POETRY.

A WALK WITH TENNYSON, 1855.

(" The Federation of the World.")

AM! and what is it, to tread on air, When the winds are silent, the night is fair, And the soulless moon wakes souls to prayer; To walk with a poet, who tells his faith, With a deep low voice, in a bated breath, Of a good in evil, a life in death?

And, ab ! what is it to look below

Where the wavelets murmur with lips of snow, And hear him murmur, "I see, I know!"

And not one doubt in his kindling eye, And not one cloud in the vault on high, And a temple-silence in earth and sky !

And then what is it, as life flows on,

And the times are darkened, the seer is gone, To think of the light that once has shone !

Of a peaceful down and a rock-built seat, And the Ocean-whisper beneath our feet,

And the marvellous voice, so rich, so sweet;

That sung—Was it song, or the magic wand Of a music-king with a sceptred hand, When the heart-strings thrill at his strong command ?

As he said or sung—it was song to me : No nightingale chanting full and free

Ever charmed the night with such minstrelsy—

While he spake of the slow unfolding plan, Of the lifted curse, and the broken ban, And the evening glow on the hopes of Man; Till last, as the wars and tumults cease, And the sighing of prisoners finds release,

The long death-struggle is closed in peace; And the hatreds vanish, the barriers fall, And the nations fleclF to a common call, And one heart of brotherhood beats i,n

Then home at last through the twinkling furze As the lark with her young ones wakes, and stirs At a song up in heaven, half God's, half hem.

ARTHUR G. BUTLER.