POETRY.
THE LANTERN.
Sax swings tho lantern. Night around her Swings out, swings in ; the roadside falls. Under her feet abysmal darkness sinks ; Then from the pit, to meet her feot, Earth rises, sombre stones and steady soil Loom up, stare at the lantern, then . . . Sink, sink again as it swings.
On she tramps, towering over the lantern, All her daylight beauty lifted away, Underlit, and drenched with the dye,
The smudgy gold of the drowsy beams from the lantern. Over the light her hip turns smooth and strong, Rolling the shadows to and fro on its breadth, To and fro in rhythm as on she swings.—
The gaunt trees over her leap, and mope, and bow.— And one deep breast, like tho old moon lacking light, Rides above, rimmed with a ghostly line ; Then waxes full as the lantern swings before. Crowning this wild-lit moving life,
The aureoled hair glows gold, a smoke veiled fire, Flaming and changing, but ever her crown as she swings On, swings on, steady and sure, while the earth and skies Tumble and leap and prance and dance round the lantern.
The prima are milked ; she is going home to her babe.
RICHARD CHURCH.
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