8o.« 



REVIEW OF REVIEWS. 



October 1, 191S 



THE POET LAUREATE AND OTHERS. 



Mr. John Bailey writes in the Quat 

 terly Rt m the new V el I aureate 



For the most part, he says, Dr. Roberl 

 Bridge-.' lyrics breathe a serenity of 

 tone beautifully in accord with the 

 quiel English fields and Lines which he 

 loves His Nature poems unite a sin 

 ceritv and freshness with a rare deli- 

 cacy of phrase and deep musical feel- 

 i .ike, for instance, his lovely little 

 poem on the sea poppy : — 



A poppy grows upon the shore, 



Burst her twin cup in summer late; 



Her leaves are glaucous-green and hoar, 

 Her petals yellow, delicate. 



Oft to her cousins turns her thoughts, 

 I 'i wonder if they care thai she 



I- Fed with spray for dew, and caught 

 By every i^ale that sweeps the sea. 



She lias no lovers like the red, 

 That dances with the noble corn: 



Her blossoms on the waves are shed. 

 Where she stands shivering and forlorn. 



Or, again, take the last stanza of 

 ' Nightingales," perhaps the most beau- 

 tiful of all his lvrics. 



Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men 

 We pour our dark, nocturnal secret; and 

 then, 



A.8 night is withdrawn 



From tin-so sweet-sprin^in^ meads and burst- 

 ing boughs of May, 

 Dreain. while the innumerable choir of day 



Welcome tine dawn. 



Bui Dr. Bridges can strike a virile 

 note, as is shown in the following 

 poem, which has in it, to quote Mr 

 Bailey's words, "a virility of soul, a 

 Roman manliness, simplicity and 

 strength " : — 

 Gird >>n thy sword, man, thy strength 



In fair desire thine earth-born joy renew. 

 Live thou thy life beneath the making sun 

 Till Beauty, Truth and I. eve in thee are one 



Thru' thousand ages hath thy ehildlhood 



run : 

 (in timeless ruin hath thy glory been: 

 From the forgotten ni love's foredone 



Thou •< t he dawn of hopes unseen. 



1 1 i her and higher shall thy thoughl 3 as 

 l'ii rtars of heaven, and pass away, 



Ami can h renew t he buds of 1 hy des 

 In tied ing blooms of everla lay. 



Thy work with beauty crown, thy life with 



lo' 

 I wi1 li t ruth uplift to God above : 



For W I "in all is, 1 1 em whom wa - all b< 

 In Whom all Beauty. Truth and Love are 



one. 



IRISH GAELIC NATURE POETRY. 

 Mr. Arthur Perceval Graves, of Father 

 ' > II vnn fame, contributes an interest- 

 ing article to the Dublin Review on Irish 

 1 raelic Poetry, which he says is drenched 

 through and through with that love of 

 Nature which Matthew Arnold called 

 " Natural Magic." But it is a deeply 

 personal love of Nature. 'The Gaelic 

 bard or saint or scholar," says Mr. 

 Graves, " treated woods and hills and 

 sea, not so much as mere illustrators of 

 passing events, as the classical writers 

 treated them, but rather as companions 

 and friends, the sharers of joy, soothers 

 of sorrow." Mr. Graves illustrates his 

 point by a number of very charming 

 translations into English verse from 

 some of the earliest of the Irish Nature 

 poems. We quote Fionn's MacCumhall's 

 " Lay of Beltane," or Midsummer's 

 Day, the day on which the Baal fire was 

 lit, as it is still lit on St. John's Eve 

 throughout Ireland: — - 



Oh, mild May Day, in Fodla's clime 



Of fairy colour, the laughing prime 



Of leafy summer from year to year, 



I would that Leagha were with me here 



To lie and listen down in a dell 



To Banba's blackbird warbling well 



And lur cuckoos crying with constant strain 



Welcome, welcome the bright Beltane! 



When the swallows are skimming the shore, 



And the swift steed stoops to the fountain, 

 And the weak, fair bod-down grows on the 

 moor, 



And the heath spreads her hair on the 

 mountain, 

 And the signs of heaven are in consterna- 

 tion, 



And the rushing planets such radiance 

 pour, 

 That the sea lies lulled, and the generation 



Of flowers awakes once more. 



" THE HEART OF A SEAMSTRESS." 



The following verses are the first and 

 last of a poem by Mr. Thomas Moult, 

 entitled "The Heart of a Seamstress," 

 and published in the Englishwoman : — 



t'd like to resi these tired eyes, 



On that green place where once I lay 



Dei p in flic grass and thought the skies- 



I > ■ ■ i and and blue to pass away. 



I'd like to put t his needle down 



\itd never stitch another seam, 



And seek the place beyond the town 



Where once 1 dreamed 



(Ah, God ! my dream !) 



