POETRY.
THE BREATH OF THE FURZE. THE breath of the furze came over the hill, On a moonlit night when the wind was still. From the tall, keen spires of the golden town That Spring has built on the seaward down— Thorn and blossom, all dimly seen
In a maze of gold and a mist of green— Was issued forth for the world's delight A fragrant message across the night.
The breath of the furze came down to the sea, With the blackbird's voice from the hazel-tree : Sweet as nectarine, warm as peach, Blent with the salt of the wave-wet beach. Through the morning glory it strove in vain To make its marvellous meaning plain, For the world was reeling with sound and scent And glow of the mid-May firmament. The breath of the furze came over the heath From the gold above and the gold beneath; It floated down through the primrose dell Where the chaffinch builds and the ring-doves dwell Wandering waters with welcome-chime, Hailed it softly from time to time, And the nightingale, when the dark drew nigh,.
Wove it into his minstrelsy.
The breath of the furze like a dream stole in To the city's heart through the drouth and din,-- With a sudden wonder a woman stopped Where a yellow bough in the dust was dropped ;.
And all in a moment the tears arise In healing streams to her dull, hard eyes.
And the spark of life that a dead soul keeps.
Is newly kindled in sombre deeps.
"I will arise now and go once more To the cottage-gate by the brown sea-shore :- Where the brooklet-spray to the foam descends• Over the cliff where the furze-brake ends.
Perhaps the cowslips are blooming now, Where the whitethroat sings on the whitethorn bough :- Perhaps my mother is waiting still, Where the breath of the furze comes over the hill !"
M. C. GILLING TON.
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