322 Monthly Review of Literature. 



to recognise the unsuccessful novelist in the more sober but better fitting dress 

 of the anecdotist the painter of men and manners. 



Poems Original and Translated, by C.P. WYATT, B.A. J. Fraser. 

 IN the iron age of poetry, it is refreshing to find that the Muses have not en- 

 tirely left their abode on earth. So seldom are we privileged to read a bit of 

 true poetry from the pen of our contemporaries that we are quite out of practice 

 in such criticism. It may be a blunder on our part ; but we think that in the 

 little volume before us there are some very pretty gems. 



Let a few extracts decide the truth or falsehood of our judgment. 



THE KNIGHT OF ARKENDALE. 



THE valiant knight of Arkendale from Holy Land he came, 

 Where quailed the Saracen before the terror of his name ; 

 Now tired of siege and battle, for home his bosom burned, 

 And to his native halls and lands content the chief returned. 



What change comes o'er thy joyous brow, brave knight of Arkendale ? 

 Why pausest thou so suddenly ? why doth thy cheek grow pale ? 

 Why look'st around bewildered? Perchance, there's one can say : 

 This aged man thatjneets thee here upon thine homeward way. 



*' O what is this, thou aged man ?" the knight in wonder cried ; 

 " Where be the towers that once stood upon that hill's brown side ? 

 Where be the huts and shepherds all down this pleasant vale ? 

 And where oh ! where the lady of the knight of Arkendale ?" 



" Sir knight," replied that aged man, "the lord of these domains 

 Long time hath sought the distant wars on Syria's burning plains ; 

 His vassals deemed he bold, and his lady true and kind, 

 And his towers strong ! it irked him naught of danger left behind. 



" Sir Mark of Hellbeck was his- foe : scarce had a year gone o'er, 

 Ere on the lands of Arkendale with fire and sword he bore ; 

 He came with all his warriors, and scoured the valley through. 

 The shepherds fled, the armed fought brave men, but ah! too few. 



" He came with ladder and with torch, and hemmed the castle round. 

 And the stately towers burned and blazed, and crumbled to the ground." 

 " Enough, good man !" exclaimed the knight ; " despite this woful tale, 

 Sir Mark of Hellbeck yet may know the knight of Arkendale. 



" But, say, what of the lady that the knight had left behind ? 

 His faithful wife, where is she gone, that was so true and kind?" 

 " O knight ! the faithless lady ! not many moons had shone, 

 Ere she her own knight had forgot, and with a stranger flown. 



" A southern lord to Arkendale, while yet its castle stood, 



Came young and gay ; his honied words the beauteous lady woo'd : 



Of plighted vow she recked not, nor of her marriage bed, 



But lightly with her paramour to other bowers fled." 



" And is it thus ?" the knight exclaimed ; and " dost thou tell me true ?" 

 " Now Heaven in anger grant," he said, " that falsehood I may rue !" 

 " Then is the fate too cruel," the soul-struck warrior cried, 

 " That not in Syria's battle I by Paynim steel had died ! 



" Enough, enough, thou aged man ! My faithful vassals gone. 

 My ravaged lands, my castle razed, fierce vengeance might atone ; 

 These had not bowed my spirit : though spent with years and toil. 

 The knight of Arkendale had yet wreaked justice for the spoil. 



