P OE T R Y.
THE LAST LOOK.
[These lines were written during mortal illness by Mr. A. P. Martin whose death, we regret to state, took place at Teneriffe on Saturday last. It was his special desire that after his death theyshould appear in the Spectator. Mr. Martin while his health allowed was a valued contributor to these columns. He won himself in early life a high place among literary men in Australia, and had his health allowed him full scope he would have gained a wider recognition here. As it was, lie did much sound and excellent work, and gained many friends. His was a high order of intelligence, and his judgment and statesin alike attitude of mind in regard to public questions were seldom at fault.—En. Spectator.] THE pen lies heavy to my band, My eyes are faint and dim,—
There in the mirror as I stand, How lustreless their rim !
Is that my face P The misty outline fades, A phantom visage in the Land of Shades: And I had marked so many things to do, So many things undone !
The priest declared my moments were too few; The doctor—I had none! I dashed the mirror to the floor, I spurned my best-loved book, I opened wide God's eastward door To take my last long look!
And lo the mirror and the book were there, And I betwixt them kneeling as in prayer, While all the many things I'd marked to do--
And all the things undone—
Seemed by God's gracious mercy light and few, And priest and doctor gone ! A. P. MARTIN.