THE NOBLEST MIND THE BEST CONTENTMENT HAS."-SPENSER.

"TIS NOT THE WHOLE OF LIFE TO LIVE, NOR ALL OF DEATH TO DIE."-JAMES MONTGOMERY.

SUMMER MOON, O SUMMER MOON.

JUMMER Moon, O Summer Moon, across the west you fly,

You gaze on half the earth at once, with sweet and

steadfast eye;

Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, were I aloft with thee,
I know that I could look upon my boy who sails at sea-

Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, you throw your

showers

silver

Upon a glassy sea that lies round shores of fruit and flowers;
The blue tide trembles on the shore, with murmuring as of bees,
And the shadow of the ship lies dark near shades of orange.

trees.

Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, now wind and storm have
fled,

Your light creeps through a cabin-pawl and lights a flaxen head;

"MEN ARE BUT CHILDREN OF A LARGER GROWTH."-DRYDEN.

HOW SMALL A PART OF TIME THEY SHARE, THAT are so wondrous sweet and fair."—WALLER.

"THE SUNSHINE BROKEN IN THE RILL, THOUGH TURNED ASTRAY, IS SUNSHINE STILL."-THOMAS MOORE

He tosses with his lips apart, lies smiling in your gleam,
For underneath his folded lids you put a pleasant dream.

Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, his head is on his arm;
He stirs with balmy breath and sees the moonlight on the Farm;
He stirs and breathes his mother's name, he smiles and sees

once more

The moon above, the fields below, the shadow at the door.

Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, across the lift you go;
Far south you gaze and see my boy, where groves of orange
grow!

Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, you turn again to me,
And seem to have the smile of him who sleeps upon the sea.

[ROBERT BUCHANAN-born 1841-author of "Undertones," "Idyls and
Legends of Inverburn,'
," "City Poems," "North Coast, and Other Poems,"
and a volume of graceful prose sketches entitled, "David Gray, and Essays
on Poetry and Poets."]

SMALL SANDS THE MOUNTAIN, MOMENTS MAKE THE YEAR."-YOUNG.

"THINK NOUght a trifle, THOUGH IT SMALL APPEAR,—

"COME FORTH INTO THE LIGHT OF THINGS, LET NATURE BE YOUR TEACHER."-WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

"NO LONGER FORWARD, NOR BEHIND, I LOOK IN HOPE AND FEAR-JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER)

324

WHAT TIMES ARE LITTLE TO THE SENTINEL

IRIS THE RAINBOW.

IRIS THE RAINBOW.

ID the cloud-enshrouded haze

Of Olympus I arise,*
With the full and rainy gaze
Of Apollo in mine eyes ;
But I shade my dazzled glance

With my dripping pinions white,
Where the sunlight sparkles dance

In a many-tinctured light :
My foot upon the woof

Of a fleecy cloudlet small,
I glimmer through the roof
Of the paven banquet-hall.
And a soft pink radiance dips
Through the floating mists divine,
Touching eyes and cheeks and lips

Of the mild-eyed gods supine,
And the pinky odour rolls

Round their foreheads, while I stain,
With a blush like wine, the bowls
Of foam-crusted porcelain :

Till the whole calm place has caught
A deep gleam of rosy fire-
When I darken to the thought
In the eyes of Zeus the Sire.+

Then Zeus, arising, stoops

O'er the ledges of the skies,
Looking downward, through the loops

Of the starry tapestries,

* The Greek poets personified the rainbow under the name of Iris.
Zeus, the father of gods and men, the supreme divinity of Olympus,
transformed by the Romans into Jupiter (that is, Zeus-pater).

THAT HOUR IS REGAL WHEN HE MOUNTS ON GUARD."

-GEORGE ELIOT.

BUT GRATEFUL take the good I find, the best of now, and here.”—john G. WHITTIER.

"LET US NOT STRIVE, NOR LABOUR TO WITHSTAND WHAT IS PAST HELP, . . . .

"VIRTUOUS LOVE IS ONE SWEET ENDLESS FIRE."-HABINGTON.

On the evident* dark plain

Speckled with wood and hill and stream,
On the wrinkled tawny main

Where the ships, like snowflakes, gleam;
And with finger without swerve,

Swiftly lifted, swiftly whirled,
He draws a magic curve

O'er the cirrus† of the world;
When with waving wings displayed,
On the Sun-god's threshold bright
I upleap, and seem to fade

In a humid flash of light;
But I plunge through vapours dim

To the dark low-lying land,
And I tumble, float, and swim
On the strange curve of the Hand:
From my wings that drip, drip, drip,
With cool rains, shoot jets of fire,
As across green capes I slip
With the thought of Zeus the Sire.

Thence, with drooping wings bedewed,
Folded close about my form,

I alight with feet unviewed

On the ledges of the storm;
For a moment, cloud-enrolled,
'Mid the murm'rous rain I stand,
And with meteor eyes behold
Vapoury ocean, misty land;

Till the thought of Zeus outsprings

From my ripe mouth with a sigh,

* Evident (from e and video) - here used in its primary meaning of "visible."

↑ Cirrus a form of cloud, consisting of tendril-like fibres.

66 THE NET THAT HOLDS NO GREAT, TAKES LITTLE FISH."-SOUTHWELL.

The longest date of GRIEF CAN NEVER YIELD A HOPE OF ONE RELIEF."-HENRY KING.

326

"PRIDE CANNOT SEE ITSELF BY MID-DAY LIGHT;

THE WARBLING OF BLACKBIRDS.

And unto my lips it clings

Like a shining butterfly;
When I brighten, gleam, and glow,
And my glittering wings unfurl,
And the melting colours flow

To my foot of dusky pearl;
And the ocean, mile on mile,

Gleams through capes and straits and bays,
And the vales and mountains smile,

And the leaves are wet with rays,—
While I wave the humid Bow

Of my wings with flash of fire,

And the Tempest, crouched below,

Knows the thought of Zeus the Sire.

[ROBERT BUCHANAN (see page 318). From his "Undertones," a volume of truly exquisite poetry. The reader may compare the preceding

with

"WHEN TO THE SESSIONS OF SWEET SILENT THOUGHT I SUMMON UP REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST-(SHAKSPEARE)

Shelley's "Cloud," p. 194.]

I SIGH THE LACK OF MANY A THING I SOUGHT, AND WITH OLD WOES NEW WAIL MY DEAR TIME'S WASTE."-SHAKSPEARE.

THE WARBLING OF BLACKBIRDS.

AW

HEN I hear the waters fretting,

When I see the chestnut letting
All her lovely blossom falter down, I

think, "Alas the day!"

Once with magical sweet singing,

Blackbirds set the woodland ringing,

That awakes no more while April hours wear themselves away.

In our hearts fair hope lay smiling,
Sweet as air, and all-beguiling;

And there hung a mist of blue-bells on the slope and down the

dell;

THE PEACOCK'S TAIL IS FURTHEST FROM HIS SIGHT."-B. HOLYDAY.