"SEEK NOT T' EXPLORE WHAT TERM OF LIFE FOR THEE OR ME MAY BE IN STORE-(DERBY'S HORACE) 66 THE FLEETING YEARS TOO QUICKLY PASS, -(HORACE) THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 159 Thrice have their boldest chiefs this point assailed, The two Ajaces, brave Idomeneus, The Atridae both, and Tydeus' warlike son, To whom great Hector of the glancing helm: My heart has ne'er been wrung; but I should blush A weeping captive by some brass-clad Greek; Heart-wrung, by stern necessity constrained. AND NONE MAY STAY THEIR COURSE."-DERBY'S HORACE. WISER FAR, WHATE'ER OUR FUTURE FATE MAY SEND, WITH CHEERFUL MIND TO BEAR."-DERBY'S HORACE. "MAN'S WILD SOUL, IN FIERCE COMMOTION, STILL BEYOND THE BOUNDS OF REASON,-(SCHILLER) 160 66 EVER SOME DISTANT BLISS APPEARS,-(DERBY'S SCHILLER) EARL OF DERBY. For loss of him who might have been thy shield, Thus as he spoke, great Hector stretched his arms Crying, and sought his nurse's sheltering breast, Laughed the fond parents both, and from his brow His father,' when they see him from the fight, Thus saying, in his mother's arm he placed my heart! No man may take my life; and when it comes, Great Hector said, and raised his plumed helm; THE GOLDEN SCOPE OF EAGER gaze."-deRBY'S SCHILLER. VARIES LIKE THE VARYING SEASON, TOST ON PASSION'S STORMY OCEAN."-DERBY'S SCHILLER. "MAN, 'MID STORM, AND WRATH, AND STRIFE, BREAKING WITH RESISTLESS FORCE-(SCHILLER) THE 'THE WORLD GROWS OLD, GROWS YOUNG AGAIN, DERBY'S SCHILLER THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 161 And homeward, slow, with oft-reverted eyes, For Hector, yet alive, his household mourned, Deeming he never would again return Safe from the fight, by Grecian hands unharmed. "With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair, And the big tear stood trembling in her eye." "Lord Derby's version," says a critic in Blackwood's Magazine, "admirably preserves all the fine touches by which the model husband and wife of antiquity are set before us in Homer. Many of them are lost to us in the dialogue between Pope's 'beauteous princess' and her 'too daring prince.' But here we have Homer's unrivalled picture of conjugal and parental love in all its noble simplicity."] BETTER IS E'ER THE DREAM OF MEN." DERBY'S SCHILLER. ALL THAT BARS HIS HEADLONG COURSE, HURRIES DOWN HIS PATH OF LIFE."-DERBY'S SCHILLER. 66 162 THE YEARS THEY COME, AND THE YEARS THEY GO,-(DOBELL) SYDNEY DOBELL. Sydney Dobell. [SYDNEY DOBELL is best known to the reading public by his nom de plume of "Sydney Yendys," under which he published his earlier poems of "The Roman" (1850) and "Balder." He is also the author of "England in Time of War," and, in conjunction with Alexander Smith, of "Sonnets of the War." He was born at Peckham Rye in 1824. Owing in some measure to his choice of subjects, and partly to his peculiar theory of poetical construction, he has never become popular, but no judicious reader will deny him the possession of the true lyrical faculty. It is true he is a metaphysical poet, of the school of Donne and Cowley; that his versification is often uncouth, and his thought enveloped in a shroud of luminous mist; but he is an original man, and an original poet, with great dramatic instinct and much subtle far-reaching power. His genius is seen at its best in "England in Time of War." As a fellow-poet has said, it is "his homeliest, simplest, and most delightful work."] "I THINK THAT THERE IS PRIVILEGE IN WOE, AND SORROW MAY NOT SEIZE US EVERYWHERE;-(SYDNEY DOBELL) AND HAVOC DOTH NOT HUNT WHERE'ER HE LIST; AND SLEEP IS HALCYON TIME WHEN GRIEFS ARE STILL."-DOBELL. THE RUINS OF ANCIENT ROME. PSTOOD The hoar, unconscious walls, bisson and bare, Wore out the stone, strange hermit birds croaked forth LIKE WINDS THAT BLOW FROM SEA TO SEA."-SYDNEY DOBELL. "EACH MAN IN HIS TURN, AT CULMINATION OF ONE HAPPY HOUR, SYDNEY DOBELL) "" LOVE MAKES US ALL POETS."-SYDNEY DOBELL. KEITH OF RAVELSTON. With thoughts of ages; like some mighty captive And lying, through the chant of psalm and creed, Rank weeds and grasses, Careless and nodding, grew, and asked no leave, [From "The Roman."] CONSUMMATE OF SOME SOLE TOPMOST DAY, HATH HIS APOTHEOSIS."-SYDNEY DOBELL. 66 KEITH OF RAVELSTON. |HE murmur of the mourning ghost Ravelston, Ravelston, And through the silver meads. LOVE HATH HIS CELL IN THE DEEP SECRET HEART."-IBID. 163 |