THE BOOKFELLOW.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVII, Issue 63, 11 September 1909, Page 9

THE BOOKFELLOW.

Written for The Post by A. G. Stephens.

(Copyright. — All rights reserved)..

EDWARD GIBBON WAKEFIELD. A bowshot from my casement Wakefield died. A poplar loiters in the morning breeze, Not yet awakened by the winking sun Over the Rimutaka. In the shade Its early branches threw, I doubt he sate, And watched through afternoon with dreaming eyes, Drowsy with birds' delight, and full of

wings, The old, old days when Youth drew silky whip Through burning palm, to lash the fiery steeds, Harnessed, yet loosed by every wild do-

sire. Long before Charon took his obolus Wakefield had thrown with Fate in many

a mam, And still ho conquered : every hazard won A golden province rich with soft renown. I see his grave above the city roar, Not forty rods from Parliament, and plebs Too fast belimed with spinnerules of pelf To touch a finer issuo. If they came, Where shadows are upon the withering stone, I know not if a shame would compass them For their untiring brigandage of trade That makes the pocket rule the royal heart ; If from the loud, impetuous wind a strength Should fall; and from the trees a holy shade Glide through the heart, to make it pure and sweet r Companionable to the quiet folk Woven within the brooding air of heaven. Each day I pass where he withdrew to look Through habitations of old years decayed, Glowing within his memory as they shone When Genius fused ideals into deeds. Beneath the arbutus I think I find Some brightness >of his brain; some thought he Held In high communion with the past may sleep \ ' , Where the rose trembles. So I gather it, Folding the great conception in my soul, Where all its beauty hath eternity, Like every noble instinct of the dead. Ah, city with thy gold too much desired, And too forgetful of the men who made Thy heritage, it would be well with thee Xo seek the temple arch of spiritual things, Dropping the fardel of the world below The portico of quiet reverence; Within whose shadow are the dreams of Christ, Humility, Simplicity, and Truth. —Hubert Churoh.