New-York tribune., 1918-03-16
monies quite as we'll as of hitting

monies quite as we'll as of lifting
melody:
Master of British ships within the past,
Master of English in your births despite
AS master men will name you, though the
night
OF Goals onrushing afrit should be cast
Over the final sail-emblazoned mast;
Though oceans shrink, blank mirrors save to
OF giant wings. shores to be stale delight,
And East and West grub cheek By Jowl at
last.
For from the mouths Of rivers that have
swept
Through half the world. your sea-sharp ears
All that escaped your steady, sea-clear eyes !;
And. weighing proudly. fearlessness has kept
Only the deep simplcities. so turned.
Glibber confessions buzz plague of flies
Mr.. Glaenzer's little volume breathes
the spirit of true poetic tradition. 1t
speaks clearly of that new American
voice which gathers authority and
varied accent as the years Of our new
poetry unroll.
The cheerful unpretentiousness Of
"The Broadway Anthology" Duffiel Id
& Co.. disarms criticism. Messrs. Ed
ward ]. Bcrnays, Samuel Hoffenstein,
Walter ]. Kingsley and Murdock Penn
berton have enjoyed writing their jests
L.
reading of them. Real records of con-
temporary Broadway are there; and in
Mr.. Pemberton's, at any rate, the re-
action of seeing mind.
Edward Thomas was killed at Arras
on Easter Monday a year ago. Since
then his name has been placed on the
volume of verse which had been pub
lshed under the pseudonyme of Ed
I,,y 4 16
Thomas" Henry Holt e. Coz. 1t is q
slender achievement with which to go
down to death. AS with that other
great sacrifice which the Celts have
made in the Great War. Francis Led
widge, the best words of all may we'll
have remained unsaid. A fine, sensl-
tive face is shown in the frontispiece,
and is reflected again in the swift, fond
pictures of English countryside. A
poignant little volume which every
lover of contemporary verse will wish
to possess.
There Is the same authentic note, II
less intimate and original, in "Songs Of
Celtic Past" (John Lane Company,
/ by Norreys Jephson O'Connor. 1t is
true Irish landscape that is here set
down, a landscape vibrant with all that
passion and pride which make Ireland
vcritable cradle of poets. Runs the
foreword:
Songs Of the Celtic Past,
Born in an ancient age,
Our hearts will beat more fast
For this, heritage.
The heritage of song
More powerful than Time,
Which weaves a nations wrong
With wondrous wreaths of rhyme:
The passion and the pride
Of centuries ago.
The bare, wet mountainside;
The valleys white in snow.
1t is still in his simplest lyrics that
Thomas Walsh touches his peak. His
new volume, "Gardens Overseas and
Other Poems" (John Lane Company
holds g few of these brief sosgs as
exquisite as any lines Of the day. His
translations from the South American
poets, Of whom we North Americans
are but jus. becoming aware, are inter
est;ng rather than successful. There
is a native essence in the rich work of
Jose Santos Chocano, Of Peru, for eX-
ample, which Mr.. Walsh has missed.
Mr.. Robert Underwood johnson has
assembled his verses Of the last few
years in two volumes, Poems of War
and Peace" enlarged from the first edi-
ton, and italian Rhapsody" (both
published by the author). His timely
utterances breathe, as ever, the sound
mellow tone Of the DhilOsophcr