BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 265, 1 August 1908, Page 12

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

■ VERSES OLD AND NEW. THE ETERNAL HOPE. In.the Arabian land,' Swart waste or, rock: and sand, Fountainless "vale and vastimverdured slope, ■ Under-tho. rainless. 6kies,.-. A boon and a surprise/ • ' : Girdled with green, there lies ; A cool- oasis that' is called The;; Hope. So in tho-. waste of years-?.. • _ Doubts and'despairs'and fearsIt is the Eternal. Hope i.that -leads our fefit; Falter we/ drtiop we, still Whispers the sleepless will: "Just,-just beyond the hill • ■! The Hope, awaits!"—and ah, the thought is sweet! ■ 1 —Clinton Scollard, in the "Munsey." LAUNCHING. As a bold seaman'down the sloping shore Launches with vigorous thrust his leaping keel, . So should a lad launch forth on life, and ■ feel' For radiant Truths the things we trust no more." Illusions? j Aye, yet, these may be as oar : And sail and favouring tide; let bright dreams steel ■ ( His soul to brttve endeavour, and conceal : The coining storm-cloud and the breaker's roar. Elusions? Tea, but let the task be ours 'Twist these and life to break the needless bars: ; Launoh forth, 0 youth, on thine ideal ■ - ]' blue, .' ■ , Let day be rich with visionary'powers, 1 And midnight bright for thee, with beckoning stars, ' ; , ' Or brave, undying dreams that must come' true, ' . . , • r—Habborton Lulhain, in the "Westminster Gazette." IN ARTICULO MORTIS. I have fought, but I was not fitted To battle with solid things; ■ My hand was not fashioned for wielding . A sword; the gods gave me wings. ■ , 3.nd I soared far, above the follies Of men,. and •'forgot'their pain, '•i • And I sang as 'I mounted higher— - i , Nor;singer nor song seemed vain. i And_l fluttered against the casement Of Heaven, but the mighty mirth. Of men liko an.arrow pierced.me, . And I-quivering, fell to earth. And theTsteel-blad warriors crushed, me ■ To death as they marched along i The highway, of life.to battle; ..-But' the - Heavens'retained jny song. , —E.W.1., in the "Daily News." ' ' SONNET' PROM PUSHKIN. ; Thou shalt not, poet, prize tho people's love. The noise of their applause will quickly die; Then 6halt thou hoar . the judgment of the fool _ ; : ; •; • And chilling laughter from the multitude. But stand thou firm, untroubled and austere; ,i Thou art a king and kings must, live alone. •' Thine own free .spirit calls to thee;' pass on, ■ .Make perfect tho fair blossom of thy dreams,, Nor ask for praises of achievement jvon. Praise lives : within; 'tis thou that art the judge. . " And thine the strictest judgment of them. all. Art thou content? Then leave the herd to howl; Leave them to spit upon thine altar fires And on the dancing incense of thy shrine. —C. Garnett, in London "Nation." THE SILENCES OF GOD. I stand amidst the throb and hum Of life's .insiStent'.chariot wheels, Of fretful shafts; that; go arid come, Of labour's thunder-peals. And long for . some secluded spot . Where God is left to work alone 7 The silent' wonder of '.the grot, . v The lichen .on the 6tone; . , i I 1;' ' r /Where shady stillness wraps the pines With ample folds of balm and rest, ■ And oloudy-pillowed Earth reclines Her head on Heaven's breast; Where mighty hills majestic yawn, ' And half-awakened forests nod, /Where wanders velvet-slippered dawn ' In silences of God. ■ , ';, —Arthur Waghorne, in the "Daily News'/' •