Those visions high, which to forget Not these; but souls found here and there, Aud God remits his discipline, Counsel to the 'Now, while she's changing,' said the Dean, 'Her bridal for her travelling dress, I'll preach allegiance to your queen! Preaching's the trade which I profess; She's yours; but I love more than yet When time has raised the heart above Young Husband. Fear comes at first; but soon, rejoiced, The least force shakes, but none re- Her strength is your esteem; beware of finding fault; her will's unnerved To make your utmost wishes true; The death of nuptial joy is sloth: To keep your mistress in your wife, Keep to the very height your oath, And honour her with arduous life.' Mr. Patmore was born at Woodford in Essex, July 2, 1823, son of Mr. P. G. Patmore (1786-1855), author of 'Personal Recollections of Deceased Celebrities,' &c. In 1846 Mr. Coventry Patmore was appointed one of the assistant-librarians of the British Museum, but retired from the office about 1868. EDWARD ROBERT, LORD LYTTON, under the name of 'Owen Meredith,' has published two volumes of poetry- Clytemnestra,' 1855, and 'The Wanderer,' 1859. There are traces of sentimentalism and morbid feeling in the poems, but also fine fancy and graceful musical language. The poet is the only son of the first Lord Lytton, and was born November 8, 1831. The paternal taste in the selection of subjects from high life, with a certain voluptuous colouring, and a pseudo-melancholy, cynical air, has been reproduced in Owen Meredith,' though Tennyson was perhaps the favourite model. The young poet, however, had original merit enough to redeem such faults. He continued to write, and produced in succession 'Lucile,' a novel in verse, 1860; Serbski Pesme,' a translation of the national songs of Servia; The Ring of Amasis,' a prose romance, 1863: Chronicles and Characters,' two volumes of poems, chiefly historical, to which Mr. Lytton prefixed his own name; ‘Orval, or the Fool of Time,' a dramatic poem, &c. For about twenty years Lord Lytton was engaged in the diplomatic service abroad, and in 1876 was appointed Governor-general or Viceroy of India. In 1874 the noble poet published two volumes of Fables' in verse. My little love do you remember, The Chess-board. Ere we were grown so sadly wise, Checkmated by each other's eyes? Moves sidling, through the fight. Rides slow her soldiery all between, Ah me! the little battle's done, Full many a move, since then, have we This, this, at least-if this alone- Ere we were grown so sadly wise- Aud eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, Play chess as then we played together! Changes. Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. Much must be borne which it is hard to bear: My little boy begins to babble now Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, Who might have been-ah, what I dare not think! But blame us women not, if some appear Too cold at times; and some too gay and light. Ah, were we judged by what we might have been, My little child-he sleeps and smiles between These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all ! The REV. HENRY FRANCIS LYTE (died in 1847) wrote 'Tales in Verse,' 1830; Poems;' 'Ballads;' &c. His sacred poetry is of supe rior merit. There is in the lone, lone sea, The Sailor's Grave. A spot unmarked, but holy, Down, down, beneath the deep, He sleeps-he sleeps, serene and safe The sea and him in death And though no stone may tell Hymn-'Abide with Me!→ Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; Swift to its close cbbs out life's little day; Not a brief glance I beg. a passing word, Come, not in terrors, as the King of kings. I need thy presence every passing hour: I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness: Where is death's sting? where. grave, thy victory? Reveal Thyself before my closing eyes, Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: CHARLES KENT (born in London in 1823) has published 'Dreamland, with other Poems,' 1862; and a collective edition of his ' Poems' was issued in 1870. Mr. Kent has also written several prose tales and essays. Love's Calendar. Talk of love in vernal hours, When the primrose springing Talk of love in summer-t de When through bosky shallows Trills the streamlet-all its side Pranked with freckled mallows; When in mossy lair of wrens Tiny eggs are warming; When above the reedy fens Dragon-gnats are swarming. Talk of love in autumn days, Talk of love in winter time, LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY. One of the best and most prolific of the American poetesses was MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY, born in Norwich, Connecticut, in 1791; died at Hartford in 1865. Maria Edgeworth and a host of critics have borne testimony to the poetic genius and moral influence of this accomplished woman. The Early Blue-bird. Blue-bird! on yon leafless tree, Strik'st thou not too bold a strain? Midnight Borne upon the ocean's foam, Spring's a maid of mirth and glee, Ask her if, when storms are long, Thoughts at Sea. Blast and surge, conflicting hoarse, Hearts there are with love that burn Wrecks are darkly spread below, JOHN G. WHITTIER. He The Society of Friends, or Quakers, in America can boast of a poet who more than rivals their English representative, Bernard Barton. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, born near Haverhill, Massachusetts, in 1808, passed his early years on his father's farm; but after he came of age was chiefly engaged in literary pursuits. edited several newspapers, and was an active opponent of negro slavery. He has published Legends of New England,' in prose and verse, 1831; a volume of Ballads,' 1838; The Stranger in Lowell' (prose essays), 1845; 'Voices of Freedom,' 1849; Songs of Labour,' 1850; National Lyrics,' 1865; 'Maud Müller,' 1866; and various other poetical tales and sketches. There is a neat compact edition of his collected poetical works in two small volumes (the Merrimack Edition'), 1869. In 1873 he published 'The Pennsylvanian Pilgrim, and other Poems,' which shewed that his fine vein of thought and melody was unimpaired. The Robin. My old Welsh neighbour over the way Her grandson, playing at marbles, stop- And, cruel in sport as boys will be, Tossed a stone at the bird. who hopped From bough to bough in the apple-tree. "Nay!' said the grandmother, 'have you My poor, bad boy, of the fiery pit, bird Carries the water that quenches it? 'He brings cool dew in his little bill, And lets it fall on the souls of gin: Barbara Up from the meadows, rich with corn, You can see the mark on his red breast still Of fires that scorch as he drops it in. 'My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast- Singing so sweetly from limb to limb, Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well: 'Prayers of love like rain-drops fall, Fritchie. Round about them orchards sweep, To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. |