Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 347, 5 October 1878, Page 3

Select Poetry.

' . ; SWBET' PEACE. " We have brought you back peace."— Lord Beaconsfield's Speech to the Multitude, July 16, IB7S. Hail now, sweet Peace ! Stretch out thy snowy wing, With rapid flight fly all the wide world o'er, Let thy sweet voice with joyous tidings sing. That thou art ruler of the world once more. In token send the olive-branch abroad — Send tender words and messages of love ; Dry now the tears—Remove the weary load That grief around the bleeding heart hath wove. The bugle's blast, the deadly cannon's roar, The clash of arms and savage shout shall cease And all the clang of war be heard no more, For thou art come to reign, sweet loving Peace ! Now young and old with merry hearts shall dwell. The pipe and tabor sound their simple strain, Pull plenty teeming from the earth shall tell That thou art come to claim thy own again. Let now once more the stalwart and the strong Renounce the cannon and the fiery sword, That tliey may listen to thy silvery song. And laud thee as their chieftian and their lord.. Let all the budding earth look bright and glad, The meadows like a flowery garden bloom, The mountain slope, with rich green verdure clad, With purple heather and with yellow bloom. Let thy glad spirit rule the mighty throng ! Let every nation now its mirth bells ring, Let all men sing the ever-joyous song That shepherds heard the herald angels sing. And flocks and herds shall join the song of praise, Full hearts shall sing of t iumph and renown, For with thy coming come bright halcyon days, And on thy brow shall rest the laurel crown ! —London Fun. A SPECIMEN OF MR. SWINBURNE'S HAPPIEST LYRICAL MANNER. [A Ballad of Dreamland.] I hid my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softe<- bed than the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not ? why should it start. When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred ? What made sleep flutter his wings and part ? Only the song of a secret bird. Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart ; Lie still, for the wind on the warm sea dozes, And the wind is unquieter than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart? Does the pang still fret thee hope deferred? What bids the lids of thy sleep depart ? Only the song of a secret bird. The green land's name that a charm incloses, It never was writ in the traveller's chart, nd sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, It never was sold in the merchant's mart. The swallows of dreans through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in the tree-tons heard ; No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart — Only the song of a secret bird. Envoi. In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, To sleep for a season and hear no word Of true love's truth or of light low artOnly the song of a secret bird.