THE SALUTATION

"the

The joy in living, and in what Rossetti called house of life"-that is, the body of man-is here expressed with such freshness and delight as poetry had never expressed it before. That this delight and wonder are a boy's makes the poem the more magnificent, touching, and innocent.

THESE little limbs,

These eyes and hands which here I find, These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins, Where have ye been? behind

What curtains were ye from me hid so long, Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue ?

When silent I

So many thousand thousand years
Beneath the dust did in a chaos lie,
How could I smiles or tears,

Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?
Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.

I that so long

Was nothing from eternity,

Did little think such joys as ear or tongue

To celebrate or see:

Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such

feet

Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.

New-burnisht joys,

Which yellow gold and pearl excel ! Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys, In which a soul doth dwell;

Their organised joints and azure veins

More wealth include than all the world contains.

From dust I rise,

And out of nothing now awake;

Those brighter regions which salute mine eyes,

A gift from God I take.

The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies, The sun and stars are mine; if those I prize.

Long time before

I in my mother's womb was borne, A God preparing did this glorious store, The world, for me adorn.

Into this Eden so divine and fair,

So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.

A stranger here

Strange things doth meet, strange glories see; Strange treasures lodged in this fair world appear, Strange all and new to me;

But that they mine should be, who nothing was, That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.

THOMAS TRAHERNE.

WONDER

This has the same inspiration, but it cannot be spared. Both poems are mystical; that is, they have depths and depths of meaning. But the exquisitely poetical language is simple. In these wonderful verses the poet has overcome Self, not by mournful ways but by generosity and joy. He holds all the things most worth having in common with mankind—a spiritual, imaginative communism.

How like an angel came I down!
How bright are all things here!
When first among His works I did appear,
O, how their glory me did crown!
The world resembled His Eternity,

In which my soul did walk,
And every thing that I did see
Did with me talk.

The skies in their magnificence,
The lively, lovely air,

O, how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair!
The stars did entertain my sense,
And all the works of God, so bright and pure,
So rich and great did seem,

As if they ever must endure
In my esteem.

A native health and innocence

Within my bones did grow,

And while my God did all His glories show

I felt a vigour in my sense

That was all spirit. I within did flow
With seas of life, like wine;

I nothing in the world did know
But 'twas divine.

Harsh ragged objects were conceal'd,
Oppressions, tears, and cries,

Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weeping

eyes

Were hid, and only things reveal'd
Which heavenly spirits and the angels prize.
The state of innocence

And bliss, not trades and poverties,
Did fill my sense.

The streets were paved with golden stones, The boys and girls were mine; O, how did all their lovely faces shine! The sons of men were holy ones: In joy and beauty they appear'd to me; And every thing which here I found, While like an angel I did see,

Adorn'd the ground.

Rich diamond and pearl and gold
In every place was seen;

Rare splendours, yellow, blue, red, white, and

green,

Mine eyes did everywhere behold.
Great wonders clothed with glory did appear;
Amazement was my bliss;

That and my wealth was everywhere;
No joy to this!

Curst and devised proprieties,

With envy, avarice,

And fraud, those fiends that spoil even Paradise,
Flew from the splendour of mine eyes.
And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds:
I dream'd not aught of those;
But wander'd over all men's grounds,
And found repose.

Proprieties themselves were mine,
And hedges ornaments;

Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich contents
Did not divide my joys, but all combine.
Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteem'd
My joys by others worn:

For me they all to wear them seem'd,
When I was born.

THOMAS TRAHERNE.

THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE

A straightforward poem, not very poetical, but tender without over-softness, and courageous without too much boasting. In the next little verse Cowper shows how well he watched the pranks of a dog with snow.

TOLL for the brave!

The brave that are no more:
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore.

Eight hundred of the brave,

Whose courage well was tried,

Had made the vessel heel

And laid her on her side;