11 OCTOBER 1879, Page 13

POETRY.

Au ! swan of slenderness, dove of tenderness, Jewel of joys, arise !

The little red lark, like a rosy spark Of song, to his sun-burst flies ; But till you are risen, earth is a prison, Full of my captive sighs.

Then wake, and discover to your fond lover The morn of your matchless eyes.

The dawn is dark to me ; hark, oh ! hark to me, Pulse of my heart, I pray, And gently gliding out of thy hiding, Dazzle me with thy day !

And oh ! I'll fly to thee, singing, and sigh to thee, Passion so sweet and gay, The lark shall listen, and dew-drops glisten, Laughing on every spray.

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.