Such, we do not hesitate to
affirm, is the little work before us; and the examiners seem to have
felt about it like ourselves, for they have assigned the prize to its
author, though the measure in which he writes was never before (we
believe) thus selected for honour. We extract a few lines to justify our
admiration.
[Quotes fifty lines beginning:--
"A curve of whitening, flashing, ebbing light!
A rustling of white wings! the bright descent," etc.]
How many men have lived for a century who could equal this?--_The
Athenaeum_.
_Poems by Alfred Tennyson_. pp. 163. London. 12mo. 1833.
This is, as some of his marginal notes intimate, Mr. Tennyson's second
appearance. By some strange chance we have never seen his first
publication, which, if it at all resembles its younge[r] brother, must
be by this time so popular that any notice of it on our part would seem
idle and presumptuous; but we gladly seize this opportunity of repairing
an unintentional neglect, and of introducing to the admiration of our
more sequestered readers a new prodigy of genius--another and a brighter
star of that galaxy or _milky way_ of poetry of which the lamented Keats
was the harbinger; and let us take this occasion to sing our palinode on
the subject of 'Endymion.
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