Each lookt into the other's face, I markt those two when they were men, They toucht each other's hands, and then Of love, the lightest chain, "This is a page in our life's book The web is rent, The hour-glass spent, And oh the path we once forsook "Our days are broken into parts, And every fragment has a tale May make our freshest hopes turn pale; A cold hard voice may seem to mutter A rich vein of thought runs through the following lines, which are also well fitted to exemplify Mr. Milnes' metrical skill. 66 ON MY BOYISH LETTERS. "Look at the leaves I gather up in trembling,- 66 But they are other than the tree can bear now, Deep as the tumult in an arched sea-cave, Out of the past these antiquated voices Fall on my heart's ear; I must listen to them "Whose is this hand that wheresoe'er it wanders, "With what a healthful appetite of spirit, "See! how he twists his coronals of fancy, "What, is this I? this miserable complex, Surely we are by feeling as by knowing, Changing our hearts, our being changes with them; They are not mine!" From many sonnets we select a well-conceived and eloquent tribute to Mr. Tennyson. "TO A CERTAIN POET. "At Beauty's altar fervent acolyte, And favored candidate for priestly name, Nor waste one breath of thy rare gift of flame; Aiming thy wings at that serenest height, Where Wordsworth stands, feeding the multitude." Here are two very sweet specimens of "Memorials of a Residence on the Continent.” .6 ON THE JUNGFRAU BY MOONLIGHT. "The maiden moon is resting, The maiden mount above, With cold majestic love. "So I and thou, sweet sister, Upon each other gaze, Our love was warm, but sorrow Has shorn it of its rays. "As in the hazy heav'n ON A RUINED CASTLE NEAR THE RHINE. "This was a fortress, firm and stout, In days of ladie-love and knight,— It has known carouse and Provençal song, It has gained glory from those wings, And now it stands in its massiveness, Wi' the scars of many an age, Like a lore-encumbered prophetess, Who has worn away her youthfulness, In studies deep and sage.' We conclude our extracts from Mr. Milnes' earlier volumes, with a poem which shows him to be a master of pathos. The following lines are on the death of a friend. "I'm not where I was yesterday, Tho' my home be still the same, I'm not what I was yesterday, Tho' change there be little to see, "I have lost a thought that many a year To my inmost mind, by night or day, I have lost a hope, that many a year When the walls of life were closing round, "For long, too long, in distant climes I was well content to roam, And felt no void, for my heart was full "And now I was close to my native shores, His spirit was in that homeward wind, Where my youth's most genial flowers had blown, "I thought, how should I see him first, I thought, where should I hear him first, And thus I went up to his door, And they told me he was gone! "Oh! what is life but a sum of love, And now how mighty a sum of love The Poetry for the People," which gives its name to Mr. Milnes' new volume, occupies but a small portion of it. It is a series of what may be called sermons in verse, which, though the doctrines are not always unexceptionable, come creditably from a conservative legislator. We quote one, entitled " Almsgiving," which strikes us as the best of the series. Its sentiments are just and gentle and Mr. Milnes has expended more care on the language than is generally the case in this volume. "When poverty, with mien of shame, 66 The sense of pity seeks to touch,- That bids you close the opening hand, Your first and free intent withstand. It may be that the tale you hear Of pressing wants and losses borne, And tatters for the purpose worn; A sadder need than this, to wear What will but tempt to further spoil Their exercise of humble skill. "It may be that the suppliant's life But how can any guage of yours Why not believe the homely letter That all you give will God restore? And whatsoe'er the issue be Bare quittance of his labour's worth, |