_St Simeon Stylites_ is a poem strongly and justly conceived, and written throughout with sustained and equable power. Those who have objected to it, that it is not the portrait of any _Christian_ even of that distant age and that Eastern clime, have perhaps not sufficiently consulted their ecclesiastical history, or sufficiently reflected how almost inevitably the practice of penances and self-inflictions leads to the idea that these are, in fact, a sort of present payment for the future joys of heaven. Such an idea most assuredly prevailed amongst the Eastern eremites, of whom our Simeon was a most noted example. But we cannot quote from this, or from _The Two Voices_, or from _Locksley Hall_, or from _Clara Vere de Vere_; for we wish now to select some specimen of the lighter, more playful, and graceful manner of our poet. We pause betwixt _The Day-Dream_ and _The Talking Oak_; they are both admirable: we choose the latter--we rest under its friendly, sociable shade, and its most musical of boughs. The lover holds communion with the good old oak-tree, and finds him the most amiable as well as the most discreet of confidants. May every lover find his oak-tree talk as well, and as agreeably, and give a report as welcome of his absent fair one! On being questioned--
"If ever maid or spouse As fair as my Olivia, came To rest beneath thy boughs,"
"O Walter, I have sheltered here Whatever maiden grace The good old summers, year by year, Made ripe in summer-chase:
"Old summers, when the monk was fat, And, issuing shorn and sleek, Would twist his girdle tight, and pat The girls upon the cheek;
"And I have shadow'd many a group Of beauties, that were born In teacup-times of hood and hoop, Or while the patch was worn;
"And leg and arm, with love-knots gay, About me leap'd and laugh'd The modish Cupid of the day, And shrill'd his tinsel shaft.
"I swear (and else may insects prick Each leaf into a gall) This girl for whom your heart is sick Is three times worth them all;
"I swear by leaf, and wind, and rain, (And hear me with thy ears,) That though I circle in the grain Five hundred rings of years--
"Yet since I first could cast a shade Did never creature pass So slightly, musically made, So light upon the grass: