BOOKS.

RECENT VERSE.* MR. MASEFIELD is the Crabbe of these later days. But his tragedies are homespun only in their external aspect. He is never homely, and the spiritual tension of his characters, as well as the singular beauty of his atmosphere, seem to us in the highest degree exotic. Which is merely to say that Mr. Masefield is no common realist, but universalizes his tragedy in the grand manner. We are not in the least convinced that he is telling us a true tale of a Herefordshire village, but we are convinced that he is writing truly of human nature, which is the vital thing. He overdoes the brutality, the saintliness, the tenderness, of his figures; they are allegories rather than portraits ; but because they are studied in more than life-size, the drama is all the more moving. The widow's son is beguiled by a light woman; when he finds out her character he kills her paramour, and is hanged for it; and the mother wanders distraught among the pleasant uplands. The poetry is less fine than in The Everlasting Mercy,

but the drama is greater. Anna, the light woman, with her hollow tendernesses, is a masterly study, and when after the trial she goes back to the country to sing innocently in the morning gardens we reach a high pitch of dramatic

irony. And in the last interview between the widow and her son we have a scene of profound tragic beauty. As we have said, there are fewer episodic beauties in the verse than in the earlier poem, but the last few stanzas show us pastoral poetry in the very perfection of its simplicity. They recall, on

a lower note, the close of Thyrsis.

"And in the sunny dawns of hot Julys, The labourers going to meadow see her there, Rubbing the sleep out of their heavy eyes, They lean upon the parapet to stare ;

They see her plaiting basil in her hair, Basil, the dark red wound-wort, cops of clover, The blue self-heal and golden Jacks of Dover.

Dully they watch her, then they turn to go To that high Shropshire upland of late hay; Her singing lingers with them as they mow, And many times they try it, now grave, now gay, Till with full throat, over the hills away, They lift it clear ; oh, very clear it towers, Mixed with the swish of many falling flowers."

Mr. John Drinkwater in his Poems of Love and Earth has more than redeemed the promise of his first volume. The "Dedication," with its love of clean beauty and its broad receptiveness, gives the keynote of his work. He is a most delicate artificer, catching, as he says himself, "the changes of the year In soft and fragile nets of song."

Curiously enough, in some of his cadences he recalls Mr. Hardy's work in verse. He is widely accomplished, for he can write lilting ballads like "The Feckenham Men" and "News of the Fleet," fine sonnets like " Forsaken," and a noble lyric like " Morning Thanksgiving." Not the least of the attractions of these verses is their spirit of faith and joy and high adventure, all too rare among our modern poets.

• (1) The Widow in the Bye-Street. By John Masefield. London: Sidgwick and Jackson. Las. 6d. net.)-(2) Poems of Love and Barth. By John Drinkwater. London: D. Nutt. [ls. 6d. net.]-(3) The Listeners and other Poems. By Walter de la Mare. London : Constable and Co. [20. 65. net.]-(4) Song in September. By Norman Gale. Same Publisher. [5s. net.] -(5) Oxford Poems. By H. W. Garrod. London: John Lane. [3s. 6d. setd-(6) Verse. By Bernard Holland. London: W. Blackwood and Sons. [5s. net.]-(7) XAPITE3.3I.1911. Cambridge : Bowes and Bowes. [Is. 6d. met.]-(3) Denys of Auxerre: a Drama. By James Barton. London : Christophers. [5s. net.]-(9) The King : a Tragedy. By Stephen Phillips. London: Swift, Stephen and C.. 128. 6d. net.]-(10) Three Allegorical Plays. By W. A. B. London : J. H. Dent and Sons. [fie. net.]-(11) Poems. By Archibald Young CampbelL Cambridge W. Hefter and Sons. [34. 6d. net.]-(12) Lyric Leaves. By S. Gertrude Ford. London : Daniel. [2s. 6d. net.] -(13) Mari:m.4es and other Poems. By Gascoigne Mackie. Orford: B. K -Black welL [28. 65. net.]-(14) Studies and Portraits. By E. Herrick. London: Allenson. [Is. 6d. net.] -(15) Songs of a Navvy. By Patrick MacGilL Windsor: The Author. [Lg. net.]-(16) Cliftonian Versos and Fair Copies. By C. H. Spence. Clifton : Baker. [13.]-(17) Last Post and Reveille. By Frederick W. Hogg. Loudon: St. Catherine Press. [la. net.]-(18) The Ulster Polk. By Padric Gregory. London : D. Nutt. [Is.net.] -(19) Songs out of Exile. By Cullen Gouldsbury. . London: T. Fisher Unwin. [3s..6d. net.]-(20) Prentice Days and other Poems and Homeland and Outland Song and story. By H. J. White. Adelaide.

" Poor barren years that brooded over-much On your own burden, pale and stricken years, Go down to your oblivion, we part

With no reproach or ceremonial tears. Henceforth my hands are lifted to the touch Of hands that labour with me, and my heart Hereafter to the world's heart shall be set And its own pain forget. Time gathers to my name-

Days dead are dark ; the days to be, a flame Of wonder and of promise, and great cries Of travelling people reach me-I must rise."

Mr. Walter de la Mare's The Listeners is also full of many notes.

Sometimes he writes little apologues instinct with tender simplicity. Again he follows the old fairy magic, with the richness of fancy which we have known before in his work. " The Dwelling-Place " and the beautiful " Ages Ago" show this side of his talent. But his most abiding quality is his wistfulness, his sense of the things not seen, the consciousness that the glowing world is a thin cloak which hides the greater verities. In Mr. Norman Gale's Song in September we welcome the work of a singer who has been silent too long. He is a very objective poet, a keen observer, and the gleaner, as he tells us in " The Crumbs," of the few fruits not yet gathered in the fields of song. At his best he has something of an Elizabethan joy in the natural world, which sometimes finds, as in" To a Proud Beauty," the true Elizabethan expression. He has a quick and charming fancy, and a pure joy in the pageantry of nature. But, like all pastoralists, he has his modish and affected moments, and he tends to overdo the use of the epithet "fragrant." We like him best in his homeliest manner, as in " The Hyacinths," and the delightful poem " To the Sweetwilliam," though when he complains that the flower is neglected by poets he seems to have forgotten a famous stanza by Matthew Arnold.

Next on our list come three volumes which are alike in having an academic interest. Mr. Garrod's Oxford Poems contain some of the best verses published of late on the incidents of university life-urbane, easy, agreeably reflective.

Such is "A Bump Supper," and in a graver vein "A Don's Point of View" and "To One Who Desired a Fellowship." Like William Cory, Mr. Garrod's thoughts are always straying from the backwaters of scholarship to the open waterways of action. It is hard to select where all are so good, but our favourites, perhaps, are the verses " To J. L. S." and the fine memorial poem, "Early Dead." As a proof of Mr. Garrod's wholesome philosophy we quote this little poem :-

" If man from empty shadows born

A shadow passes whence he came, I know not; but I know each morn

The blood within me saith, am' ; And something laughs and leaps and longs And dashes at the hill of life,

And dies for honour's fancied wrongs, And strives for very love of strife ; And out of dull disaster gains The strength that hopeless causes give, And out of death's subduing pains Cries, 'Dying and behold we live.'"

Mr. Bernard Holland's verses must delight all lovers of the Horatian note, the wise, scholarly, accomplished, thoughtful and most modest muse. He attempts no high flights, but if he does not soar he never sinks. His sonnets are admirable, and the sequence in which the "Dark Lady" replies to Shakespeare is as witty and adroit in execution as it is original in conception. But we like Mr. Holland best when he is frankly Horatian, in "Immortalia ne Speres," "December

in London," the "Reply to J. K. S.," and the delightful verses to Mr. Newbolt in which he discusses the art of life. XAPITEZEI is a strange little book, obscure, vague, but full of beautiful things. Sometimes it recalls Mr. Robert Bridges, but more often the Jacobean lyrists. The dainty verse is full of strange gleams of wild fancy and strange vagaries of style. " L'Apres- Midi d'un Faune " and "The Morning Moon" are examples of what we mean. We quote one lyric as an instance of this

anonymous poet's curious quality:-

" When my fair love spea,keth, To do her bidding stand, With crystal scimitars drawn, Close-ranked on either band, The eager armies of dawn.

When she gaily lan,gheth, Round her bright head conspire, Fluttering in rich festoon, Leaf-winged with amber fire, The golden cherubs of noon.

But if in wounding sadness Her delicate form be bowed, Hiding the world's delight, Rush as a thick-winged cloud The avenging legions of night."

Of the three plays on our list Mr. Barton's Denys of Auxerre is a very remarkable performance. It is based upon the tale told by Walter Pater in his Imaginary Portraits, but Mr. Barton has wonderfully amplified and decorated the original. He achieves what is always difficult in the dramatic form, a haunting atmosphere and a sense of mystery which the use of spirits, after Mr. Hardy's manner, scarcely intensifies. The characterization is very careful, and in the case of the monk Hermes we have an arresting and

subtle portrait. Our one criticism is that the development of the central figure, Denys, is difficult to follow, more especially in his ultimate madness, and this obscurity weakens the dramatic force of the climax. It would be difficult to over- praise the verse. Whatever the form, Mr. Barton shows

himself a true artist. He can write a lovely lyric, such as that on page 60, and he is an equal master of strange little Shake- speare catches. His blank verse has a splendid ease and often a sonorous rhetoric. Take such a passage as this :-

" I knew a man once who was much beloved:

He had a flask ; a kind of talisman ; Some say he stole it from the Gergasenes ; Some that the youngest imp of vasty hell Steering his flight beyond the land of Punt, Where there's a temple dedicate to Death, Filched it away ; and to the snitaness Of Prester John for certain favours sold.

At any rate the thing was full of death ; And people made a feast and drank of it, And that's how all the trouble first began : For he was haunted by a small brown owl,

This merry fellow—he was merry once—

Perched on his shoulder, peeking at his ear : At last it drove him mad; and when he climbed The purple hills to hear the song of bees, Burying his face among the honied bells, The owl was there, and all the heather blazed, And singed him like hell-fire."

Mr. Stephen Phillips's play, The King, is avowedly constructed on the Greek model. The subject is of the type familiar in Greek literature, but we cannot think that the author was wise in selecting such a theme for a very short drama. Awesome events treated in such an elliptical and truncated manner lose their awe, and narrowly escape farce. The style is

reticent and dignified, and at the end it rises into Mr. Phillips's old eloquence, but we cannot profess to think the little play

successful. You cannot carve an epic on a nutshell. The Three Allegorical Plays by W. A. B. are charming versions of familiar fairy tales, where the story is given a moral and psychological significance. The verse is easy, graceful, and full of happy phrases, and the dramatic values are skilfully preserved. We can imagine that these little plays might do well on the stage if an audience could be found appreciative of pleasant and delicate fancy.

We must content ourselves with brief notices of the other volumes on our list. Mr. Archibald Young Campbell's Poems is a first book, and much of the verse is immature. He is apt. to fall into banal lines, especially at the close of a piece. But he has wit and the elements of imagination, and his poems on children are full of promise. Miss Gertrude Ford's Lyric Leaves are musical and accomplished, and such poems as "Lakeland to Switzerland " and " The Wife's Appeal " show a certain originality of imagination. " The Song of the Shop Slave" is a powerful indictment of a scandal. For the rest we like Miss Ford best when she is least political, for in these days a political motif is apt to turn the verse into a rhe- torical jingle. We welcome a new and enlarged edition of Mr. Gascoigne Mackie's Charmides. No modern poet has written more beautifully of Oxford, and we would advise those who do not know Mr. Mackie's work to turn to " Autumn in Wadham Garden " or the beautiful " Oxford at Night." Mr. Herrick's Studies and Portraits show a remark- able power of ballad-writing and a gift of sonorous, many- syllabled verse. "Oxford to Basing "is proof of the first, and " The Call" of the second. Mr. Patrick MacGill's Songs of

a Navvy show a young man modelling himself on at least a score of his predecessors, but they show, also, a power of direct observation and of strong emotion which will in time give the author a style of his own. Mr. Spence's Cl7flonian Verses and Fair Copies is a delightful little collection of experiments. The parodies of Chaucer and Bacon are admirable, as are the translations from Heine and the Latin "fair copies. Mr. Ragg's Last Post and Reveille is a sequence of indignant sonnets, protesting eloquently against the Government's recent subversion of the British Constitution. Mr. Padric Gregory's The Ulster Folk is a series of folk- songs reconstructed from floating airs and fragments still to he found in Down and Antrim. Apart from their historical interest, these ballads show a real poetic sense and a delight- ful skill in the use of the Ulster dialect. We are glad to see that Mr. Cullen Gouldsbury in Songs out of Exile has collected his Rhodesian rhymes. He has an uncanny gift of keen observa- tion—witness such a poem as " On any Port in Africa—and the native poems in the section " Black Man's Twilight " form one of the most noteworthy of recent contributions to South African literature. Mr. H. J. White is a South Australian poet, whose two little books are the record of varied experiences of life which rarely fall to the singer's lot. Like other Australian -writers he is apt to fall into a conventional gallop of verses, but his work is always inspired by sincere feeling and wide knowledge, and he shows often a true ear for melody.