NEW BOOKS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue VII, 18 August 1894, Page 151

NEW BOOKS.

‘PERSEPHONE AND OTHER POEMS,’ BY K. MCCOSH CLARK.* IT is with anticipatory feelings of pleasure that we take np the volnnie of poems bearing the above title. For

the memory of Mrs McCosh Clark’s *A Southern Cross Fairy Tale’ still lingers in New Zealand, and further contributions to current literature from the same pen command attention and excite interest. No disappointment awaits the peruser of • Persephone and Other Poems ;’ rather, indeed, in this case does the realisation exceed the anticipation. Mrs McCosh Clark has given to the world a thoroughly readable book of poetry. There is a pure, clear ring about these poems, a healthy tone, a light and graceful touch which makes them specially acceptable at a time when women writers are soiling their hands with all kinds of questionable productions in the shape of literary matter. Take, for instance, the title poem, Persephone, and the description of the maiden :— Luxuriant tresses fell In clouds of golden splendour to her feet. And standing close to me, in the pale light, I saw the white gleam of the outstretched arms, The rounded neck, the sinuous lines, the grace Of perfect womanhood : And what more fair I But in her eyes there lay the veiled light That shines when love is purified by pain. Here is conveyed an excellent idea of what a woman’s beauty might be in aptly and carefully chosen words which cannot be condemned by the most fastidious reader. But despite this avoidance of the modern method of introducing unpleasant topics into books intended for general perusal, the volume is not in the least namby-pamby. On the contrary, some of the poems are vigorous and manly in style, bracing and elevating in tone.

IN ECHO AND NARCISSUS. O youth. Who in yonr dreams of happiness, or love. Or fame, see but yourselves: ye waste your strength. If naught but self reflects in all ye see! Strength ever grows through love, and when ’tis merged Into some other life outside your own. It straight forgets its selfish aims, and seeks To work a wider good.

A great man’s fame With clarion sound is heralded from age To age. and as the centuries roll on And myriads of lesser lives pass by And are forgot, his name yet lives on lips Of men, sounding through all hereafters. Quite in a different style, and marked by a naturalness

and daintiness of touch and fresh country scents which is very attractive, is the poem entitled : A FARM IDYL. She was a maiden rosy—bright as any posy. was no^ hin K but a ploughboy, rough and strong— Hut he loved to walk beside her. where the drooping boughs could hide her. And the daffodils kept nodding all day long!

No queen he thought was fairer—no grace was ever rarer As she carried her bright pail and milking stool; Hut, ah! he could not utter what he thought, but only stutter. And the daffodils kept nodding • He’s a fool!’ One day as he was sitting close to Molly busy knitting, She dropped a stitch just in the stocking heel; He blurted out. ‘ A lover should that lost stitch recover!’ And the daffodils kept nodding ‘ He should kneel.*

i, n his c, umsy fingers the needle stiffly lingers. Till Molly, all impatient of delay, IV you r ® a iiy are n, y lover, why do you not discover l nat 1 mean far more than any girl can say ?’

He laid the knitting lightly on the settle shining brightly. As he looked into the pretty hazel eyes. And he sighed, ‘lf you do love me, don’t speak, but gently shove me. And the daffodils kept nodding in surprise. So red as any clover, she got closer to her lover. And looked into the embers burning low. And her blushes said, ‘ I’d miss ye, .Johnny dear, why don’t you kiss me.’ And the daffodils they nodded ‘ Ay, just so!’ Some of the love poems are very pretty, such as the one beginning, ‘ Dear, draw my lips to thine in sweetest bliss,’ and * Edelweiss.’ There is not wanting, too, the pathos in Mrs McCosh Clark’s poetry without which no true poet ever sings : Yes, surely dear ones from the shadow land Soothe with their mystic presence those who mourn. And hover o’er us, as we longing stand Gazing beyond life’s bourn. For often in the silent brooding hour. Some subtle sweetness mingles with our pain. And. warm, in fancy, long-lost kisses shower Upon our lips again. And again in ‘ The Bells’: — Ah ! snow ! fall gently on the new-turned sod. Where I have left my cherished one with God. Of the more ambitious poems, • Niobe,’ ‘ Socrates,’ etc., we have no space to speak, but they can be lett with confidence to the warm approval of an appreciative public, who cannot do better when they want to enrich their poetical libraries or send an acceptable gift to a friend than purchase a copy of * Persephone.’ The volume is prettily bound in green and white touched

with gold. The paper is of the fashionable rough style, and the printing is acceptably clear ; all of which conduce to the pleasure of adding these poems to one’s own or one’s friend’s collection.

Ixrndon : Sampson lx>w. Marston and Company.