Los Angeles herald., 1892-08-07

in it's intensity, that Mr.. Brownin,
might have written 1t and not beer
ashamed of it. The girls soliloquy OF
regaining her freedom:
Free againl Free againl East ward and west
ward, before me, behind me,
VIDE lies Australia; aud free are my feet, a
my soul is, to roam,
| oh joy unwonted, of space undetermined, n,
limit assigned me;
Freedom conditioned by naught save tn,
need and desire of a home.
| Seven retributive years have not left my tired
| spirit unshaken,
vulture like tearing me: harpy-like, soiint
me, blinding my eyes!
Yet from the depths emerge, like giant re
freshed awaken,
Strong for the purpose of life: for the strug.
gle, the victory, the prize"
Magdalen enters family of wealth al
companion to the rich mans daughter
The girls brother Raymond falls in love
with her, and his father sends him of
to Europe to breah off the attachment.
The young heiress falls dangerously ill,
and Magdalen nurses her back from
death to life. Then Magdalen falls sick,
and in her delirium reveals the fact that
| she has been convict. The, angry
| father was for sending her away. but
Hyacinth pleads to have her stay, which
is granted. When Magdalen RECEIVERS
consciousness:
"Lo, by my side, all in white Twas Hyacinth /;
fair as the morning;f H5
And on her face were the meekness and peace
Keener than anger is pity. and love than the
weapon of scorning;
Lifting her finger, she smote me with sHushp
all is known and forgiven"
His story of the Godolphin Arabian
seems an imitation of the style of Byron,
but, in general way, Stephens shows
little desire to initiate anybody. Indeed
there is nothing in his works that indi-
Gates desire to borrow light from Ten
nyson or Swinburne, who are the most
copied from of all modern poets. His
diction is always one of delicacy and re-
finement, the harp strings of the soul
tuned up to concert pitch. His iudg-
ment in the musical combinations of
"jewel-colored Words seems almost in
fallible; and furnishes the most authen-
tic proof of his genius and the opulent
measures of his glorious mission.
Joseph Fletcher, now man past 60,
and far beyond all youthful frivolity,
occasionally furnishes something pretty
to the Sydney papers. One of his bright
est efforts is The Lovers at Sunset,
from which extract the following
stanzas:
''They looked up to the sky whose Floating
Spread like rosy ocean, vast and bright.
They gazed upon the glittering sea below,
Whence the broad moon rose, circling into
They heard the waves splash .and the winds
And So W each others fond eyes darling light
Iuto each other--and beholding this,
Their lips drew near and clung into kiss.
They vvere alone hr,t NO.. aaoua Az Tn ev
Who, shut I'M n Chambers, think It loneliness
The silent ocean and the stariit bay,
The twilight glow, which momently grew
The voiceless sands and dripping caves that lay
Around them, made them each to the other
As If there were no life beneath the sky
Save theirs, and that their life could never
die. %9H
Henry Lawson, who wrote The Old
Stone Chimney and several other pretty |
brevities, lives in the old town of Para
malta, the second oldest town in New
South Wales. His tale of the old con-
vict plodding his way back at sundown |
to the little cottage where he lived with
his parents before entering upon a
career of crime, is touchingly told
story:
ssHis weary heart for moment bounded,
For an instant brief he forgot his dread
II a
The welcomebark of dog long dead.
And thus he came from life long banished
To prison walls and of joy bereft,
To find the farm aud the homestead vanished,
And only the old stone chimney left'
But grief must end, and his heart Eceased
AS plying sleep to his eyelids crept;
And home and friends that were lostin waking,
Came back to his soul as the outcast slept.
And when he woke on the empty morrow,
fof OF n hfa haor rf vuQ 4 n N or nfU
And he brayely shouldered his load OF sorrow,
As he wandered back to the world again.
Mr.. Lawson is man not rich, but
comfortably well off in this worlds
goods. He writes but little, yet what
he does write is good and wholesome
work. Inferior to Gordon as a rhyme
ster, he is fully equal to him in express
sions denotirg q fervent and intense
love of nature. s
Sir Henry Parkes, who was premier Of
New S1uth Wales until year ago, has
wooed both muses., but is chiefly noted
for his prose works. Yet he has some
we'll defined pretensions to more than
the rank of mere jingling rhymester.
His lines TO 'The Fair Nihilist" has the
following;
Soft as the mornings pearly light -
Where yet may rise the thunder cloud,
Her lovely face was ever bright "a
With noble thought and purpose proud:
safss
But souls like hers survive the fate
Which tyrants in their might decree,
And ever live to animate wyzsN Il
The millions struggling to be free
That was supposed to be written of
Sofia Perovskia. His Brougham has in
it some fine lines. For instance:
"Not that he matched in statecrait lesser men,"
But that the stature of the citizen "a
Rose above the statesman, flushed with
power"
The lady's name who wrote over the
signature OF Alpha Crucis have for
gotten, but she has written "full many
gem of purest ray serene" in her
twenty wears of widowhood under the
southern cross. The files of the Mel
bourne, Argus and Sydney News teem
with pretty little bits from her. dainty
pen. Her Psalm Of Time is an imita-
tion of Longfellow, Of course, but beauti-
| full, nevertheless. It's closing stanzas
are very fine: ~
Wiser grows the world and better,
r. And the growing years shall ma
That the sermons of the Savior
u sway the souls Of all mankind,
For the lowering love of lucre
Changed, shall grow to love Of worth;
And the commonwealth OF nations
Baptized TO nobler birth.
| scorning wrong and selfish struggles,
In a rivalryof good