BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 199, 16 May 1908, Page 12

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

VERSES NEW AND OLD. ■- THE ORGY ON PARNASSUS. You phrase-tormenting fantastic chorus, With strangest words at your beck and call; Who'tumble your thoughts in a heap before .us;—' ■ - - Here was a bard shall outlast you all. Tou pranco on languago, you force, you strain ■ it, :■ _ _ Toil. rack and you rivo it, you twist it and maul. j Form, you abhor.it, and taste, you disdain it,— An,<l li'ero was a bard shall outlast you' all.' • .Prpsody':gasps' }h'ypiu; ; tOrtur.ed. humbefs, ■ . : - metr_es' that' wrjthe, your rhythms' that sprawl; And you make him turn in his marblo slum- ■ btfrs, ■ . ■: Tho golden-toneuod; who outsings you all. Think you 'tis thus, in uncouth contortion, That' Song lives throned above thrones that ".'fall? .<• Her handmaids aro order and just proportion, And measure and grace, that survive vou all. " , ' . —William Watson. [These yerscs, printed in the "Fortnightly" for April, were written by Mr. Watson in his copy of Tennyson.] * -. ; A VISION OF JIATE. I dreamed ono I had loved did me foul wrong. ■■" Till with relentless Ixijte my soul 'was spent; ; ; When lb, the veil of mortal si';;ht was: rent; / Prom all'the universe, where :weak and. strong ' Aliko poured forfh ■ their voico in praisetul ' sang, r'x: '. Save only one—a, motley clown, age-bant, : : Vice-ecarred,. whbsoV'lpathly,- ghoulish look was lent ■ / • . V To his blank, idiot face by practice long. A gaudy bauble in his hand he bore, ... .■ ' And to belabour angels vainly tried; Each stroke, - rebounding, smote tho striker snre. : - - •. A homing angel passed; to him I cried: < fWhat is yon fiend-faced clown, and what his -- state?" nie is Gnd's fool," ho said; "his naino is : " Hate!" ' r-Elliot Balesteir, in. " Munsey's Mogpine." - GREAT POSSESSIONS. It's tho fading of the flowers and the failing of the light., It's not tho Gato Of Death we dread; It's the, ugliness of age, and ■ tho dream of dreadful night, . , It's tho way that they, forget us when we're ■ dead. It's the folding of thp wings and the quenching of the fire, • i-i It'sl,'i;)ip/svithcring.of the beauty,and the love . "and the desire; it's not the future judgment, inor the fear . of. penance: dire It's tho knowing there are others , in our - stead. • . ..... 1 It's tlio breaking of the bond, it's the bleeding of the:hoart, . . ■ It's itot the Gate of Death we dread; ItV'tha living—Hying on—all unwanted and , -;:V apiirt,' : ' It's the'dreaming that the dearest things are dead. ' ' ',' ' ' It's the loneliness oHivmg when the loved of ■ life are lost, ,- ■ '.; . . . - It's the ■ dreadfulnegs: of " pausing—and counting up the cost . . .. . • There are dyipg .. b.ut' it's 'theso we dread'tho most . . . . ' ■ God' of Pity,, give lis something in their 1 • stead. ' . > . ' .c- . . " ; —"Pall Mall Gazette." FATHER TABB. The following piece of doggerel, read many i ong years ago in somo magazino or other,' j ias,..heaven knowswhy, 'stuck in myihend. I believe,,.but' am not sure, that Mr. Andrew < Lang is responsible .for it. ' j v I wonder; when America will know . i ■ That jrituSh hergreatest bard is Edgar Poo ? i I say' this' reminiscent and defiant . , , Of Bokor, Tabb, and Longfellow, and . <- Bryant" • - Speaking for, myself' alono, I have long known" ( and admired some of Boker's work; and I 1 have read (?ud honourably forgotten) many ;i things of, Longfellow's, and of.Bryant's; but : of Hamster Tabb—l knew no- i thing whatever till just the othor day, wheii .1 therg wa? put, intpiiny a.little , praiige; 1 coloured volume of '"Selections" from his 1 poops. .(London: Burns and Oates.) Tho : choice has ; been made by Mrs. Moynell 1 (herself a distinguished English poetess),* and ,th.e book, is 'evidently/intended, for. English i yeadprs; the-poet bping already well known i in ■ Amgricif. Woll, he is worth knosving. S Ho.Jias a note.of his own; that of itself, in i these imitative days, stamps him as worth < Knowing. ■ > j - Father Tabb is the poet of correspondeuces, ' the poet pf-analogies; and when the analogy i is remote ajid fanciful, you have the conceit— i , a thingwhich'maybpbe'autiful,' orgrotesquo, ] . or merely ingenious. ■: Tako,' for an example < of the conceit, ingenious, this quatrain on tho < test, "Is Thy Servant a Dog?" ]

So mast he be who, iji the cjowded VVhero shameless Sin and flaunting Plea-' ■ ■ . siiro meet, V, Amid tKo noisome footprints finds-the sweet' of Thy feet'"'. " , .•What a surprising turn is herd: given to the well-worn phrase! How ingenious it is 1 But rtfc ingenuity someiyhat- overpowers its other, qualities,,',-' Compare ! jvith. it ! this -other' fancy.;-- , "A little Boy of heavenly birth, But far from homo to-day, Comes down to find His ball, the Earth,. iV . ■>'. That 6in has cast away. ■•".'C-'-' ■"/ :o,.pojbrades,ylet us one and'all "if , J°jn'in to'gqt "Him back :His ball!"' : '-

Here the infantile, simplicity of manner remjnclfi qne of Horriok, whoso child-like rcyerencp often wears an air of innocent blas•.phgmy.' /That, T thinls, is an "example'of tho' conceit grotesque. But in/this quatrain on Father: Damien " we have an cxamplo of analogy running deeper, than'a mero play of fancy:—'

,0 God. the cleanest offering : ■. Of tainted earth below, Unblushing to Iliy. feet wo bring— A leper white as snow!'." 'And this, on a child's death, whether it bo a conceit or not, is certainly pootry:— . "Niva, Child of Innocence, Dust to (hist'we go: , .. Thou, when. AVintor wooed thco .hence " AVcntost enow to snow." 'At its best Father Tabb's poetry is delicate jewel-work; at its weakest, it is an extremely interesting example of the art of carving cherry stonoa. —," Elzevir," in Melbourne "Argus." '