"Inkerman" is a poetical Macaulay stewed. The whole flow of its verse
and resonant passion of its narrative are borrowed from the "Lays of
Ancient Rome." There are many crashing lines in it, and the story is
rather dashingly told; but it is very inferior in polish, and even
correctness, to both the other poems. I have marked some of its
errata.
"Raphael," good as it is, is nothing more than Browning browned over.
Every turn of expression, and the whole animus, so to speak, is taken
from those poetical monologues of his. _Call it_ an imitation,
and it is excellent.
The best of the three poems, then, is "Sleep On!" I see Keats in it,
and one or both of the Brownings; but though the form is borrowed, the
passion is genuine--the fire has passed along there, and the verse has
followed before the ashes were quite cool.
Talent, certainly; taste very fine for the melodies of language; deep,
quiet sentiment. Genius? If beardless, yea; if in sable silvered,--and
I think this cannot be a very young hand,--why, then ... we will
suspend our opinion.
Faithfully yours, O. W. HOLMES.
I find several amusing personal letters of this period which are
characteristic enough to be preserved. Among them is the following:
21 CHARLES STREET, July 6, 8:33 A. M. Barometer at 30-1/10.
MY DEAR FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR,--Your most unexpected gift, which is not
a mere token of remembrance, but a permanently valuable present, is
making me happier every moment I look at it.
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