18 MARCH 1899, Page 16

POETRY.

THE CHOICE OF ATLAS.

OP old betwixt the gods and earth, High-beaded, girt with cloud, Dividing misery and mirth, Old Atlas stood and bowed.

Close to the high celestial gate He bent a drowsy brain, While far below his feet set weight On furrowed fields of pain.

The earth's far cry Bang faint, and dim Her face towards him grew : His head was crowned with light; round him The immortal laughter flew.

And yet he tired of that high place, And thrust away the prize, Lifting a dead, indignant face Of stone toward the skies!

LAURENCE HOUSMAN.