THEOPHILE MARZIALS. SONG. 1850 THERE'S one great bunch of stars in That shines so sturdily, There's eke a little twinkling gem As green as beryl-blue can be, There's one that flashes flames and fire, And also there's a little star So white a virgin's it must be;Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me. A PASTORAL. FLOWER of the medlar, I saw her at the blossom-time, She swept the draughty pleasance, Redness of the red, She went to cut the blush-rose-buds To tie at the altar-head; And some around her brows, Yellow of the corn, The waking birds all whist,- That I have ever kiss'd. Marjorie, mint, and violets On one a nymph at bay, PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. 1850-1887. [BORN in London in 1850. Son of Dr. Westland Marston, poet and dramatist. When he s three years of age he received, while at play with other children, a blow in one of his eyes, which finally, in 1871, resulted in total blindness. He began to compose at an early age, and his first age, and volume of poems, Song Tide, appeared in 1871, when he was only twenty-one years of speedily reached a second edition. In 1873 he visited Italy. In 1874 his second volume of port more or less for English periodicals. Since 1876 he has been a frequent contributor to American All in All, appeared. Soon after, he became a contributor to Scribner's Magazine, and also wrote His third volume, Wind-Voices, was published in the autumn of 1883, and has been republished in this country.] periodical literature both in prose and verse. PURE SOULS. PURE Souls that watch above me from afar, To whom as to the stars I raise my MISS A: MARY F. ROBINSON. 1857 [BORN at Leamington, Feb. 27, 1857: educated in Belgium, at Brusseis, and in Italy, and completed with literary and classical studies at University College, London. Her first volume of poems, entitled A Handful of Honeysuckles, appeared in 1878: The Crowned Hippolytus, 1881; The New Arcadia, 1884. She is the author of several prose works, Janet Fisher, Arden, Lif of Emily Bronté, and has also contributed some essays to German periodicals.] LE ROI EST MORT. AND shall I weep that Love's no more, Would have his grief again. King Love is dead and gone for aye, LOVE'S EPIPHANY. TREAD Softly here- for Love has passed this way! Ay, even while I laughed to scorn His name And mocked aloud: There is no Love! Love came. The air was glorious with an added day, With lyre-shaped wings, filled with the Flew Love and deigned a moment here to stay. I fell upon my face and cried in fear, O Love! Love! Love! my King and But when I look'd He was no longer near. Since then, I watch beside this grass He trod, And pray all day, all night, for any pain PARADISE FANCIES. LAST night I met mine own true love A halo shone above his hair, We sat and sang in alleys green Believe me, this was true last night, Through Paradise garden For ever he plays. Birds fly to his head, Beasts lie at his feet, And here, far from Zion For my heart is the lute. |