POETRY.
THE HAPPY LAND.
[The following is a modernised version of the opening lines of the Anglo- Saxon poem on the Phcenix, based upon a Latin poem on the same subject which has been ascribed to Lactantius, a writer of the fourth century. This pasage has a literary interest in connection with Tennyson's description of "the island-valley of Avilion."]
I HEAR that far hence, in the Eastern clime,
There lies a glorious land, renowned of men.
To most of nations that possess the earth That nook is inaccessible, remote, By God's protection, from all evil men.
Fair is that pleasant plain, endowed with joys, Sweet with the most delicious scents of earth.
That isle excels all others, for the Lord, The wise Creator, excellent in might, Hath surely founded it. To favoured men There often is unclosed the door of heaven With gushing music. Winsome is the plain; Wolds ever green extend beneath the skies.
And there nor rain, nor snow, nor breath of frost, Nor blast of fire, nor rush of rattling hail, Nor fall of rime, nor scorching heat of sun, Nor lasting cold, nor drought, nor winter storms Work any injury; but all the plain Lies happy, healthful, fresh with blossoms fair.
No bills rise rugged there, nor barren cliffs Uplift their stony sides, as here with us; No dens or dales are there, nor mountain caves ; No mounds or ridges break the smooth expanse, But all that noble plain, beneath the skies,
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