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somewhat labored books of verse" are

are The Human Tragedy (1876) and Narrative Poems (1891).

Above him-and above any of the younger bards -must be placed WILLIAM WATSON, born in Yorkshire in 1858. A poem called Wordsworth's Grave (1892) first made him famous. His reputation has increased steadily, with a foundation of sound art. The Lachrymæ Musarum (1892) contained a beautiful obituary poem on Tennyson-"the life that seemed a perfect song," the

Master who crowned our immelodious days

With flower of perfect speech.

It was by far the finest of the poetical tributes. paid to the dead singer. The Purple East was published in 1896. It is a series of sonnets dealing with the Armenian massacres and lightened with a more than ephemeral fire by the ardor of its conception. Take, for example:

THE KNELL OF CHIVALRY.

O vanished morn of crimson and of gold,
O youth and roselight and romance, wherein

I read of paynim and of paladin,

And Beauty snatched from ogre's dungeoned hold!
Ever the recreant would in dust be rolled,

Ever the scaly shape of monstrous Sin

At last lie vanquished, fold on writhing fold.
Was it all false, that world of princely deeds,
The splendid quest, the good fight ringing clear?
Yonder the Dragon ramps with fiery gorge,
Yonder the victim faints and gasps and bleeds;
But in his merry England our St. George

Sleeps a base sleep beside his idle spear.

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD has gained "a respectful hearing" by his poems touching the Hindoo and Arabian theology, The Light of Asia (1879), The Indian Song of Songs (1881), and Pearls of the Faith (1883). He brought about the expedition of Henry M. Stanley to Africa in 1874.

Mr. Andrew LANG (b. 1844) is in the front rank of active and authoritative English writers. His criticism is pointed and useful, and his verse possesses a singular delicacy and charm. His most ambitious poem was Helen of Troy (1882). Unusually graceful are the XXII Ballades in Blue China (1881). They are very successful examples of that difficult form of We may cite

verse.

TO THEOCRITUS, IN WINTER.

Ah! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar

Of London, leave the bustling street,

For still, by the Sicilian shore,

The murmur of the Muse is sweet.

Still, still the suns of summer greet
The mountain grave of Helikē,
And shepherds still their songs repeat
Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea.

What though they worship Pan no more
That guarded once the shepherd's seat,
They chatter of their rustic lore,

They watch the wind among the wheat;
Cicalas chirp, the young lambs bleat,
Where whispers pine to cypress tree;
They count the waves that idly beat,
Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea,

Theocritus! thou canst restore
The pleasant years, and over-fleet;
With thee we live as men of yore,
We rest where running waters meet;
And then we turn unwilling feet
And seek the world-so must it be-
We may not linger in the heat
Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!

ENVOY.

Master, when rain, and snow, and sleet
And northern winds are wild, to thee
We come, we rest in thy retreat
Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!

Somewhat akin to Mr. Lang is Mr. AUSTIN DOBSON (b. 1840). His first collection of poetry was Vignettes in Rhyme and Vers de Société (1873). Three series of Eighteenth Century Vignettes have proved his possession of a nice critical taste. His handling of the French verse-forms-the rondeau, rondel, triolet, villanelle-is beyond praise.

Another poet who cannot be ignored is MR. RUDYARD KIPLING. Born in Bombay in 1865, he was sent to school in England, and then returned to India and engaged in journalistic work. He then began to write short stories dealing with the Indian life that he knew so intimately. His touch was so sure and his style so telling that before he was twenty-five he had won fame throughout the whole English-speaking world. His first volume of poetry was Departmental Ditties (1886); of prose, Plain Tales from the Hills (1888). He is a master of the English short

H

story. His best work in that kind is simply inimi-
table. His poetry shows a most striking originality
and a large section of it deals with the picturesque
life of the British soldier in the East. The value
of these Barrack-Room Ballads lies in the fact that
they perpetuate, in virile verse, men and conditions
that possess the elements of fine poetry. Perhaps
most excellent is Mandalay, which expresses the
Heimweh of the rough and broken soldier for a
beauty that he only half understands:

By the old Moulmein Pagoda lookin' eastward to the sea
There's a Burmah girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they

say:

'Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!'

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Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to

Mandalay ?

On the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin' fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost

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Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the

worst,

Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;

For the Temple-bells are callin', and it's there that I would

be

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;

On the road to Mandalay,

Where the old Flotilla lay,

With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to

Mandalay !

Oh the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin' fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! (By permission.)

His last book of verse, The Seven Seas (1897), also contains poems of an absolutely original type. In this he sings the British Empire, the complexity and homogeneity of which he understands as no one else. He has brought down patriotism from the closet to the street, for never has there been a more widely popular poet. Certainly no poet has ever sung his country's honor to so large an audience. Also should be mentioned his sea-poetry, which has ring and swing and force. More serious is the splendid Recessional. It appeared at the close of the Queen's Jubilee in 1897, and is in every sense a great poem:

God of our fathers, known of old-
Lord of our far-flung battle-line-
Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine-
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies-
The captains and the kings depart ;
Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away--
On dune and headland sinks the fire--

K

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