The Portland daily press., 1876-05-03
POETRY.
A Poet to a Babe.
Birth-song by Swinburne for EScssetti's
Child.

An exquisite poem by Mr. Swinburne is pub
lshed in the Athenaum for February 10. 1t is
"birth-song,' addressed to babe born last
September to his friends Mr. and Mrs, w. M.
Rossetti, and is not to be frlly understood with
out few predatory lines concerning a young
man of great promise, who died in 1874, to
whom the allusions in the fifth and subsequent
stanzas refer. This youth, Oliver MADDOX
Brown, was son of the pre-Raphaelite painter
of that name; he began to paint in water color
when he was eight years old, exhibited in 1869,
when but IA, and, two years after, began to
write weird and thoughtful romances, one OF
which was published during his life, and 9TH
ers, mere fragments, have been, since his death,
with memoir by w. NJ, Rossetti. OF one of
these, "The Dwale Ruth" IA Devonshire name
for the deadly night shade), an Euglish critic
says: st reminds US of the Brontes but of
EMILY rather than of Charlotte. This resem-
blance is chiefly in the character. of the incl
dents aud the description of scenery, while
certain introspective glance, certain mode OF
tracing out subtle ana,oges between the outer
life of nature and the inner life of man, recalls
the still greater name of the famous American
romance.writer. The very way in which the
Dwale Bluth clings to the hair, and poisohs the
wearer seems to show its relationship to the
flowers in Rappaccinis garden, or among Ze-
nobias tresses. or by the grave which Septim
'us had dug" The extracts given bear out this
comparison, and Indicate mind which in the
future. bad he lived, would have found some
thing better to do than TO initiate. He died in
his 10Th year, simply worn out by the abnormal
and unchecked activity of his brain, which
filled his last days. IL is OF this boy that
Swinburne asks fol tidings in this exceedingly
beautiful greeting TO "Ova Frances MADDOX
Rossetti':
Out of the dark sweet sleep
Where no dreams laugh or weep,
Borne through bright gates of birth
Into the dim sweet light
Where day still dreams of night
While heaven takes form on earth,
White rose OF spirit and hesh red lily of love,
What note of song have we,
Fit for the birds aud thee,
Fair nesting couched beneath the mother dove?
Nay, in some more divine
Small speechless song of thine
Some news too good for words,
Heart-hushed and smiling, we
Might hope to have OF thee,
The youngest of Gods BIRDS
II thy sweet sense might mix itself with ours,
II ours might understand
The language OF thy land,
Ere thine become the tongue of mortal hours;
Ere thy lips learn too soon
Their soft. first human tune,
Sweet but less sweet than now,
And thy raised eyes to read
Glad and good things indeed,
But none sweet as thou;
Ere thought lift mp their flower soft lids to see
What life aud love on earth
Bring thee for gifts at birth,
But none so good as thine who hast given us thee:
How ere thy sense forget
The heaven that fills it yet,
Now, sleeping or awake
If thou couldst tell, or we
Ask and be heard of thee,
For loves undying sake,
Flom thy dumb lips divine and bright, mute speech
Such news might touch our ear,
That then would burn to hear
Too high message now for mans to reach.
Ere the gold hair of corn
Had wiJhered vast thou born,
To make the good time glad;
The time that but last year
Fell colder than tear
On hearts and hopes turned sad,
HI! hopes and hearts resguickening in Thy dawn
Even theirs whose lite springs, child,
Filled thine with life and smiled,
But then wept blood for halt their own withdrawn,
If death and birth be one,
And set with rise of sun,
And truth and dreams divine,
Some word might come with thee
From over the still sea
Deep hid in shade or shine,
Crossed by the crossing sails of death and birth,
Word of some sweet new thing
Fit for such lips to bring,
Some word of love, some afterrhought of earth.
II love be strong death,
By what SO natural breath
AS thine could his be said?
BY what so lovely way
Could love send word to say
He lives and is not dead?
Such word alone were fit for only thee,
If his and thine have met
Where spirits rise and set,
His whom We see not, thine whom scarce we see:
His there newt born, as thou
Newborn among us now;
His here so fruitful souled,
Now veiled and silent here,
Now dumb as thou, last year,
ghost of one year old;
II lights that change there sphere in changing meet,
Some ray might his not give
10 thine who vast to live,
And make thy present with his past life sweet?
Let dreams that laugh or weep,
All glad and sad dreams, sleep;
Truth more than dreams is dear.
Let thoughts that change and fly,
Sweet thoughts and swift, go by;
More than all thought is here:
More than all hope can forge memory feign
The life that in our eyes,
Made out of loves lite, lies,
And flower lie fed with love for sun and rain
Twice royal in it's root
The sweet small olive shoot
Here set in sacred earth;
Twice lowered with glorious grace
From either heaven born race
First blended in its birth;
Fair God OF. genius of SO fair an hour,
For love of either name
Twice crowned, with love and fame
Guard and be gracious to the fair-named flower.