22 SEPTEMBER 1866, Page 15


SCHUMANN, who dares to mount with thee, must dare Of pain and peril all a man may know ;

Battle, and the cry to them that will not spare Their charioting ; glory and blood and woe ; And inarticulate passion moaning low, Mixed with mute calms and holy quietings ; That one might say, " Fire and the flight of wings Through heaven, beside his feet, are slack and slow : " Hope with an utter sadness creeping through ; Joy that, for ever coming, comes not quite ; And seething of black clouds more black than night, And heights of blessedness more pure than snow, Where one plunge downward bringeth to the brink Of passionless despair—but who would shrink? J. R.