Text: Anonymous, “[Review of The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe],” Message Bird: A Literary and Musical Journal (New York, NY), vol. 1, no. 14, February 15, 1850, pp. 227-228

[page 227, column 3:]

THE WORKS OF THE LATE E. A. POE; with Notices of his Life and Genius. Published by T [[J]]. S. Redfield, New-York.

We have recently seen, and read much in the columns of the press of this city respecting Mr. Poe. Some of the editors of the journals, forgetting, we presume, that men should only meddle with those remembrances of the dead, which entitle them to hold a worthy place in our memories, have busied themselves with .singular industry in recalling his back-slidings. We do not envy them the satisfaction of their retrospects. When a genius is blotted out from amongst us, we prefer to dwell on that which he has left behind him, rather than to recall that which is for ever gone from amongst us. However, what his past friends or enemies may now say about him will matter little. Peace be with his ashes. He is de parted where he will trouble little at the testimony which may be offered against him, and chafe nothing at the evil that is scattered on the memory of his career on earth. As for us to our task. We have but to do with the works, and with the genius of the dead.

We will at once confess, that we rate these very highly, more so possibly than most of Edgar Poe's friends and admirers, though he had many. If not the best of American Prose writers, Mr. Poe takes high place, — indeed, in our opinion, he ranks as very decidedly the second of those lighter writers, who have tarried on the verge of romance writing, and ever and anon crossed its scarcely visible boundary.

Indeed as a prose writer, Mr. Poe can only be classed as inferior to Washington Irving. As a poet he stands alone. Marked and strikingly distinct in his characteristics, he has been no borrower. Indeed, we know of no writer of the present day who was so singularly little indebted to the reflex of the mind of other men. Thrown off, as we must believe, more at chance moods and tempers, than from any determinate and wilful exercise of the poetic powers, his poems are all honestly and strikingly his own. Not one is there possibly of the few which remain behind him that could be attributed to another poet by any who have the tact of style or thought. Turn over the pages of the Second Volumes. Run your eyes over the lines, “For Anie [[Annie]],” read “A Dream within a Dream,” “Annabel Lee,” and “Lenore,” and tell us reader, if you have any soul for poetry, what you think of the man who wrote them. Was he not a poet ? A poet in the right and might of his own thoughts, and this whatever may be said of him now by men who would in all probability, have been his friends, had he still remained amongst us. We, ourselves, are at a loss to imagine what is meant by thus assailing the memory of the dead, and this but the more especially, when he has left behind him so brief and scattered a remnant of his intellect and his genius. He does not possess, like Washington Irving, an European reputation. Yet have we no hesitation in foretelling for him the certainty of his gaining one ere long, and this probably of a higher, and more enduring order, than that of several American writers, who are now better known to the old world. While living his writings may possibly have gained for him here that contemporary jealousy which generally haunts the primary efforts of genius. But now should be a time for all such jealousies to cease, and at the least acknowlege [[acknowledge]] that a bright spirit is gone out from amongst us.

But the traces of Mr. Poe's poetic powers are not alone to be found in his poems. They exist almost as strongly — perhaps even more strongly in the prose works, which form the greater part of these two volumes, mingled with an oddity and peculiar train of thought, which arc singularly his own. This is more conspicuous in the vein of scientific drollery, as we would call it, but for the seriousness which marks its development, which runs through the greater portion of his prose works, and very decidedly marks all the more able and sterling productions of his pen. [page 228:] We would call attention to one of these which is cast in a more serious mould. This is the “Eureka,” one decidedly of the most singular and characteristic of all his prose works. We will not take this as a pre sent system of natural philosophy in its higher and more definite sense, which was undoubtedly the intention of the author. But let us take it simply as an evidence of his power as a writer, and we shall be lost in our admiration of the manner in which it is executed. As a brief whole, it is well nigh perfect as a specimen of literary composition, and may well be be called unique. It is compressed and energetic in style, yet never obscure, and in some instances approaches as closely to poetry as prose do. Let it be remembered also, that this approach to poetry is achieved in a a subject which has hitherto seemed to present an impossibility to the poetic pen; a subject whose concision would seem to be inevitably opposed to it — the philosophy, if we may so term it, of creation; and let it at once be admitted, that the man who has done this, was a man of singular power of intellect; one in short, from whom, greater things were to be expected, then any which he had heretofore clone, and whose powers of mind, if directed into a simpler channel, must have already procured for him a lofty and undying name. Of this, however, we have but little fear. Brief, as are these two volumes, we predict for them a wide and growing reputation. They cannot fail to attain it. But to return to the “Eureka.” It is not in our power in the limited space which is here devoted to our review of the work, to enter on the consideration of the philosophical questions connected with the subject. They are too complex and vast to be treated of in the one or two columns which we can here afford the works of Edgar A. Poe, and unless treated in the fullest manner, we feel that we should be doing an injustice, both to the author and the subject. Much of the matter contained in these two volumes is however too lightly put together to afford us the chance of a careful examination. It would take more space, and more time, than we should feel justified in at present bestowing upon it. We can, nevertheless, feel no hesitation in promising our readers, in the course of the few next weeks, to bestow a somewhat more complete review upon it, than we can at present afford. In a less tangible and important degree, Mr. Poe was as singular a moral phenomenon as Emanuel Swedenborg, who was a poet — for what is the prophet or seer other than a poet — and a man of deep learning and science in a smaller way such was Edgar A. Poe. He, however, possessed a purely literary tact and capability, in which it is more than probable, the peculiar line of his genius will have but few followers. This is one of the most singular capabilities which seem to have marked him. Let us again call’ the attention of the reader, to the brevity and sparkling conciseness with which he has written the “Eureka.” The whole of its arguments are contained in something less than a hundred pages ; neither is it baldly or barely written. In fact, the style is sparkling and elegant throughout, in spite of the terseness with which it deals with fact; and, indeed setting aside every other claim which it might have upon the reader, it may be regarded as an admirable model for this species of composition. Never absolutely rejecting ornament when it would appear appropriate, it is equally removed from the too common feeling which would appear to attend the prose of a man born a poet. But for the difference of subject, we would almost have compared it with the prose of Robert Southey, which, in some respects, was the ablest and more concise style of prose composition ever penned by a poet. In fact, we regard .the mere talent as a writer, shown by Edgar A. Poe, as in every respect a proof of his consummate taste. When we next recur to these, volumes, or rather to the “Eureka,” we shall examine its claims to philosophical consideration. In the mean-time, we abandon these volumes to the chance reader, for whom they will have good attractions, insomuch as they contain poem, tale, and essay. Although far [column 2:] from containing all that Poe has written, they possess something of his excellence in well nigh every style, and may be taken as the first instalment made towards procuring him a lasting reputation. We have no hesitation in prophesying their success in the hand of all readers, and saying that many years will not elapse, without giving the public a larger and more complete edition of his numerous and scattered works.