The morning call., 1892-12-25

the honey we want now. No matter much
about The language or the meter; 1t Is the
idea. the truth, that the world wants now.
but snail be voted bore if thrust my
hall hundred books of Swinburne's to Gull
from. Let us go forward with him. Take
these coupleS from Ataianta simply for the
mellow melody that is in them. Yet note
that always his songs are scenes Of the
past; nothing of faith or of hope.
THE HOUNDS OF SPRING ON WINTERS
TRACES.
For winters rains and ruins are over =
And ali the season OF SHOWS and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover
Ana time remembered Is grief Ell Forgotten srs n
And AND trosts are slain ana mowers begOtteD.
ana In green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
The full streams feed on flower OF rushes
RIPE grasses tramme a travelling foot. :
FROM leaf to flower and flower to fruit;
And the oat is heard above the Tyre
And the hoofed heel CT satyr crushes
ane chestnut husk at the chestnut root
And Pan by noon ard Bacchus by night
Eleeter of foot than the fleet foot kid.
Foliows with dancing and fills with delight
The M8nad and the BasSarid:
And SOFT as lips that laugh and hide
The laughing 1eaves OF the trees divide.
And screen from seeing and leave In sight.
Inc goo pursuing, the maiden hid.
The ivy falls with the Baeehanars hair
ever her eyebrows hiding her eys
The wild vine slipping down leaves bare
her bright breast shortening into sigbs:
The wild vine clips with the weight of its leaves,
But the berried IVY catches ana clesves
TO the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare
The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies.
There is ringing joyousness in this sort Of
Work, and word-pai0ting that is irresistible.
Here Is color. movement, melody. form.
beauty, all that goes to make poetry the
nf toll Ioli
how, yon cannot help asking: For what
good? Nothing at all. You dance for the
sake OF the dance, do you not? This is
poetry, then. for the sake of poetry. But
then is not that putting the poet down on a
level with the piper aud the dancing girls Of
japan?
Has poetry purpose and a mission above
melody, beyond pleasure? If not, why
rest here; for never through all the bucks
that have been will you find melody like
THE TRIUMPH OF TINE.
Will go back to the great sweet mother
Mother and lover of men, the
1 Will go down To her, and none other.
=, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me;
o fair white mother. In DAYS long past
Born without sister born without brother,
Set Tree my soul as thy soul is free.
fair green-girdied mother of mine
sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain.
Thy sweet hard kisses are strong ike wine,
Save me and hide me with all thy waves,
End Find me one grave Of thy thousand graves.
Wrought without hand III world without stain.
1 shall sleep, and move with the moving ships
Change as the winds change in the tide;
MY lips Will feast on the foam OF thy lips
shall rise with thy rising. with thee subsde:
Sleep ana net know If she De. II she were,
Filled full with life to the eyes and hair,
AS Is fulfilled TO the roseleaf tips
With splendid summer and perfume aud pride.
This woven eaiment Of nights and days,
Were II once off aud I'M wound from me.
Naked and glad would walk In thy ways
Alive and aware of thy ways and thee;
Gear OF The whole world, hidden at home,
Clothed with the green and crowned with the foam.
pulse 0: the life of thy straits and bays
vein In the heart of the streams of the
There lived singer in France of old
BY the tideless. doorous midland sea
In a land OF sand and ruin and gold
There shone one woman. and none but she.
And finding life for her loves sake fail,
Being fain TO see her, he babe sail.
Iouched land. and saw her as life grew cods
And praised Cod seeing; and SO died he.
Died. praising God for his gift and grace:
For she bowed down TO him weeping, and said
Live and her tears were shed on his face
Or ever the life in his race shed.
The sharp tears fell through her hair and stuns
ana nef close lose Lips touched gu. him and euDs
And SO drew back and the man dead.
brother, the gods were good to you
Sleep. and be glad while the world endures.
Give thanks for lie, and the leves and lures;
Give thanks fer life o brother and death.
For the sweet last sound OF her feet her breath,
For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,
Tears and kisses, that lady OF yours
Still the same matchless melody; the
strength OF the sea End The. sweetness Of the
songbird. There is surely nothing that at
all approaches this in ell the world OF song.
But when You ask for its lesson or purpose
what shall be said? Yes, | concede that
many great men claim that the only pur-
pose of poetry is to please: but this does
not bear the light of to-day very well. liz
poetry is the highest of all, something ia
still wanting in this gorgeous work of
Swinburne's. Yet for the life Of me can
not quite tell what it is. Nay more. Ishould
be well content, had l ever been able to do
such work, TO leave it so; for poetry is not
only the sister of music, she is music's
self
Let US conclude these selections from
Swinburne with q few verses not so entirely
melodlous, but more in season. They were
written after painting of the Virgin by
Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
CHRISTMAS CAROL.
Three damsels in the queens chamber
The Greens mouth was most fair;
She spake word of Gods mother
AS the comb went in her hair.