PowraY.—One in the Infinite. By George Francis Savage- Armstrong. (Longmans.)—A

certain unity of purpose runs through the two hundred and thirty detached poems which make up Mr. Savage-Armstrong's volume. This purpose may be gathered from the title which he has given to it. Man ques- tioning his own consciousness and the facts of the universe, re- viewing the beliefs which his fellows in the past have held, and which in the present they hold, about Deity and the divine relations with the human race, is the subject of his verse. Of course the poems are largely dramatic, or, to put the same thing in another form, they express various moods. Sometimes we have almost a blank denial, at other times something like despair; then, again, there are even confident expressions of faith and hope. We do not gather that the poet advances beyond theism, coupled with intense and loving admira- tion for the personality of Christ. The two poems in the third part entitled "The Cross" and "Jesus of Nazareth," seem to express the author's innermost feeling in this matter. In the former he writes :—

a Ah, who shall blame the poor weak child of man

Who, yearning towards the God he may not see, Grasps thus some emblem of his tenderness, Holding the viewless Vast within a span, And easing so his spirit's agony With that which bath such power to soothe him and to bless? Since all he sees is phantom of the thing He sees not, who shall chide him if he pray To God as to a Father, if he cling To that which in the form of Christ and clay Softens the blaze of Light whose naked fire would slay ? "

The Christian faith, in this view, is an accommodation to human weakness. We do not write this as wishing to impose a theologi- cal test, but because the interest of the poems so largely depends on the writer's standpoint. Their literary value, though unequal, is very considerable. Sometimes we seem to see hurry, and a contentment with inadequate expressions. The last line of the following, for instance, is very weak. It would have been better to sacrifice the whole stanza, or even poem, than to have let it pass:

"Light have I found, and Hone, And promise of peaceful years, And nerve in the Night to grope In the shadow of nameless Fears, A vigour of heart to sander The False from the Seeming-True, And Calm in the tempest's thunder, And Faith when the sands are few."

But sometimes we have a finely sustained excellence throughout the poem

" Mr GUIDE.

She leads me on through storm and calm, My glorious Angel girt with light; By dazzling isles of tropic balm, By coasts of ice in northern night. Now far amid the mountain shades Her footprints gleam like golden fire, And now adown the leafy glades I chase the music of her lyre.

And now amid the tangled pines That darkly robe the gorgeous steep, She beckons where in woven lines The sunbeams through the darkness creep, And shows in glimpses far below The champaign stretching leagues away. Fair cities veiled in summer's glow Or sparkling in the cloudless ray.

At times on seas with tempest loud, The pilot of my bark, she stands, And, through the rifts of driving cloud, To tranquil bays of bounteous lands, The grassy creek, the bowery shore, The fringe of many a charmed realm, She steers me safe by magic lore. Her white arm leaning on the helm,"

And a thought as old as literature has seldom been more finely expressed than in the following :—

" SPRING AND DEATH.

Shadow and light on the mountain, the sapphire, the pink, and the gold, Brightening and darkening in winds of the morning as sweet as of old, Shadow and light of the Spring in the gambolling breezes of May, Shadow and light—but the heart that loved them is cold in the clay.

Sounds of the winds arising and fading afar in the woods, Bending the tree as they wander and swinging the dove that broods, Sounds of the winds in the burgeoning boughs and the grasses of May, hounds of the winds—bat the heart that loved them is cold in the clay.

Blossom and leaf and light and colour, the fulness of Spring, Birds in the meadows, and birds in the thickets, that gargle and sing, Blossom and colour and light and song, and the fervour of May,— All, all are here—bat the heart that loved them is cold in the clay."

Mr. Savage-Armstrong continues to keep a place ;very high among the Di minorum gentium.—Poems, by William Watson (Macmillan), contains a reprint of the poems originally published in " Wordsworth's Grave, and other Poems," together with some other pieces. Mr. Watson's name will be familiar to readers of the Spectator, and it is needless to do more than call their attention to this collected edition of his poems.—Vulgar Verses. By Jones Brown. (Reeves and Turner.)—Most of these verses are idylls of common life, and we do not know why the writer included among them the romance of Cupassis, the Galla maid whom Queen Kara used as a footstool, and who finally came to be a nun, the first black nun that ever was, i.e., "in the great convent of the Trinith " at Lisbon. " Haymaking ; " "Martha's Wedding," in which the maid is asked, beyond all expectation, to marry her widowed master ; "Susan," "Sally," both experiences of service,—are some of the subjects which the author treats. It would be an injustice to make extracts. The theme and its treatment do not admit of purpurei panni, but there is genuine power to be seen in the verse. / —Lisha Ridley the Pitman, and other Poems. By Henry J. Barker, B.A. (Jarrold and Sons.)—This volume, too, contains something readable, but we must own that the versified form is not that which we prefer for the tales which Mr. Barker has to tell.—Many readers will be glad to hear of a reprint of some excellent trans- lations in A Chaplet from the Greek Anthology, by Richard Garnett. (T. Fisher Unwin).—Leaves of Memory. By Elizabeth Cowell. (Seeley.)—These verses gain an interest from the evident truth and depth of the personal feeling which they express, and from the variety of scenes which they picture ; nor are they without literary power; but they want both force and finish. The first piece, "Moonlight in Calcutta," is much better than the rest. If Mrs. Cowell could always have kept to this level, we could have given less stinted praise.—Pot-Pourri ; or, Merry and Wise. By "G. S. H." (Digby and Long.)—There are some creditable verses in this volume, the translations being, perhaps, the best. The "Phaselus ille " from Catullus is decidedly good, though the " Lova sive dextera vocaret aura" is not adequately rendered by

"Though wind might tarn From west to east or blow astern."

Catullus means that his yacht sailed equally with a side or a following wind. Here is a specimen of the author in his sportive mood :—

"A PARODY FROM DRYDEN.

Two Beings in two distant periods born, The courts of Heav'n, the groves of Earth adorn : The first excelled in majesty and grace, The next in feeling heart and noble face.

Commanded then a terd fair type to show, The force of Nature could no farther go, So mingling the angelic and the human In just proportion, lo! it fashion'd woman : But since she rudely straggles to the fore, The man remains, the angel is no snore."

—Amoris Imago. By W. G. Hole. (Kegan Paul, Trench, and Co.)—Thie is a volume of fair verse of the academical kind. Mr. Hole has studied good models, and studied them with success. If he had had, so to speak, anything to say, his volume might have been a success. A power of expression he certainly has, but the thought expressed is commonplace. Even the story of " Menarchus the Palmian," the principal poem of the volume, is scarcely a story. In what school Mr. Hole has learnt may be seen from the following, which is as good a specimen of his manner as we can find :— " I weary of the slow-puleed plash and beat Of these stale, regular seas. The drudge of nets,

The fetch and carry of mean merchandise From isle to isle, are these for such as you ?

Nay! strong of heart, it shall be ours to find

That wondrous city banded in the west, -Whereof one speaks who saw its walls afar ; Its ivory roofs and pinnacles of gold; Its milk-white marble battlements, and towers Up-glimmering, cloudfaint, skyward; where the things That most we value oolusterwise are held.

And what are storms to men who fear them not ?"

—Poems. By William Charles Scully. (T. Fisher Unwin.)— This is a "volume of verse written by a South African Colonist." They need no such apology, if, indeed, it be an apology. The literature of these young countries may be long in growing, but it

should be a sturdy growth in the end. _ Mr. Scully can write very well, witness the following :—

"THON.La Patrons.

These mountain winds that wander in the Ban, And sway the purple harebells to and fro, And murmur 'mid the liehembitten rooks, Bring one to mind, a singer, one who drew First harmony from discords of a land Unknown to fame, miming of, and a waste. Here Pringle dwelt, and tuned his blameless lyre At Nature's knee, and with his poet's ear Caught wandering notes of music, which he wove In chords of silver sweetness; here his eye From flower and bird and cloud drank colour in And stored it in his mind, until it flowed, Transmuted by his heart to strands of song,— Now interlaced and wreathed into a robe That clothes these hills with glory.

Haply here He may have sat, and watched the morn unfold Its beauties, like a bud of purest white That changes to a pink rose, and, athirst, Drinks in the night-sky's fire, until it glows And flames to crimson. Haply he has seen, As I now see, the fleecy mist thin drawn In strands like snowy wool, through jagged teeth Of river crags that crest the sunlit heads Of stark, sky-speaking mountains. At his feet Bright ancestors of these sweet heather-bells Perchance were made immortal in his verse. Yon coney, old and grey, that shuns the breeze And blinks upon a ledge when hottest shines 3 he summer sun, mayhap when young and sleek Was startled from his feeding by the steps Of the rapt, pensive poet."

Here he has something to say ; for the subject, the scenery of his adopted country, associated with a notable personality, is suggestive. All these South African poems are notable. Take, for instance, the following vigorous lines, part of a poem, " Aceldama," dramatically assigned to Chaka, the Zulu King :—

" My spears are like the tongues of flame That lick the waving autumn gr iss, To drink of blood and tears I came; Earth shudders where my footsteps pass. A stormy dawn, I woke the sky, My nation, from its sleep of night ; Above my head the vultures fly, Nor have they oft a hungry flight.

A beast with horns that rend and gore, My army rashes through the world; The white plumes flutter in the fore Like mists before a tempest whirled! The roaring sea when storms are strong Is not so fierce, the lion's wrath Is tame when swells the battle-song That frights the clouds above my path !

My beaten shields to thunder thrill, My spears like lightning flash between, Till raining blood their brightness kill, Or dim to lurid red their sheen! At morn and eve the splendid shine Of burning clouds I hail with joy— The sky thus gives its son the sign To rise up mighty, and destroy ! "

—Songs and Lyrics. By Joseph Skipsey. (Walter Scott.)—Mr. Skipsey's name is known to many readers of verse, who will be glad to have this collection of what "has been regarded as most characteristic of the author's work."—Poems of Gustavo Adolfo Becquer. Rendered into English Verse by Mason Carnes. (Kegan Paul, Trench, and Co.)—Becquer was a native of Seville, who pursued the literary life in the midst of many difficulties. It is difficult to judge of his power by translations, though, indeed, these read fluently enough, with some exceptions, as "ashes and rot" (p. 79). But we do not see anything characteristic in theme —We have received :—Zatinoxis, and other Poems. By James H. Wilson. (Elliot Stock.)—A Ballad of a .Tester, and other Poems. By J. R. Williamson. (Riley, Darwen.)—As the Wind Blows : Stray Songs in Many Moods. By J. Percy King. (The Leaden- hall Press.)—Sketches from Nature. By " Sheila." (Kegan Paul, Trench, and Co.)—Is it " nature " to have "two primroses that budded side by side" "'neath the shadow of a lily tall and proud, that bloomed alone in solitary pride " ? Do lilies bloom "when opening leaves by April showers are bowed" P—The Shadows of the Lake, and other Poems. By F. Leyton. A " second edition." (Same publishers.) —Proto-Maulis, and other Poems. By Lewis Morrison-Grant. (Alexander Gardner.) —The Love-Song of Barbara. By Charles Joseph Whitby. (Elliot Stock.)—Wayside Voices. By William Steven Bate. (New York, no publisher's name.)—Lyrical Versicles. By "B. T. N." (Arrowsmith, Bristol.)—The Fairy Ballad-Book. By the Author of " Endymion's Dream." (Bell and Sons.)— Moyarra : an Australian Legend. By Yttadairn. (E. A. Petherick and Co.)—Prometheus. By James Allen. (D. Stott.)—Avon- more, and other Poems. By Christopher Dawson. (Nisbet and Co.) —Loose Blades front the One Field. By Francis Osmaston. (Kegan Paul, Trench, and Co.)