POETRY.

WHITE HEATHER.

I, TOO, have seen the foam flash white Before the advancing prows, I, too, have shared the swift, glad flight Along the coast from Cowes, And felt the sea's eternal might Beating against my bows.

But now I go from bay to bay

Like one whose day is done ; I see the proud ships sail away In answer to the gun.

Comrades of many a gallant fray, What triumphs have they won P Anchored beside the pier I lie And watch the racers start, Their tall masts gleam against the sky--.

I know them all apart—

And every little flag they fly Seems fluttering in my heart.

They furl their wings at eventide, Nestling against the night—

Then phantom breezes seek my side And stir my sails for flight, And out into the course I glide In dreams of pure delight.

Stretching and yielding to the wind I lean towards the sea, And leave the harbour far behind As swiftly, silently I turn to Berry Head and find The dim past waiting me.

Aye, mock the old slow track I make— Youth, courage—what avails P I see the Shamrock's' topmast shake In these my midnight gales, And, passing on the windward, take The breeze from Nyria's ' sails.

Mock, mock at me, 0 new-born ship Who stole away my name !

Let deck and prow and canvas dip And play your strongest game ! Vain toil, for I to-night will grip The ghost of old-time fame.

A little while, beneath the moon, This vision shall remain, And through my sails the wind shall croon

Its racing song refrain—

Only a little while, for soon The dawn will come again.

O conquerors of a season's space, Fair knights of bloodless strife, I, also, held an honoured place In years when joy was rife.

Now day by day I watch each race That used to be my life. MILDRED HUXLEY.