GEORGE ELIOT AS A POET.
(From the Contemporary Review, vol. viii. p. 397.)
As if a strong, delightful water that we knew only as a river appeared in the character of a fountain; as if one whom we had wondered at as a good walker or inexhaustible pedestrian, began to dance; as if Mr. Bright, in the middle of a public meeting, were to oblige the company with a song,—no, no, not like that exactly, but like something quite new,—is the appearance of George Eliot in the character of a poet. "The Spanish Gypsy," a poem in five books, originally written, as a prefatory note informs us, in the winter of 1864-65, and, after a visit to Spain in 1867, re-written and amplified, is before us. It is a great volume of three hundred and fifty octavo pages; and the first thing which strikes the reader is, that it is a good deal longer than he expected it would be. This is bad, to begin with. What right has anybody to make a poem longer than one expected? The next thing that strikes one is,—at all events, the next thing that struck me was, as I very hastily turned over the book,—that the fine largo of the author's manner, continued through so many pages, was a very little burdensome in its effect. That may come of the specific levity of my taste; but it is as well to be quite frank.
Dr. Holmes, of Boston, says,—I fear I am repeating myself, as he did with his illustration of the alighting huma,—
