19 FEBRUARY 1887, Page 16

POETRY.

PEACE.

Wons and wild waves in headlong huge commotion Scud, dark with tempest, o'er the Atlantic's breast; While underneath, few fathoms deep in Ocean, Lie peace, and rest.

Storms in mid-air, the rack before them sweeping, Hurry, and hiss, like furies hate-possessed While over all white cloudlets pure are sleeping In peace, in rest.

Heart, 0 wild heart ! why in the storm-world ranging Flied thou thus midway, passion's slave and jest, When all so near above, below, unchanging