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Foot-prints, that perhaps another, Let us, then, be np and doing,
With a heart for any fute;
Learn to lavour and to wait.
The Ladder of St. Augustine. Saint Angustine! well hast thou said, We have not wings, we cannot soar; That of our vices we can fraine
But we have feet to scale and climb Aladder, if we will but tread
By slow degrees by more and inore, Beneath our feet.each deed of sbame ! The cloudy summits of our time. All common things, each day's events, The mighty pyramids of stone
That with the hour begiu and end, That wedge-like cleave the desert ains, Our pleasures and our díscoutents, When pearer seen and better known,
Are rounds by which we muy uscend. Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The low desire, the base design,
The distant mountuins that uprear That makes another's virtues less; Their solid bastions to the skies, The revel of the treachervus wine, Are crossed by pathways. that appear And all occasions of excess;
As we to biguier levels rise. The longing for ignoble things;
The heights by great men reached and The strife for triumph more than kept truth;
Were not attained by sudden flight, The hardening of the heart that brings But they, while their companions slept,
Irieverence for the dreams of youth; Were toiling upward in the night. All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds.
Standing on what too long we bore That have their root in thoughts of With shoulders bent, and downcast
eyes. Whatever hidders or impedes
We may discern-unseen before The action of the nobler will:
A path to higher destinies. All these must first be trampled down Nor deem the irrevocable Past
Beneath our feet, if we would gain As who!ly wasted, wholly vain, In the bright fields of fair renown
If, rising on its wrecks, at last The right of eminent domain.
To something nobler we attain.
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;
And breathes a beuison o'er the sleeping dust.
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown
Their bread of life; alas! no more their own.
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
Shall winuow, like a fan, the chaff and ruin.
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth.
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the place where human harvests grow!
Autumn in America.
There is a beautiful fpirit breathing DOW
Oh, what a glory doth this world pnt on
A Rainy Day.
Full late they plept. They did not hear That washed each southern window. The challenge of Sir Chanticleer. pane,
Who on the empty threshing-floor, And made a river of the road :
Disdainful of the rain outeide. A sen of mist that overflowed
Was strutting with a martial stride, The house, the barne, the gilded vane, As if upon his thigh he trore And drowned the upland and the plain. The famous broadsword of the Sqnire, Through which the oak-trees, broad and And suid. * Behold me. and admire!' high.
Only the Poet seemed to hear Like phantom ships went drifting hy; In drowse or errem more near 'and near Aud liiddı:n behind a watery screen,
Across the border-'nnd of sleep The eun upseen. or only seen
The blowing of a l'itheroine horn, As a faint pallor in the sky
That langhed the dismal dav to scorn ; Thus cold and colourleee and gray, A splasli of hoofs and rush of wheels The morn of that antampal day,
Through sand and mire like stranding As if reluctant to begin,
keels. Dawped on the silent Sndbory Inn,
As from the road with eudden gweep, And all the guests that in it lay.
The mail drove up the little steep,
And stopped beside the tavern door; Plunged forward through the sea of fog,
CHARLES SWAIN. A native of Manchester, and carrying on business there as an engraver, CHARLES SWAIN (1803–1874) became known as a poet in the pages of the Literary Gazette' and other literary journals. His collected works are : Metrical Essays,' 1827 ; "The Mind and other Poems,' 1831 ; Dramatic Chapters, Poems, and Songs,' 1847 ; English Melodies,' 1849; Art and Fashion,' 1863: and · Songs and Ballads,' 1868. Some of Mr. Swain's songs and domestic poemswhich are free from all mysticism and exaggerated sentiment-have been very popular both at home and abroad. They have great sweetness, tenderness, and melody.
The Death of the Warrior King. There are noble beads bowed down and I hen seemed the bard to cope with Time, pale,
And triumph o'er his doomDeep sounds of woe arise,
Another world in freshness burst And tears flow fast around the couch Oblivion's mighty tomb ! Where a wounded warrior lies;
Again the hardy Britone rushed The hue of death is gathering dark
Like lions to the fight. Upon his lofty brow,
While horse and foot-helm, shield, and And the arm of might and valour Lalls,
lance, Weak as an infant's wow.
Swept by his visioned sight!
The drum's heart-stirring beat, Where banner, belm, and falchion gleam- The glittering pomp of prosperous war, ed,
The rush of inillion feet, And few the bolts of war.
The magic of the minstrel's song, When, in his plenitude of power,
Which told of victories o'er, He trod the Holy Land,
Are sights and sounds the dying king I saw the routed Saracens
Shall see-sball bear no more! Flee from his blood-dark brand,
It was the hour of deep midnight, I saw him in the banquet hour
In the dim and quiet sky, Forsake the festive throng,
When, with sable cloak and 'broidered To seek his favourite minstrel's baunt,
pall, And give his soul to song:
A funeral train swept by; For dearly as he loved renown,
Dull and sad fell the torches glare
Ou many a stately crest-
To his last dark home of rest.
Under the pseudonym of Sydney Vendys,' SYDNEY DOBELL (1824–1874) published several elaborate poetical works.
He was born at Craubrook, Kent, in 1824, but spent the greater part of his youth in the neighbourhood of Cheltenham, where his father was engaged in business as a wine-merchant. In his intervals of leisure the young poet --whose regular employment was in his father's counting-house--contrived to write a dramatic poem, 'The Roman,' published in 1850. In 1854 appeared . Walder, Part the First;' in 1855, Sonnets on the
War, written in conjunction with Mr. A. Smith ; and in 1856, • England in Time of War. A man of cultivated intellectual tastes and benevolence of character, Mr. Dobell seems to have taken up some false or exaggerated theories of poetry and philosophy, and to have wasted fine thoughts and conceptions on uncongenial themes. The great error of sone of our recent poets is the want of simplicity and nature. They heap up images and sentiments, the ornaments of poetry, without aiming at order, consistency, and the natural development of passion or feeling. We have tims many beautiful and fanciful ideas, but few complete or correct poems. Part of this defect is no doubt to be attributed to the youth of the poets, for taste and judgment come slowly even where genius is abundant, but part also is due to neglect of the old masters of song. In Mr. Dobell's first poem, however, are some passages of finished blank verse:
The Italian Brothers.
I had a brother:
Where the sky regts, from broken niches-each
Rank weeds and grasses,
That wone should mock the dead. In .1871 Mr. Dobell published a spirited political lyric, entitled • England's Day.'
The day has gone by when the public of this country could be justly charged with reglect of native genius. Any inanifestation of original intellectual power bursting from obscurity is instantly recognised, fostered, and applauded. The ever-open periodical press is ready to welcome and proclaim the new comer, and there is no lack of critics animated by a tolerant and generous spirit. In 1853 appeared 'Poems' by ALEXANDER SMITH (1830-1867), the principal piece in the collection being a series of thirteen dramatic scenes, entitled 'A Life Drama.' The manuscript of this volume had been submitted to the Rev. George Gilfillan, and portions of it had been laid before the public by that enthusiastic critic, accompanied with a strong recommendation of the young author as a genuine poet of a high order. Mr. Smith (born in Kilmarnock) had been employed as a designer of patterns in one of the Glasgow factories, but the publication of his poems marked him out for higher things, and he was elected to the office of Secretary to the Edinburgh University. Thus placed in a situation favourable for the cultivation of his talents, Mr. Smith continu d his literary pursuits. He joined with Mr. Dobell, as already sta in writing a series of War Sonnets; be tributed prose essuys to some of the periodicals; and in 1857 he came