234 THE ENTOMOLOGIST’S RECORD. 
unfortunate, and some of his verses for them ring, not only with a 
deeply religious tone, but with that broad sympathy for the needs of 
the human race, that was much more rare to find forty or fifty years 
ago than it is now. His farewell poem to his bosom friend, the Dean 
of Cape Town, on leaving to take up the Bishopric of Bombay, is very 
touching and noble in its high sentiment. Or, again, his satire in 
Elizabethan style on the conduct of the festivities in the colony, when 
the then Prince of Wales was married, shows his versatile mind ; the 
closing verse runs— 
“O shame to Knyghtes and gentlemen 
That knaves should lerne them courtesie! 
Yette on thys daie of loyall joie 
The rabble dyd more gentillie !”’ 
{ cannot here touch upon his sonnets, but his Hurydice to Oxpheus 
is worth a much wider audience than it ever had. 
EKURYDICE TO ORPHEHUS. 
“ Oh better for us both hadst thou not come !— 
Here in dim Hades I abode at rest, 
My joyless life fed by deep memories 
Of thy last look of love unutterable, 
When Death, unpitying, with an iron hand 
Drew me from out the heaven of thine arms, 
And led me to these sad and sunless shades. 
‘‘ A brief while since, this passionless Obscure 
Astonished thrilled to those all-perfect tones 
Which thou alone canst waken in the lyre, 
And like a wind-swept field of ripening corn 
The thin souls swayed to the unwonted sound, 
And all the dusk became a stream of sighs 
Bearing thee onward to dread Pluto’s throne, 
And I—I only—knew the notes divine 
And thee the god-born player; but I strove 
Vainly to find a voice wherewith to stay 
Thine entrance to the presence, rashly sought, 
Of the Inflexible. 
“T followed close,— 
My love of thee o’ershadowed by cold fear 
Of what might chance,—until that awful seat 
Of blackest marble, redly interlaced 
With veins of fire, from deepest gloom stood out 
A denser darkness ; 
* * * * * * * 
“Then, as straight onward thou and music moved, 
With joy I saw an alien tenderness 
Glow on those brows immortal; strange delight 
Stole unawares into the sombre heart 
That governs Hell, and filled with throbbings sweet 
The spirit of Proserpina. Thy foot 
