[SON of Philip Henry Gosse, F.R.S. Born in London, Sept. 21, 1849; educated in Devonshire; appointed assistant librarian at the British Museum in 1867, and received in 1875 the post of translator to the Board of Trade. He spent some time in Norway, Denmark, Sweden, and Holland, studying the literature of those countries. His poetical writings consist of Madrigals, Songs, and Sonnets (in conjunction with a friend), 1870; On Viol and Flute, 1873; King Erik, a Tragedy, 1876; The Unknown Lover, a Drama, 1878; and New Poems, 1879. He is also the author of about thirty essays contributed to Ward's English Foets, 1880-81. He is now engaged upon a complete edition of the works of Gray. His Life of Gray, in the English Men of Letters Series, appeared in 1882.] The music of the scythes that glide | They know so little why the world is and leap, The young men whistling as their great arms sweep, And all the perfume and sweet sense of sleep, The weary butterflies that droop their wings, The dreamy nightingale that hardly sings, And all the lassitude of happy things, Is mingling with the warm and pulsing blood That gushes through my veins a languid flood, And feeds my spirit as the sap a bud. Behind the mowers, on the amber air, A dark-green beech wood rises, still and fair, A white path winding up it like a stair. And see that girl, with pitcher on her head, And clean white apron on her gown of red, Her even-song of love is but half-said: She waits the youngest mower. Now he goes; Her cheeks are redder than a wild blush-rose: They climb up where the deepest shadows They knew, as I do now, what keen close. A strong man feels to watch the tender delight, flight Of little children playing in his sight; What pure sweet pleasure, and what sacred love, Comes drifting down upon us from above, In watching how their limbs and feat ures move. I do not hunger for a well-stored mind, My life is like the single dewy star That trembles on the horizon's primrose-bar, A microcosm where all things living are. And if, among the noiseless grasses, Death Should come behind and take away my breath, I should not rise as one who sorroweth; For I should pass, but all the world would be Full of desire and young delight and glee, And why should men be sad through loss of me? The light is flying; in the silver-blue The young moon shines from her bright window through : The mowers are all gone, and I go too. THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS. "OUT in the meadows the young grass springs, Shivering with sap," said the larks, "and we Shoot into air with our strong young wings Spirally up over level and lea; Come, O Swallows, and fly with us Now that horizons are luminous ! Evening and morning the world of light, Spreading and kindling, is infinite!" Far away, by the sea in the south, The hills of olive and slopes of fern Whiten and glow in the sun's long drouth, Under the heavens that beam and burn; And all the swallows were gathered there Flitting about in the fragrant air, And heard no sound from the larks, but flew Flashing under the blinding blue. THEOPHILE MARZIALS. SONG. 1850 THERE'S one great bunch of stars in That shines so sturdily, There's eke a little twinkling gem As green as beryl-blue can be, There's one that flashes flames and fire, And also there's a little star So white a virgin's it must be;Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me. A PASTORAL. FLOWER of the medlar, Crimson of the quince, She swept the draughty pleasance, She went to cut the blush-rose-buds All beck'd and made their bows. Yellow of the corn, I chased her to a pippin-tree, The waking birds all whist, Marjorie, mint, and violets 'Twas all done in the faïence-room On one tile was a satyr, On one a nymph at bay, Methinks the birds will scarce be home To wake our wedding-day! PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. 1850-1887. [BORN in London in 1850. Son of Dr. Westland Marston, poet and dramatist. When he was three years of age he received, while at play with other children, a blow in one of his eyes, which finally, in 1871, resulted in total blindness. He began to compose at an early age, and his first volume of poems, Song Tide, appeared in 1871, when he was only twenty-one years of age, and speedily reached a second edition. In 1873 he visited Italy. In 1874 his second volume of poems, All in All, appeared. Soon after, he became a contributor to Scribner's Magazine, and also wrote more or less for English periodicals. Since 1876 he has been a frequent contributor to American periodical literature both in prose and verse. His third volume, Wind-Voices, was published in the autumn of 1883, and has been republished in this country.] PURE SOULS. PURE souls that watch above me from afar, To whom as to the stars I raise my eyes, |