St. si/bast. By Claud Field, M.A. (Junes Clarke and Co.
2d.)—This poem, which obtained the Seatonian Prize at Cam- bridge, consists of a series of seventeen sonnets. This is a form which we imagine to be absolutely novel in such compositions, aad one which presents no common difficulty. Not a few have written one or more good sonnets ; but a series of uniform excellence is rare. That we have such a series here we cannot lay ; but Mr. Field has nevertheless given ne some good work. Rare ie XIV.
And still, 0 Tuscan, from this crimson sphere I watch the crimson seed I sewed, increase ; I came from martyrdom unto this peace, Because I won the victory over fear ; Because I counted not my own life dear. Close to the cross I keep till time shall cease. While soft as dew that fell on Gideon's fleece, The voice of RIM I died for greets Mille oar. In mine own England, in thine Italy, Truth ever needs new martyrs to arise And burst the hateful bonds of tyranny, Fetters of pagan or of priestly lies ; And not in vain men struggle to he free • 'Under Britannic or Italian skies." Ilere the first five lines are scarcely equal to the lines which follovr.
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