BOOK NOTICES. THE HIDDEN TIDE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2356, 20 April 1899, Page 50

BOOK NOTICES. THE HIDDEN TIDE.

By Roderic Quinn. Sydney: The Bulletin Publishing Co. A copy of this delightfully got up booklet has been sent us by the publishers, and we note that it constitutes No. 1 of "The Bulletin Booklet Series." Well, if they are all aa good as this, we are prepared to welcome a long series! They are distinctly good, these verses, and even at their weakest have an intimate humanity which claims our sympathy and indulgence, while at their best — 4y" ev can y criticism shoulder high. The first number gives its name to the booklet, and explains itself ; we quote it in' its entirety as a fair indication of the author's style : THE HIDDEN TIDE. Within the world a second world That circles ceaselessly: Stars in the sky and sister stare— < Turn in your eyes and seel Tides of the sea that rise and fall, Aheave from Pole to Pole — And kindred swayings, veiled but felt, That noise along the soul. Yon moon, noon-rich, high-throned, remote, And pale with pride extreme, Draws up the sea, but what whits njoon. Exalts the tide of Dream? The Fisher-Folk who cast their nets j In Vision's golden tide Oft bring to light misshapen shells, And nothing worth beside. And so their worn hands droop adown, Their singing throats are dumb, The Inner-Deep withholds its pearls Till turn of tido be come. But, patience! wait — the good tide turns, The waters inward sot . And, 10, behold! aleap, alivo With glowing fish tho not! O Toilers of the Hidden Seas! Ye have strange gain and loss, ■ Dragging the Deeps of Soul for pearls, And oft-times netting dross. Fhished to the lips with golden light, And dark with sable gloom; Thrilled by a thousand melodies, And silent like a tomb. Fierce are the winds across your realm, As though some Demon veiled Had loosed the gales of Spirit-land To ravage ways unsailed. But still sweet hours befall at times, Rich lit and full of ease; The afterglow is like tho light Of sunset on tired seas. And worse, perhaps, may be the lot j Of those whose fate is sleep; j Tho sodden souls without a tide, i Dense as a rotten deep. 1 Pain paves the way for keener joy, > And wondrous thoughts uproll • When the large moon of Peace looks down On high tide in the Soul. " A Grey Day " is another number that will strike chords of sympathy and understanding in most readers ; while in " The Camp Within the West," though but another version of a thoueht which Lawson, Paterson, and, if we mistake not, Boake have all dwelt on, our author may come last, but is not least — in evidence of which we quote the poem as it stands : THE CAMP WITHIN THE WEST. O did you see a troop go by Way-weary and oppressed, Dead kisses on tho drooping lip * And a dead heart in the breast? Yea, I have seen them one by one Way-weary and oppressed, And when I asked them, "Whither speed?" They answered, "To the West!" £nd' were they pale as pale could be— < Death pale with haunted eyes, Arid did you see the hot white dust Range round their feet and rise?, O they were pale as pale could be, ■ And pale as an cmbeied leaf; ; The hot white dust had risen, but ■ They laid it with their grief. ) Did no one say the way is long, , And crave a little rest? j O no, they said, " The night is nigh, Ous camp is in the West!" And did pain pierce their feet, as though Tho way with thorna were set, Ana were they visited by strange Dark angels of regret? O yea, and some were mute as death', Though shot by many a dart, With them the salt of inward tears Went stinging through the heart. And how are these wayfarers called, And whither do they wend? The Weary-hearted— and their road At sunset hath an end. Shed tears for them . . . Nay, nay, no tears! They yearn for endless rest; Perhaps large stars will burn above Their camp within the West. !

— Waves travel faster than (he wind which causes them, and often in the Bay of Biscay during the autumn and- winter in calm weather a heavy sea gels up and rolls in on the coast 24 hours before the gale v/hich rauses it arrives, and of which it h the prelude. ".' Gold ! Gold ! Gold ! Bright and yellow, hard and cold ! " Thousands of rich peoplo would give all they possess for Nature's wealth — " Good Health." Consumption frequently starts with a' nasty little cough. A few doses "of Wbods's Great Peppermint Cure will stop this or any other kind of cough. Yen, stop it at once. Always keep a bottle in the hoube; the cost is only eighteenpence. It saves doctor's bills and often funeral exnenaes. '