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His song of The Sea is familiar to us all, commencing:—

The sea! the sea! the open sea,—

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,

It runneth the earth's wide regions round:
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

How quaintly and feelingly he appeals to Time :

Touch us gently, Time! let us glide adown thy stream Gently, as we sometimes glide through a quiet dream! Humble voyagers are we-husband, wife, and children three(One is lost—an angel fled to the azure overhead!)

Touch us gently, Time! we've not proud nor soaring wings; Our ambition, our content, lies in simple things.

Humble voyagers are we o'er life's dim, unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clime: touch us gently, gentle Time!

One of ROBERT BROWNING's finest poems is that entitled Evelyn Hope:

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!

Sit and watch by her side an hour.

That is her book-shelf-this her bed;

She plucked that piece of geranium flower,

Beginning to die, too, in the glass.

Little has yet been changed, I think;

The shutters are shut, no light may pass,

Save two long rays through the hinge's chink.

Sixteen years old when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name,

It was not her time to love: beside,

Her life had many a hope and aim,

Duties enough and little cares,

And now was quiet, now astir,
Till God's hand beckoned unawares,

And the sweet white brow is all of her.
Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope?

What, your soul was pure and true,
The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire, and dew,-
And, just because I was thrice as old,

And our paths in the world diverged so wide,
Each was naught to each, must I be told?
We were fellow-mortals, naught beside?
No, indeed! for God above

Is great to grant, as mighty to make,
And creates the love to reward the love,-
I claim you still, for my own love's sake!

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while :

My heart seemed full as it could hold;

There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,
And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.

So, hush! I will give you this leaf to keep,—

See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand.

There, that is our secret! go to sleep :

You will wake, and remember, and understand.

The rich and varied qualities of Browning's genius are beautifully exemplified in his poem referred to; but here is another passage, from his Dramatis Persona (Among the Rocks), of a different character, no less admirable :

Oh, good, gigantic smile o' the brown old Earth,
This Autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet

For the ripple to run over in its mirth;

Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

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That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;

Such is life's trial, as old Earth smiles and knows.

If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give Earth yourself, go up for gain above!

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We present two more of his fine lyrics :

This is a spray the bird clung to, making it blossom with pleasure, Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, fit for her nest and her treasure. O, what a hope beyond measure

Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to,

So to be singled out, built in, and sung to!

This is a heart the queen leant on, thrilled in a minute erratic,
Ere the true bosom she bent on, meet for Love's regal dalmatic.
O, what a fancy ecstatic

Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on—
Love, to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves ;
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves,
And strew them where Pauline may pass.
She will not turn aside? Alas!

Let them lie. Suppose they die?

The chance was they might take her eye.
How many a month I strove to suit
These stubborn fingers to the lute!
To-day I venture all I know.

She will not hear my music? So!
Break the string-fold Music's wing.
Suppose Pauline had bade me sing?

*

One of ADELAIDE PROCTOR's best lyrics is that entitled A Dream:

All yesterday I was spinning, sitting alone in the sun :

And the dream that I spun was so lengthy, it lasted till day was done.

I heeded not cloud or shadow that flitted over the hill,

Or the humming-bees or the swallows, or the trickling of the rill.

I took the threads for my spinning all of blue summer air,

And a flickering ray of sunlight was woven in here and there.
The shadows grew longer and longer, the evening wind passed by,
And the purple splendour of sunset was flooding the western sky.
But I could not leave my spinning, for so fair my dream had grown,
I heeded not, hour by hour, how the silent day had flown.
At last the gray shadows fell round me, and the night came dark
and chill,

And I rose and ran down the valley, and left it all on the hill.

I went up the hill this morning, to the place where my spinning layThere was nothing but glistening dew-drops remained of my dream

to-day.

BAILEY, the author of Festus, has written some exquisite little songs: here is one :

For every leaf the loveliest flower

Which beauty sighs for from her bower

For every star a drop of dew

For every sun a sky of blue

For every heart a heart as true!
For every tear by pity shed

Upon a fellow-sufferer's head,

Oh! be a crown of glory given—

Such crowns as saints to gain have striven,

Such crowns as seraphs wear in heaven.
For all who toil at honest fame,

A proud, a pure, a deathless nam

For all who love, who loving bless,

Be life one long, kind, close caress,

Be life all love, all happiness!

There is great Miltonic vigour in the following extracts :

Keep thy spirit pure

From worldly taint, by the repellent strength

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