30 MAY 1896, Page 14

POETRY.

TO MRS. HERBERT STUDD.

AMID the billowing leagues of Sarum Plain I read the heroic songs, which he, the bard Of your own house* and lineage, lovingly Rath fashioned, out of Ireland's deeds and dreamy,.

And her far glories, and her ancient tears.

The sheep-bells tinkled in the fold. Hard by, A whimpering pewit's desultory wing Made loneliness more manifestly lone.

Friend, would you judge your poets, try them thus Read them where rolls the moorland, or the main Not light is then their ordeal, so to stand Neighboured by these large natural Presences; Nor transitory their honour, who, like him, No inch of spiritual stature lose, Measured against the eternal amplitudes, And tested by the clear and healthful sky.

WILLIAM WATSON.