Yea, though one praise and love, or all forget, VOL. XII.-20 HER CONFIRMATION. WHEN my Clorinda walks in white What sinless dove can show to heaven Come, then, Thou noiseless Spirit, and rest URBANUS LOQUITUR. LET others sing the country's charm; Of lark and nightingale; the wain Which fill the country hours with bliss; The country maiden's cheek of rose; Her lover's artless, amorous gift, Which pure affection's heart inclose; The children nestling round their sire At night-fall, by the winter's fire. For me, for me another world's Enchantments hold my heart in thrall; 'Twixt jar of tongues, at endless strife I'll call not these the best, nor those; The secret's this; where'er our lot, To read, mark, learn, digest them well; The devious paths we mortals take To gain, at length, our heaven or hell: Alike in some still, rural scene On Regent Street and Bethnal Green. 6449 JEAN INGELOW. JEAN INGELOW, an English poet and romance-writer, born at Boston, Lincolnshire, in 1830; died at Kensington, July 20, 1897. Her first publication was "Tales of Orris" (1860). Her father was a banker and a man of superior intellectual culture. As a child Miss Ingelow was exceedingly shy and reserved. She first came into public notice as a poet when her volume of poems containing "Divided," "High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire," and the "Songs of Seven," was published in 1863, and the author secured immediate recognition as a poet of high rank. She published "A Story of Doom, and Other Poems" (1867); "Monitions of the Unseen" and "Poems of Love and Childhood" (1870), and "Poems of the Old Days and the New" (1885). She wrote several works for the young, among which were "Studies for Stories" (1864); "Poor Matt" (1866); "Stories told to a Child," two series (18661872); "A Sister's Bye-Hours" (1868); " Mopsa the Fairy" (1869); "Little Wonder-Horn" (1872); "Home Thoughts and Home Scenes," "The Suspicious Jackdaw," "The Grandmother's Shoe," "The Golden Opportunity," "The Moorish Gold," "The Minnows with Silver Tails," "Two Ways of Telling a Story," "The Wild Duck Shooter." Her second series of poems was published in 1876, and her third series in 1885. She was also the author of several novels: "Off the Skelligs" (1873); "Fated to be Free" (1874); "Sarah de Berenger" (1881); "Don John " (1881); "John Jerome " (1886), and "A Motto Changed" (1894). During the latter part of her life Miss Ingelow lived in London, and three times a week she gave what she called a "copyright dinner" to twelve needy persons just discharged from the hospitals. Miss Ingelow's writings were popular in America, as well as in England. In 1874 her poems had reached a sale of 98,000 copies in this country. She was a writer of the widest popularity. She had among other requisites for poetical composition what the critics. called the gift of clear, strong, and simple language, and her pictures showed at once accurate observation of nature combined with a strong sympathy with the common interests of life. SONGS OF SEVEN. SEVEN TIMES ONE. EXULTATION. THERE's no dew left on the daisies and clover, I've said 66 I am old, so old, I can write a letter; The lambs play always, they know no better; O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low; You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing,-You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face? I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, You've powdered your legs with gold! O columbine, open your folded wrapper, And show me your nest with the young ones in it; I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet I am seven times one to-day. SEVEN TIMES TWO. ROMANCE. You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes, And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges Come over, come over to me. Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys, And bells have forgotten their old art of telling Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily, Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over, No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover. The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather, She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather: I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster, And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, "The child is a woman, the book may close over, I wait for my story - the birds cannot sing it, The bells cannot ring it, but long years, O bring it! SEVEN TIMES THREE. LOVE. I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, If a step draweth near, "The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see? |