with Emily Brontë, Hartley Coleridge, Where are they, the belovéd, and Thomas Lovell Beddoes, in 1819; The gifted, all? three spirits of lavish promise, de. They would not yield their souls the thrall frauded and unfulfilled like his owa,

Of gold, nor sell the glory of their lays.

0, who shall give them back to us once yet happier than he, inasmuch as they

more? have had since many liegemen and re

Who shall restore memberers. Let him come forward at

The bright young songful days?
last in a quieter hour, with his own Restore
whimsical, misgiving manner, or with The bright young songful days?
questions pathetically irrelevant,
one whom the fairies had led astray:- God only can restore us

The lost ones all,
O sayest thou the soul shall climb But God He will restore us
The magic mount she trod of old,

The lost ones all!
Ere childhood's time?

What tho' the future's shadows fall

Dark o'er their fate, seen darker through He has been, for a half-century, wap

our tears, dering on the dark marge of Lethe. Our God will give them back to us once It will not do, as yet, to startle him with gross applause. Otherwise, his He can restore gratified editor would like to repeat, in- The vanished golden years: troducing Clarence Mangan, the gal- Restore lant words with which Schumann once The vanished golden years! began a review of the young Chopin: Hats off, gentlemen; a genius!”.



Trust not the world, nor time: they are SWABIAN POPULAR SONG.

liar-mates. Where are they, the belovéd,

(Ya Hu!) The gladsome, all?

Wealth borrows wings, and woman goes Where are they, the beloved,

her way. The gladsome, all?

(Ya Hu!) They left the festal hearth and hall.

Into the old house with the ebon gates They pine afar from us in alien climes.

(Ya Hu!) O, who shall bring them back to us once

Who enters is but guest, and must not more?

stay. Who shall restore

(Ya Hu!) Life's fairy floral times ? Restore

Look not upon the sun, for that shall die, Life's fairy Aoral times ?

Love not the roses, for they must decay:

The child is caught by all that dupes the Where are they, the belovéd,

eye: The gallant all?

The man should gird his loins: he cannot Where are they, the belovéd,

stay. The gallant all? At freedom's thrilling clarion-call

From moon to moon time rolleth as a river. They went forth in the pride of youth- Tho' night will soon o'erdark thy life's last hood's powers.

ray, O, who shall give them back to us once

Earth is the prison of the True Believer: more?

And who in prison stipulates to stay? Who shall restore Long-buried hearts and hours ?

Up, dreamer, up! What takest life to be? Restore

Are centuries not made of night and day? Long-buried hearts and hours?

Call now on God while He will list to thee!

The caravan moves on: it will not stay. Where are they, the belovéd, The gifted, all?

I The familiar cry of the dervishes.

Remember Him whom heaven and earth Who knows in what abodes of want those adore:

youths were driven to house? Fast and deny thyself: give alms, and Yet you can give yourself these airs, o pray.

woman of three cows! Thy bark drifts hourly toward the phan. tom shore:

O think of Donnell of the Ships, the chief The sails are up, the vessel cannot stay.

whom nothing daunted!

See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronAs yet the accusing scroll is incomplete,

icled, unchanted. But Scales and Bridge maintain their He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, whom dread array.

thunder (annot rouse: Now thou art here, now at the judgment Then ask yourself, should you be proud, seat,

good woman of three cows! For death and justice brook no long delay.

O’Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire Ah, surust Hudayi!) he alone from birth whose names are shrined in story, (Ya Hu!)

Think how their high achievements once Is guided by the Guardian Four alway,

made Erin's greatest glory: (Ya Hu!)

Yet now their bones lie mouldering under He is alone the friend of God on earth,

weeds and cypress boughs, (Ya Hu!)

And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Who visits earth, and doth not sigh io woman of three cows!

stay. (Ya Hu!)

The O'Carrolls, also, famed when fame

was only for the boldest, Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin's

best and oldest: Yet who so great as they of yore in battle


Just think of that, and hide your head, (Traditional.)

good woman of three cows. O woman of three cows, agragh! don't let

Your neighbor's poor, and you, it seems, your tongue thus rattle:

are big with vain ideas, O don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because

Because, inagh, you've got three cows: one you may have cattle. I've seen (and here's my hand to you, I


I see, than she has! only say what's true!)

That tongue of yours wags more, at times, A many a one with twice your stock not

than charity allows: half so proud as you.

But if you're strong, be merciful, great Good luck to you, don't scorn the poor, and

woman of three cows! don't be their despiser,

Ayran. For worldly wealth soon melts away, anil cheats the very miser.

Now there you go: you still, of course, And death soon strips the proudest wreath

keep up your scornful bearing: from haughty human brows:

And I'm too poor to hinder you. But, by Then don't be stiff, and don't be proud,

the cloak I'm wearing, good woman of three cows!

If I had but four cows myself, even

though you were my spouse, See where Momonia's heroes lie, proud I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, Owen More's descendants!

my woman of three cows! 'Tis they that won the glorious name and

had the grand attendants: If they were forced to bow to fate, as

every mortal bows, Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my woman of three cows?


To this khan, and from this khan The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they How many pilgrims came and went too! left the land to mourning,

In this khan, and by this khan Mavrone! for they were banished, with ao What arts were spent, what hearts were hope of their returning:

rent too!

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To this sbau and from this khan

Were in my ears: yet, as I passed,
Which, for penance, man is sent to,

I heard him through the myrtle trees.
Many a van and caravan

Stretched all along he lay
Crowded came, and shrouded went too. Mid foliage half-decayed:
Christian man and Mussulman,

His lambs were feeding as he played:
Guebre, heathen, Jew, and Gentoo,

And sleepily wore on the stilly summer'-
To this khan, and from this khan

Weeping came, and sleeping went too.
A riddle this since time began,
Which many a sage his mind hath bent to:
All came, all went: but never man
Knew whence they came, or where they
went to.

Allah Akbar!
All things vanish after brief careering:
Down one gulf life's myriad barks are


Headlong mortal! hast thou ears for hearNATURE MORE THAN SCIENCE.

ing? (Rückert.)

Pause, be wise: the night, thy night, is

I have a thousand thousand lays,

Night is nearing!
Compact of myriad myriad words,
And so can sing a million ways,

Allah Akbar!
Can play at pleasure on the chords

Towards the darkness whence no ray is
Of tunéd harp or heart:

peering, Yet is there one sweet song

Towards the void from which no voice For which in vain I pine and long:

comes cheering, I cannot reach that song, with all my min- Move the countless doomed, none volunstrel-art.


While the winds rise, and the night is A shepherd sits within a dell


Night is nearing!
O’ercanopied from rain and heat:
d suallow but pellucid well
Doth ever bubble at his feet.

Allah Akbar!
His pipe is but a leaf,

See the palace-dome its pride uprearing
Yet there, above that stream,

One fleet hour, then darkly disappearing. He plays and plays, as in a dream,

So must all of lofty or endearing One air, that steals away the senses like a Fade, fail, fall: to all the night is nearing, thief.

Night is nearing!

A simple air, it seems in truth,
And who begins will end it soon:
Yet, when that hidden shepherd youth
So pours it in the ear of noon,
Tears flow from those anear.
All songs of yours and mine
Condensed in one, were less divine
Than that sweet air to sing, that sweet,

Allah Akbar !
Then, since naught abides, but all is veer-

sweet air to hear!

Flee a world which sin is hourly searing:
Only so mayst front thy fate unfearing,
When life wanes, and death, like night, is

Night is nearing!

'Twas yesternoon he played it last: The humming of a hundred bees

From " James Clarence Mangan: His Selected

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No. 2772-August 21, 1897.


From Beginning,




512 517

I. RECENT SCIENCE. By Prince Kropotkin,

Nineteenth Century,
II. THE AMULET. From the Italian of

Neera. Translated for The Living Age
by Mrs. Maurice Perkins. Part V. (Con-

III. PASCAL. By Leslie Stephen,

Fortnightly Review,

Sir. C. H. T. Crosthwaite,

Blackwood's Magazine,
F. W. Newland,

Leisure Hour, .
By Stephen Gwynn,

Macmillan's Magazine,

MALS. By E. T. Withington,

Cornhill Magazine, .

A. Witchell, .






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