A Glimpse of Spring and other Poems, by Rebecca Scott
(Dublin : Herbert), is a volume of respectable verse, sometimes, as in the last poem, "Bringing home the May," rising into a certain grace and tenderness
Blossoms strewed by childish fingers Lay in heaps beside our door ; But the shadow of the cypress Fell athwart our floor.
"And an almo.,t worshipped father In death's silent slumber lay: While they came, those happy children, Bearing home the May.
"Though long years since then have vanished, I can still remember well, How the children's joyous voices On my sad heart fell.
"Oh: the mockery of that laughter- 011 ! the anguish of that day ; Even yet its cruel shadow Saddens every May.
"Now the May flowers' golden clusters
Scattered round the door I see ; But the dew-drops on them glistening Seem like tears to me.
"And a dirge seems ever mingling— Mingling with the shouts so gay, Of the happy, happy children, Bringing home the May."
—though this is spoilt by the exceedingly weak expression, "an almost worshipped father."—Hareld Erie, a Biography, by the Author of "The Story of a Life," is written with taste and good feeling; qualities which we so much appreciate that we regret to have to say what must grievously offend the writer—that we would sooner have read it in prose.—In A Leaf from the Old Forest, by John D. Cossar (Smart and Allen), and Hermione, and other Poems, by Thomas Bradfield (Elliott Stock), we can find nothing to praise, and if they did not pretend to be what they are not, poetry, nothing to blame.
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