The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear, Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas! To manye more than myne and mee: But each will mourn his own (she sayth), And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more I shall never hear her song, "Cusha! Cusha!" all along Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth ; From the meads where melick groweth, When the water, winding down, Onward floweth to the town. I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Stand beside the sobbing river, Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow; From your clovers lift the head; Lady Wilde. Poems under the pen-name of "Speranza" appeared in the Dublin Nation in its palmy days. They proved to be by Lady Wilde, author of "Ugo Bassi," a tale in verse (1857), and other works. A collection of her poems and translations was published in Dublin (1864) by James Mrs. Jackson, daughter of Professor N. W. Fiske, was born in Amherst, Mass., in 1831. She was married to Major Hunt, U. S. A.,-who was killed in 1863 while experimenting with a submarine battery,-and by a subsequent marriage became Mrs. Jackson. Her residence was at Newport, R. I. She has published "Verses by H. H." (1871), and a collection of foreign sketches, entitled "Bits of Travel" (1872). Her poetry unites meditative depth with rare sweetness of expression. To the question, "Is she not our best female poct?" Emerson replied, "Why not omit the word female?" THE WAY TO SING. The birds must know. Who wisely sings The common air has generous wings: No messenger to run before, No mention of the place, or hour, No waiting till some sound betrays A listening ear; No different voice, no new delays, If steps draw near. "What bird is that? The song is good." And eager eyes Go peering through the dusky wood In glad surprise. Then, late at night, when by his fire Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, By snatches, through his weary brain, When next he goes that road again, On leafless bough will make him sigh: Just here I heard, in passing by, But while he sighs, remembering In other air; and other men, On other roads, the simple strain The birds must know. Who wisely sings The common air has generous wings: MARCH. Beneath the sheltering walls the thin snow clings; At noon, to patient herds, a frosty drink Of life is kindling every twig and stalk Of lowly meadow growths; the willows weep, THOUGHT. O messenger, art thou the king, or I? And heavy dews; the morn's bright, scornful eye Reminds thee; then in subtle mockery When lo! thou stand'st before me glad and fleet, OCTOBER. O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather; When loud the bumblebee makes haste, And lanes with grapes are fragrant; When gentians roll their fringes tight, When on the ground red apples lie When all the lovely way-side things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late after-maths are growing; When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting; When comrades seek sweet country haunts, And count like misers, hour by hour, O suns and skies and flowers of June, Charles Stuart Calverley. Comic poet, hymn writer, and translator, Calverley (born 1831) has published under the initials "C. S. C.," in London, "Verses and Translations," "Translations into English and Latin," and "Fly Leaves" (1872), republished in New York. As a writer of vers de société, he differs both from Praed and Holmes, and there is a decidedly original vein in his productions. LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF Ere the morn the East has crimsoned, Is to wake, and think of you. When the hunter's ringing bugle Sounds farewell to field and copse, And I sit before my frugal Meal of gravy-soup and chops: When (as Gray remarks) "the moping Owl doth to the moon complain,” And the hour suggests elopingFly my thoughts to you again. May my dreams be granted ever? In our wildest works of fiction? Give me hope, the least, the dimmest, Not to make that arsenic up! 1 An allusion probably to Miss Jane Taylor's (not Watts's) little poem for children, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are!" ISABELLA (CRAIG) KNOX.—EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON. Isabella (Craig) Knox. Mrs. Knox first acquired distinction in literature as Miss Craig, in 1859, by gaining the £50 prize offered by the Crystal Palace Company for the best ode on the centenary celebration of the birth of Burns. She was born in 1831, in Edinburgh, and published a volume of poems in 1856. THE BRIDES OF QUAIR. A stillness crept about the house, The many-windowed house of Quair. The peacock on the terrace screamed; Browsed on the lawn the timid hare ; The great trees grew i' the avenue, Calm by the sheltered house of Quair. The pool was still; around its brim The alders sickened all the air; There came no murmur from the streams, Though nigh flowed Leithen, Tweed, and Quair. The days hold on their wonted pace, And men to court and camp repair, Their part to fill of good or ill, While women keep the house of Quair. And one is clad in widow's weeds, And one is maiden-like and fair, And day by day they seek the paths About the lonely fields of Quair. To see the trout leap in the streams, Within, in pall-black velvet clad, Sits stately in her oaken chairA stately dame of ancient nameThe mother of the house of Quair. Her daughter 'broiders by her side, "Il fare the brides that come to Quair. "For more than one hath lived in pine, And more than one hath died of care, And more than one hath sorely sinued, Left lonely in the house of Quair. "Alas! and ere thy father died, I had not in his heart a share; And now-may God forefend her illThy brother brings his bride to Quair!" She came; they kissed her in the hall, They kissed her on the winding stair; They led her to her chamber highThe fairest in the house of Quair. ""Tis fair," she said, on looking forth; "But what although 'twere bleak and bare ?" She looked the love she did not speak, And broke the ancient curse of Quair. "Where'er he dwells, where'er he goes, His dangers and his toils I share." What need be said, she was not one Of the ill-fated brides of Quair! Edward Robert Bulwer.Lytton. 845 Under the name of "Owen Meredith," Lord Lytton the younger, born in 1831, has published several volumes of verse, among them a rhymed romance (1860), entitled "Lucille." He is the only son of the first Lord Lytton, better known as Bulwer, the novelist, and inherits much of his father's talent. For about twenty years he was engaged in diplomatic service, and in 1876 was appointed Viceroy of India; a post from which he withdrew in 1880. He has written fluently and well, though there is a lack of concentration and care manifest in several of his poems. Republished in Boston, they have passed through several editions. LEOLINE. In the molten-golden moonlight, All night the hearts of nightingales, We sang our songs together Till the stars shook in the skies. We spoke we spoke of common things, Yet the tears were in our eyes. And my hand-I know it trembled To each light, warm touch of thine; But we were friends, and only friends, My sweet friend, Leoline! |