17 SEPTEMBER 1892, Page 17

POETRY.

ENGLA.ND MY MOTHER. [Epilogue, from an unpublished volume.]

I.

ENGLAND my Mother, Wardress of waters, Builder of peoples, Maker of men,—

Ha,st thou yet leisure Left for the muses P Heed'st thou the songsmith Forging the rhyme?

Deafened with tumults, How canst thou hearken ? Strident is faction, Demos is loud.

Lazarus, hungry, Menaces Dives ; Labour the giant Chafes in his hold.

Yet do the songsmiths Quit not their forges ; Still on life's anvil Forge they the rhyme.

Still the rapt faces Glow from the furnace : Breath of the smithy Scorches their brows.

Yea, and thou hear'st them P So shall the hammers Fashion not vainly Verses of gold. Therefore, deride not Speech of the muses, England my mother, Maker of men.

Nations are mortal, Fragile is greatness; Fortune may fly thee, Song shall not fly.

Song the all-girdling, Song cannot perish :

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So shall the songsmiths Proffer their rhyme-gifts, England my mother, Maker of men.

Gray grows thy counenance, Full of the ages : Time on thy forehead Sits like a dream.

Song is the potion All things renewing, Youth's one elixir, Fountain of morn. Lo, with the ancient Roots of man's nature, Twines the eternal Passion of song.

Ever Love fans it, Ever Life feeds it ; Time cannot age it, Death cannot slay.

Deep in the world-heart Stand its foundations, Tangled with all things, Twin-made with all. Nay, what is Nature's Self, but an endless Strife toward music, Euphony, rhyme ?

Trees in their blooming, Tides in their flowing, Stars in their circling, Tremble with song.

God on his throne is Eldest of poets : Unto his measures Moveth the Whole.

Men shall make music, Man shall give ear.

Not while the choric Chant of creation Floweth from all things, Poured without pause, Cease we to echo Faintly the descant, Whereto for ever Dances the world.

Thou, at the world-loom Weaving thy future, Fitly mayst temper Toil with delight.

Deemest thou, labour Only is earnest?

Grave is all beauty, Solemn is joy.

Song is no bauble,— Slight not the songsmith, England my mother, Maker of then.

WILLIAM WATSON.