29 AUGUST 1891, Page 18

POETRY.

YES ! urban is your Muse, and owns An empire based on London stones. Yet flow'rs, as mountain violets sweet, Spring from the pavement 'neath her feet.

Of wilder birth this Muse of mine, Hill-cradled, and baptised with brine ; And 'tis for her a sweet despair To watch that courtly step and air !

Yet surely she, without reproof, Greeting may send from realms aloof, And even claim a tie in blood, And dare to deem it sisterhood.

For well we know, those Maidens be All daughters of Mnemosyne ; And 'neath the unifying sun, Many the songs—but Song is one.

WILLIAM WATSON.