaps we could not better, in a few words, convey our impression of his poetical status . His verse is generally pleasing – not often powerful. His good taste rarely deserts him; but he has neither very strong passions, nor those indications of profounder thought which constitute so much of the charm of modern poetry. For he who would take a high rank amongst our lyric poets should, at one time or other, have dwelt and thought with the philosophers. He should be seen as stepping from the Porch; he should have wandered, with his harp concealed beneath his robe, in the gardens of the Academy.