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From The Atbenæum. This Poet must have had a speechless sense From the young Australian poet, Mr. Henry Of some dead Summer's boundless affluence : Kendall, whom our readers will remember, we Else whither can we trace the passioned lore have received another parcel of verse. Many of Beauty, steeping to the very core persons, we think, must feel an interest in this His royal Verse, and that rare light which lies singer at the Antipodes, whose verse has in it so About it, like a Sunset in the skies? much of youth and strength. Mr. Kendall still
ALFRED TENNYSON. appears to find his best delight in sombre, tragic The silvery dimness of a happy dream, themes. Take this specimen from the new ar- I've known of late :-Methought where Byron rivals :
Like some wild gulf in melancholy zones,
I passed, tear-blinded ! Once a lurid gleam
Of stormy sunset loitered on the Sea,
The voice of Shelley died away from me ;-
Still sore at heart, I reached a lake-lit lea ;
And then, the green-mossed glades, with many a That my Soul may sleep, forgetting
grove Dead Love's wild Nevermore !
Where lies the calm which Wordsworth used to love;
And lastly, Locksley Hall; from whence did rise Astarté ! Syrian Sister!
A haunting Song, that blew and breathed and blew, Your face is wet with tears ;
With rare delights :—'twas there I woke and knew I think you know the Secret
The sumptuous comfort left in drowsy eyes.
WHEN the children are hushed in the nursery, And, my sweet-my Syrian Sister,
And the swallow sleeps in the eaves,
And the night-wind is murmuring secrets Ah, Helen Hope in Heaven,
Apart to the listening leaves ;
Then I open the inner chamber
That was closed from the dust of day,
And gently undraw the curtain
Where my holiest treasures lay.
Sweet spirits that may not slumber;
Cool shadows from lights now gone ;
And the echo of voices sounding,
All sounding for me alone.
And, blending among the others,
One echo is softer yet ;
One shadow is cooler, deeper ;
And my dimming eyes grow wct.
For the image I gaze on longest,
Is the image that blessed my youth ;
The angel that lit my journey
With her lamp of love and truth.
We travelled life's way together
A little while side by side ;
And when I grew faint or weary,
That light was my strength and guide.
And dearer it grew-how dearer!
Till I watched it wane and fade:
And my angel said, as we parted,
Be patient, be not afraid. We also extract the following sonnets on Byron And when I am sick and weary and Tennyson :
With the heat and the dust of the day,
How the sense of her words comes o'er me,-
Her words ere she went away.
And I ask for a patient wisdom,
As I journey the way alone ; Knew well the lofty voice which evermore, Till I tread on the golden threshold In grand distress, doth haunt the sleepless Sea, Of the heaven where she is gone. With solemn sounds! And as each wave did When the children are hushed in the nursery, roll
And the swallow sleeps in the eaves, Till one came up, the mightiest of the whole, And the night-wind is murm
urmuring secrets To sweep and surge across a vacant lea,
Apart to the listening leaves. Wild words were wedded to wild melody ! -From Winter Weavings. By Isabella Lau.
THE STANZA OF