With calm prerogative the eternal pile
Impassive shone with the unearthly light
Of immortality. When conquering suns
Triumphed in jubilant earth, it stood out dark
With thoughts of ages: like some mighty captive
Upon his death-bed in a Christian land,
And lying, through the chant of psalm and creed,
Unshriven and stern, with peace upon his brow,
And on his lips strange gods.

Rank weeds and grasses, Careless and nodding, grew, and asked no leave, Where Romans trembled. Where the wreck was saddest,

Sweet pensive herbs, that had been gay elsewhere,
With conscious mien of place rose tall and still,
And bent with duty. Like some village children
Who found a dead king on a battle-field,
And with decorous care and reverent pity
Composed the lordly ruin, and sat down
Grave without tears. At length the giant lay,
And everywhere he was begirt with years,
And everywhere the torn and mouldering Past
Hung with the ivy. For Time, smit with honour
Of what he slew, cast his own mantle on him,
That none should mock the dead.

In 1871 Mr Dobell published a spirited political lyric, entitled England's Day.

The day has gone by when the public of this country could be justly charged with neglect of native genius. Any manifestation of original intellectual power bursting from obscurity is instantly recognised, fostered, and applauded. The ever-open periodical press is ready to welcome and proclaim the new comer, and there is no lack of critics animated by a tolerant and generous spirit. In 1853 appeared Poems by ALEXANDER SMITH (1830-1867), the principal piece in the collection being a series of thirteen dramatic scenes, entitled A Life Drama. The manuscript of this volume had been submitted to the Rev. George Gilfillan, and portions of it had been laid before the public by that enthusiastic critic, accompanied with a strong recommendation of the young author as a genuine poet of a high order. Mr Smith (born in Kilmarnock) had been employed as a designer of patterns in one of the Glasgow factories, but the publication of his poems marked him out for higher things, and he was elected to the office of Secretary to the Edinburgh University. Thus placed in a situation favourable for the cultivation of his talents, Mr Smith continued his literary pursuits. He joined with Mr Dobell, as already stated, in writing a series of War Sonnets; he contributed prose essays to some of the periodicals; and in 1857 he came forward with a second volume of verse, City Poems, similar in style to his first collection. In 1861 appeared Edwin of Deira. Nearly all Mr Smith's poetry bears the impress of youth -excessive imagery and ornament, a want of art and regularity. In one of Miss Mitford's letters we read: 'Mr Kingsley says that Alfred Tennyson says that Alexander Smith's poems shew fancy, but not imagination; and on my repeating this to Mrs Browning, she said it was exactly her impression.' The young poet had, however, a vein of fervid poetic feeling, attesting the genuineness of his inspiration, and a fertile fancy that could form brilliant pictures. With diligent study, simplicity, distinctness, and vigour might have been added, had the poet not been cut down in the very flower of his youth and genius. His prose works, Dreamthorp, A Book of Essays, A Summer in

Skye, and Alfred Hagart's Household, are admirably written. A Memoir of Smith, with some literary remains, was published in 1868, edited by P. P. Alexander.

Autumn.

The lark is singing in the blinding sky,
Hedges are white with May. The bridegroom sea
Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride,
And, in the fullness of his marriage joy,
He decorates her tawny brow with shells,
Retires a space to see how fair she looks,
Then proud, runs up to kiss her. All is fair-
All glad, from grass to sun! Yet more I love
Than this, the shrinking day, that sometimes comes
In Winter's front, so fair 'mong its dark peers,
It seems a straggler from the files of June,
Which in its wanderings had lost its wits,
And half its beauty; and, when it returned,
Finding its old companions gone away,

It joined November's troop, then marching past;
And so the frail thing comes, and greets the world
With a thin crazy smile, then bursts in tears,
And all the while it holds within its hand
A few half-withered flowers.

Unrest and Childhood.

Unrest! unrest! The passion-panting sea
Watches the unveiled beauty of the stars
Like a great hungry soul. The unquiet clouds
Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass,
And float like mighty icebergs through the blue.
Summers, like blushes, sweep the face of earth;
Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the frantic rain;
We hear the wail of the remorseful winds

In their strange penance. And this wretched orb
Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world,
Homeless and sobbing through the deep she goes,

[A child runs past.]

O thou bright thing, fresh from the hand of God;
The motions of thy dancing limbs are swayed
By the unceasing music of thy being !
Nearer I seem to God when looking on thee.
'Tis ages since He made his youngest star,
His hand was on thee as 'twere yesterday.
Thou later revelation! Silver stream,
Breaking with laughter from the lake divine
Whence all things flow. O bright and singing babe,
What wilt thou be hereafter?

GERALD MASSEY, born at Tring, in Hertfordshire, in the year 1828, has fought his way to distinction in the face of severe difficulties. Up to his seventeenth or eighteenth year he was either a factory or an errand boy. He then tried periodical writing, and after some obscure efforts, produced in 1854 the Ballad of Babe Christabel, and other Poems, a volume that passed through several editions; in 1855, War Waits; in 1856, Craigcrook Castle, and other Poems. Mr Massey is author also of Havelock's March, 1861; Tale of Eternity, 1869; and of various other pieces in prose and verse. By these publications, and with occasional labours as a journalist and lecturer, he has honourably established himself in the literary profession. His poetry possesses both fire and tenderness, with a delicate lyrical fancy, but is often crude and irregular in style. It is remarkable that the diligence and perseverance which enabled the young poet to surmount his early troubles, should not have been employed to correct and harmonise his verse. Of all the self-taught English

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Of limber bees that in the monkshood bells
House diligent; the imperishable glow
Of summer sunshine never more confessed
The harmony of nature, the divine
Diffusive spirit of the Beautiful.

Out in the snowy dimness, half revealed,
Like ghosts in glimpsing moonshine, wildly run
The children in bewildering delight.

The young poet received this specimen page as 'good news,' and said he could now subside tranquilly without tears' into his eternal rest. A monument was erected to his memory at Kirkintilloch in 1865, Mr Henry Glassford Bell, the sheriff of Glasgow, delivering an interesting speech on the occasion. The monument bears the following inscription, from the pen of Lord Houghton: This monument of affection, admiration, and regret, is erected to DAVID GRAY, the poet of Merkland, by friends from far and near, desirous that his grave should be remembered amid the scenes of his rare genius and early death, and by the Luggie, now numbered with the streams illustrious in Scottish song. Born 29th January 1838; died 3d December 1861.' Three of the most active of the literary friends of David Gray-namely, Lord Houghton, Mr Hedderwick (the accomplished and affectionate biographer of the poet), and Sheriff Bell (whose latest literary task was editing a new edition of Gray's Poems)-have borne testimony to the rich though immature genius of this young poet, and to the pure and noble thoughts which fired his ambition, and guided his course through the short period of his life. Besides his principal poem, The Luggie, Gray wrote a series of Sonnets entitled In the Shadows, which are no less touching than beautiful in composition, and greatly superior to the poetry of Michael Bruce, written under similarly affecting circumstances.

An Autumnal Day.

Beneath an ash in beauty tender leaved,

And through whose boughs the glimmering sunshine flowed

In rare ethereal jasper, making cool

A chequered shadow in the dark green grass,
I lay enchanted. At my head there bloomed
A hedge of sweet-brier, fragrant as the breath
Of maid beloved, when her cheek is laid
To yours in downy pressure, soft as sleep.
A bank of harebells, flowers unspeakable
For half-transparent azure, nodding, gleamed
As a faint zephyr, laden with perfume,
Kissed them to motion, gently, with no will.
Before me streams most dear unto my heart,
Sweet Luggie, sylvan Bothlin-fairer twain'
Than ever sung themselves into the sea,
Lucid Ægean, gemmed with sacred isles-
Were rolled together in an emerald vale;
And into the severe bright noon, the smoke
In airy circles o'er the sycamores
Upcurled a lonely little cloud of blue
Above the happy hamlet. Far away,
A gently rising hill with umbrage clad,
Hazel and glossy birch and silver fir,

Met the keen sky. Oh, in that wood, I know,
The woodruff and the hyacinth are fair
In their own season; with the bilberry
Of dim and misty blue, to childhood dear.
Here on a sunny August afternoon,
A vision stirred my spirit half-awake
To fling a purer lustre on those fields

That knew my boyish footsteps; and to sing Thy pastoral beauty, Luggie, into fame.

If it must be that I Die young.

If it must be; if it must be, O God!
That I die young, and make no further moans;
That, underneath the unrespective sod,

In unescutcheoned privacy, my bones

Shall crumble soon-then give me strength to bear
The last convulsive throe of too sweet breath!

I tremble from the edge of life to dare
The dark and fatal leap, having no faith,
No glorious yearning for the Apocalypse;
But like a child that in the night-time cries
For light, I cry; forgetting the eclipse
Of knowledge and our human destinies.
O peevish and uncertain soul ! obey
The law of life in patience till the day.

All Fair Things at their Death the Fairest. Why are all fair things at their death the fairest ? Beauty, the beautifullest in decay? Why doth rich sunset clothe each closing day With ever new apparelling the rarest ? Why are the sweetest melodies all born Of pain and sorrow? Mourneth not the dove, In the green forest gloom, an absent love? Leaning her breast against that cruel thorn, Doth not the nightingale, poor bird, complain And integrate her uncontrollable woe To such perfection, that to hear is pain? Thus Sorrow and Death-alone realitiesSweeten their ministration, and bestow On troublous life a relish of the skies!

Spring.

Now, while the long-delaying ash assumes
The delicate April green, and loud, and clear,
Through the cool, yellow, twilight glooms,
The thrush's song enchants the captive ear;
Now, while a shower is pleasant in the falling,
Stirring the still perfume that wakes around;
Now that doves mourn, and from the distance calling,
The cuckoo answers with a sovereign sound-
Come with thy native heart, O true and tried !
But leave all books; for what with converse high,
Flavoured with Attic wit, the time shall glide
On smoothly, as a river floweth by,

Or as on stately pinion, through the gray
Evening, the culver cuts his liquid way.

THOMAS RAGG-THOMAS COOPER.

Two other poets sprung from the people, and honourably distinguished for self-cultivation, merit notice. THOMAS RAGG was born in Nottingham in 1808. In 1833 he issued his first publication, The Incarnation, and other Poems, being at that time engaged in a lace-factory. The Incarnation was part of a philosophical poem on The Deity, and was published for the purpose of ascertaining whether means could be obtained for the publication of the whole. In consequence of favourable critical notices, two gentlemen in the west of England-whose names deserve to be recorded-Mr Mann of Andover, and Mr Wyatt of Stroud, offered to become responsible for the expenses of bringing out The Deity, and the then venerable James Montgomery undertook to revise the manuscript. It was published in 1834 with considerable success. In 1835 he produced The Martyr of Verulam, and other Poems; in 1837, Lyrics from the Pentateuch; in 1840, Heber and

other Poems; in 1847, Scenes and Sketches; in 1855, Creation's Testimony to its Author; and in 1858, Man's Dreams and God's Realities. The poet had been successively newspaper reporter and bookseller; but in 1858 Dr Murray, Bishop of Rochester, offered him ordination in the church, and he is now vicar of Lawley, near Wellington, Salop.

The Earth full of Love.-From 'Heber? The earth is full of love, albeit the storms Of passion mar its influence benign, And drown its voice with discords. Every flower That to the sun its heaving breast expands Is born of love. And every song of bird That floats, mellifluent, on the balmy air, Is but a love-note. Heaven is full of love; Its starry eyes run o'er with tenderness, And soften every heart that meets their gaze, As downward looking on this wayword world They light it back to God. But neither stars, Nor flowers, nor song of birds, nor earth, nor heaven, So tell the wonders of that glorious name, As they shall be revealed, when comes the hour Of nature's consummation, hoped-for long, When, passed the checkered vestibule of time, The creature in immortal youth shall bloom, And good, unmixed with ill, for ever reign. THOMAS COOPER, 'the Chartist,' while confined in Stafford jail, 1842-44, wrote a poem in the Spenserian stanza, entitled The Purgatory of Suicides, which evinces poetical power and fancy, and has gone through several editions. This work was published in 1845; and the same year Mr Cooper issued a series of prose tales and sketches, Wise Saws and Modern Instances. In the following year he published The Baron's Yule Feast, a Christmas Rhyme. Though addressed, like the Corn-law Rhymes of Elliott, to the working-classes, and tinged with some jaundiced and gloomy views of society, there is true poetry in Mr Cooper's rhymes. The following is a scrap of landscape-painting—a Christmas scene:

How joyously the lady bells

Shout, though the bluff north breeze
Loudly his boisterous bugle swells!
And though the brooklets freeze,
How fair the leafless hawthorn tree
Waves with its hoar-frost tracery!

While sun-smiles throw o'er stalks and stems
Sparkles so far transcending gems,

The bard would gloze who said their sheen
Did not out-diamond

All brightest gauds that man hath seen
Worn by earth's proudest king or queen,
In pomp and grandeur throned!

In 1848 Mr Cooper became a political and historical lecturer, set up cheap political journals, which soon died, and wrote two novels, Alderman Ralph, 1853, and The Family Feud, 1854. He was tinged with infidel opinions, but these he renounced, and commenced a course of Sunday evening lectures and discussions in support of Christianity. He has also written an account of his Life, which has reached a third edition.

LORD JOHN MANNERS-HON. MR SMYTHE.

A series of poetical works, termed Young England' or 'Tractarian Poetry' appeared in 1840 and 1841. England's Trust, and other Poems, by LORD JOHN MANNERS; Historic Fancies, by the

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HON. MR SMYTHE (afterwards Lord Strangford); The Cherwell Water Lily, &c., by the REV. F. W. FABER. The chief object of these works was to revive the taste for feudal feeling and ancient sports, combined with certain theological and political opinions characteristic of a past age. The works had poetical and amiable feeling, but were youthful, immature productions; and Lord John Manners must have regretted the couplet which we here print in Italics, and which occasioned no small ridicule :

No; by the names inscribed in History's page,
Names that are England's noblest heritage;
Names that shall live for yet unnumbered years
Shrined in our hearts with Cressy and Poictiers;
Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die,
But leave us still our old nobility.

Lord John has since applied himself to politics. He held office in the Conservative administrations from 1852 to 1867, and again in Mr Disraeli's administration of 1874, being appointed Postmaster-general. His lordship is author also of Notes of an Irish Tour, 1849; English Ballads and other Poems, 1850; A Cruise in Scotch Waters; and several pamphlets on religious and political questions.

Lord Strangford (the seventh viscount) also took a part in public affairs, and promised to become an able debater, but ill health withdrew him from both politics and literature. He died in 1857, at the age of forty.

CHARLES MACKAY.

Among the authors of the day, uniting political sympathies and aspirations with lyrical poetry, is DR CHARLES MACKAY. Some of his songs are familiar as household words both in this country and in America, and his influence as an apostle or minstrel of social reform and the domestic affections must have been considerable. Dr Mackay commenced his literary career in 1834, in his twentieth year, by the publication of a small volume of poems. Shortly afterwards he became connected with the Morning Chronicle daily journal, and continued in this laborious service for nine years. In 1840, he published The Hope of the World, a poem in verse of the style of Pope and Goldsmith. In 1842 appeared The Salamandrine, a poetical romance founded on the Rosicrucian system, which supplied Pope with the inimitable aërial personages of his Rape of the Lock. The Salamandrine is the most finished of Dr Mackay's works, and has passed through several editions. From 1844 to 1847, our author conducted a Scottish newspaper, the Glasgow Argus; and while resident in the north, he received the honorary distinction of LL.D. from the university of Glasgow. Returning to London, he resumed his connection with the metropolitan press, and was for several years editor of the Illustrated London News, in the columns of which many of his poetical pieces first appeared. His collected works, in addition to those already enumerated, consist of Legends of the Isles, 1845; Voices from the Crowd, 1846; Voices from the Mountains, 1847; Town Lyrics, 1848; Egeria, or the Spirit of Nature, 1850; The Lump of Gold, &c. 1856; Songs for Music, 1857; Under Green Leaves, 1858; A Man's Heart, 1860; Studies from the Antique, 1864, &c.

Some prose works have also proceeded from the pen of Dr Mackay-The Thames and its Tributaries, two volumes, 1840; Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions, two volumes, 1852; &c. In 1852, Dr Mackay made a tour in America, and delivered a course of lectures on Poetry, which he has repeated in this country. His transatlantic impressions he has embodied in two volumes of lively description, bearing the title of Life and Liberty in America. The poet, we may add, is a native of Perth, born in 1814, while his father, an officer in the army, was on recruiting service. He was in infancy removed to London, and five years of his youth were spent in Belgium.

Apologue from 'Egeria.

In ancient time, two acorns, in their cups,
Shaken by winds and ripeness from the tree,
Dropped side by side into the ferns and grass.
Where have I fallen ? to what base region come?’
Exclaimed the one. The joyous breeze no more
Rocks me to slumber on the sheltering bough;
The sunlight streams no longer on my face;
I look no more from altitudes serene
Upon the world reposing far below;
Its plains, its hills, its rivers, and its woods.
To me the nightingale sings hymns no more;
But I am made companion of the worm,
And rot on the chill earth. Around me grow
Nothing but useless weeds, and grass, and fern,
Unfit to hold companionship with me.

Ah me ! most wretched ! rain, and frost, and dew,
And all the pangs and penalties of earth,
Corrupt me where I lie-degenerate.'

And thus the acorn made its daily moan.

The other raised no murmur of complaint,

And looked with no contempt upon the grass,
Nor called the branching fern a worthless weed,

Nor scorned the woodland flowers that round it blew.

All silently and piously it lay

Upon the kindly bosom of the earth.

It blessed the warmth with which the noonday sun
Made fruitful all the ground; it loved the dews,
The moonlight and the snow, the frost and rain,
And all the change of seasons as they passed.
It sank into the bosom of the soil:
The bursting life, inclosed within its husk,
Broke through its fetters; it extended roots,
And twined them freely in the grateful ground;
It sprouted up, and looked upon the light;
The sunshine fed it; the embracing air
Endowed it with vitality and strength;
The rains of heaven supplied it nourishment,
And so from month to month, and year to year,
It grew in beauty and in usefulness,
Until its large circumference inclosed
Shelter for flocks and herds; until its boughs
Afforded homes for happy multitudes,

The dormouse, and the chaffinch, and the jay,
And countless myriads of minuter life;
Until its bole, too vast for the embrace
Of human arms, stood in the forest depths,
The model and the glory of the wood.
Its sister-acorn perished in its pride.

Love New and Old.

And were they not the happy days
When Love and I were young,

When earth was robed in heavenly light,

And all creation sung?

When gazing in my true love's face, Through greenwood alleys lone, 81

I guessed the secrets of her heart,
By whispers of mine own.

And are they not the happy days
When Love and I are old,
And silver evening has replaced
A morn and noon of gold?
Love stood alone mid youthful joy,
But now by sorrow tried,
It sits and calmly looks to heaven
With angels at its side.

Song-Tubal Cain.

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might

In the days when Earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang : Hurra for my handiwork !
Hurra for the spear and sword!

،

Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord!'

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire,

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade As the crown of his desire :

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,
And spoils of the forest free.

And they sang: 'Hurra for Tubal Cain,
Who has given us strength anew!
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire,
And hurra for the metal true!'

But a sudden change came o'er his heart
Ere the setting of the sun,

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done;

He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind,

That the land was red with the blood they shed, In their lust for carnage blind.

And he said: 'Alas! that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,

The spear and the sword for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow-man!'

And for many a day old Tubal Cain

Sat brooding o'er his woe;

And his hand forebore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smouldered low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright courageous eye,
And bared his strong right arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high.
And he sang : 'Hurra for my handiwork!'
And the red sparks lit the air;

'Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made;' And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship joined their hands,

Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And ploughed the willing lands;