TIME! let me stand upon that wall Which bounds the future and the past, While at my feet thy moments fall, Like billows driven by the blast: Cold, brief, and dim must be the gaze, Back o'er the fields laid waste by thee; And clouds, impervious to all rays, Brood o'er futurity.
Yet backward let me take one look, Through memory's glass, grown dim by age, And ponder on life's tattered book, Too late to re-peruse one page; As when the ear, in quest of notes An unlearned melody has shed, Calls for each echo where it floats, When all its tones are fled.
Thy scythe and glass, O Time! are not The symbols of thy gentler powers: Thou makest the most dejected lot Seem light, through thy inverted hours: Thou makest us cherish infant grief, And long for all the tears it cost; Thou art to thy own woes relief-- Thou beautifiest the lost!
Then let me stand upon the wall Which bounds the future and the past, And gaze upon the waste where all Life's hopes have perished by thy blast. Though dark and chilling to the gaze Are all the fields laid waste by thee, 'Tis sunshine to the hopeless rays Which light futurity.
THE SCOURGE OF THE OCEAN: A STORY OF THE ATLANTIC. BY AN OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES' NAVY. In two volumes, 12mo. pp. 431. Philadelphia: E. L. CAREY AND A. HART.
With many defects, incident to a first attempt at fictious narration, these volumes exhibit undeniable talent, and still more promise. They have been written, it seems, in haste; though this excuse would be hardly valid, save in consideration of the fact, that the young author, momentarily expecting to be ordered to sea, was hence compelled to hasten their publication. The common faults of a first production, it must be admitted, are sufficiently apparent; among the more prominent of which, may be mentioned the want of a natural order of progression, the liberal introduction of matters not correlative to the story proper, and an occasional carelessness of language. But these blemishes are well atoned for, by a general freedom of delineation, both of character and events, so easy and natural, that it often requires no stretch of the imagination to fancy the volumes actually alive, and talking with the reader. All who have read 'Jack Marlinspike's Yarn,' heretofore published in these pages, and introduced episodically in the work before us, will not need to be told, that our author has an unvarnished way of delivering his sentiments, whatever they may be, through his various characters; and this, in our judgment, constitutes an agreeable feature of the work. We had rather encounter occasional nervous inelegance of expression, and even a slight assault and battery upon Priscian, now and then, than the affectation of big words and fustian phrases, or the precise and prime sententiousness which many of our modern authors so much affect. We shall not attempt to trace the involutions and denouément of the story, since we lack both time and space for the purpose, and moreover, are unwilling to rob the labors of a new candidate for public favor of the strong interest of curiosity; but shall endeavor to present a sort of running commentary upon the principal features of the work.