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Etna" appeared, but was soon withdrawn from MATTHEW ARNOLD.

circulation, though afterwards acknowledged and

reprinted in “ New Poems." About 1853 Mr. HE delightful story of Tom Brown at

Arnold published the first series of his poems,

selected from these volumes with fresh additions, unique and lasting fame, and made every school

and followed it with a second series of a similar boy his debtor for life, would hardly have been

character. In these collections the world saw that written but for the character given that school by

a new poet had arisen to whom it must listen. He Dr. Thomas Arnold from 1828 to 1842, and the

was welcome. The poems were republished in most celebrated teacher of boys the English

1856, and Mr. Arnold was elected to the Chair of speaking world has known. A native of the Isle

Poetry at Oxford, following the Rev. Thomas Leigh of Wight, and graduate, in 1811, of Corpus Christi

Claughton, and contesting the election with the College, Oxford, Mr. Arnold, in 1820, married

Rev. John Ernest Bode, one of the most dis. Miss Mary Penrose, the daughter of a clergyman,

tinguished members of the University. This and settled as a private tutor at Laleham, a Middle.

professorship Mr. Arnold held for ten years, doing sex hamlet of half-a-thousand souls. Here, on

much in poetry and criticism beside discharging · December 24, 1822, his son, Matthew, was born.

his official duties for which, perhaps, no incumbent The father was best known in after years as an

was ever better qualified. “Merope,” the most essayist, educator, preacher and historian. Yet

classical of all Mr. Arnold's poems, appeared in the passion of poetry was very strong within him

1858, but was not successful at the time. “Atlanta and, although he did little if any work in that

in Calydon” followed, creating a stir in the literary field, his own poetic spirit, developed in his son,

world by its force and power, no less than by its has left us a rich legacy of verse.

violations of some of the fundamental laws of Laleham was a fit cradle for the infant poet. It

tragedy. reposes in picturesque beauty on a green bank

In 1859-60, Mr. Arnold was sent abroad by the of the Thames, opposite that Chertsey whither Government as an assistant to the commission Cowley fled from the bustle of the little London of

to inquire into the state of education in France, his day to enjoy the literary leisure of which

Germany and Holland, upon which he submitted cities are the foe. Here, in the quietude of

an elaborate report. The next year. he published Laleham, the first six years of Matthew Arnold's

his lectures on translating Homer, which involved life were passed. In 1828 his father having been

him in a spirited controversy with professor Newordained, the removal of the family to Rugby

man, whose translation Mr. Arnold had sharply changed its life from rest to action. It was the

criticised. In 1865, his “Essays in Criticism" opposite of Laleham - no dreamy contemplation

appeared, after which he again visited the Conthere, but, instead, the busy routine of the school

tinent on an errand similar to his first journey. for boys. The outward life of Matthew Arnold

In 1867 he published “New Poems,” followed by at Rugby was that which we read of in Mr. . a volume on Celtie literature. In this year Mr. Hughes's wonderful tale, doubtless somewhat modi.

Arnold relinquished the Chair of Poetry at Oxford, fied by his relationship to the head master. His

to give himself entirely to the criticism and lectures first poetic triumph worthy of note occurred on his

which, with miscellaneous work, occupied the later leaving school, when he won the prize poem and years of his life. The degree of Doctor in Laws was elected to a scholarship at Balliol. These was conferred upon him by Edinburgh University, Balliol scholarships always have been hard to win,

in 1869, and by his own college in 1870.

In 1876 and at no time were they enjoyed by a more remark he was made a Commander of the Crown of Italy able set of men than in 1810-44. Among them

in recognition of his services to the young Duke of Matthew Arnold easily held his own. Although

Genoa, who made one of Mr. Arnold's family disappointed of a first-class, he won the coveted while pursuing his studies in England. Newdigate prize for English verse in 1843, his Mr. Arnold visited America in 1884, and again theme being, “Oliver Cromwell," and was elected

two years later. His frank criticisms upon our Fellow of Oriel College, March 28, 18.45 — just

ways were not relished by many although his strictthirty years after his father received the same ures were far less severe than those to which he fellowship

habitually treated his own nation. In 1847, Mr. Arnold became private secretary to On Sunday, April 17, 1888, while walking in Lord Lansdowne, whom he served until 1851, when Liverpool after church--to which city Mr. Arnold he married and was appointed a Lay Inspector had gone to meet his daughter on her return from of Schools under the Committee of Council on

America, he was suddenly stricken down by disEducation. In 1848 the poet published his first ease, and died. He was interred in the little collection of verse, “ The Strayed Revellers, and churchyard at Laleham, amid the peaceful scenes Other Poems," veiling his identity under a modest of his early childhood.

A. G, B. initial A. Four years later, Empedocles on

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Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers, One of some worthier race than ours! One for whose sake she once might prove How deeply she who scorns can love.

His eyes be like the starry lights-
His voice like sounds of summer nights-
In all his lovely mien let pierce
The magic of the universe!

Hark! ah, the nightingale -
The tawny-throated!
Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark!- what pain!
O wanderer from a Grecian shore,
Still, after many years, in distant lands,
Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain
That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world

Say, will it never heal?
And can this fragrant lawn
With its cool trees, and night,
And the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew,
To thy rack'd heart and brain
Afford no balm ?

And she to him will reach her hand,
And gazing in his eyes will stand,
And know her friend, and weep for glee,
And cry: Long, long I've look'd for thee.

Then will she weep; with smiles, till then,
Coldly she mocks the sons of men.
Till then, her lovely eyes maintain
Their pure, unwav

avering, deep disdain.

TOO LATE. Each on his own strict line we move, And some find death ere they find love; So far apart their lives are thrown From the twin soul that halves their own. And sometimes, by still harder fate, The lovers meet, but meet too late. -Thy heart is mine!-- True, trme! ah, true! - Then, love, thy hand!dh no! Adieu!

Dost thou to-night behold,
Here, through the moonlight on this English grass,
The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild?
Dost thou again peruse
With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes
The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame?
Dost thou once more essay
Thy flight, and feel come over thee,
Poor fugitive, the feathery change
Once more, and once more seem to make resound
With love and hate, triumph and agony,
Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian vale?
Listen, Eugenia-
How thick the bursts come crowding through the

Again-thou hearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!

SELF-DECEPTION. SAY, what blinds us, that we claim the glory Of possessing powers not our share? -Since man woke on earth, he knows his story, But, before we woke on earth, we were.

Long, long since, undower'd yet, our spirit Roam'd, ere birth, the treasuries of God;

Saw the gifts, the powers it might inherit, Ask'd an outfit for its earthly road.

Then, as now, this tremulous, eager being Strain'd and long'd and grasp'd each gift it saw; Then, as now, a Power beyond our seeing Staved us back, and gave our choice the law.

Ah, whose hand that day through Heaven guided
Man's new spirit, since it was not we?
Ah, who sway'd our choice, and who decided
What our gifts, and what our wants should be ?

For, alas! he left us each retaining
Shreds of gifts which he refused in full;
Still these waste us with their hopeless straining,
Still the attempt to use them proves them null.

And on earth we wander, groping, reeling;
Powers stir in us, stir and disappear.
Ah! and he, who placed our master-feeling,
Fail'd to place that master-feeling clear.

We but dream we have our wish'd-for powers,
Ends we seek we never shall attain.
Ah! some power exists there, w is ours?
Some end is there, we indeed may gain ?

PERSISTENCY OF POETRY. Though the Muse be gone away, Though she move not earth to-day, Souls, erewhile who caught her word, Ah! still harp on what they heard.


What poets feel not, when they make,

A pleasure in creating.
The world, in its turn, will not take

Pleasure in contemplating,

Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"
From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,
In the rustling night-air came the answer:

Wouldst thou be as these are ? Live as they.

* Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.

And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll;
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.

“ Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.”

() air-born voice! long since, severely clear,
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear:
• Resolve be thyself; and know, that he
Who finds himself, loses his misery!”


Their love, let me know, must grow strong and

yet stronger, Their passion burn more, ere it ceases to burn. They must love — while they must! but the hearts

that love longer Are rare --- ah! most loves but flow once, and return.

-A Modern Sappho.

In the day's life, whose iron round
Hems us all in, he is not bound;
He leaves his kind, o'erleaps their pen,
And flees the common life of men.
He escapes thence, but we abide-
Not deep the poet sees, but wide.

- Resignation.
Yet they, believe me, who await
No gifts from chance, have conquer'd fate.


For we are all, like swimmers in the sea,
Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate,
Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall.
And whether it will heave us up to land,
Or whether it will roll us out to sea,


WEAP.Y of myself, and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire
O'er the sea and to the stars I send:
“Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me,
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

“Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew;


A wanderer is man from his birth.
He was born in a ship
On the breast of the river of Time;
Brimming with wonder and joy
He spreads out his arms to the light,
Rivets his gaze on the banks of the stream.

- The Future,

SUMMER. Soon will the high Midsummer pomps come on,

Soon will the musk carnations break and swell, Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, Sweet-William with his homely cottage-smell,

And stocks in fragrant blow; Roses that down the alleys shine afar,

And open, jasmine-muffled lattices,

And groups under the dreaming garden-trees, And the full moon, and the white evening-star.

- Thyrsis. HEINE.

The Spirit of the world,
Beholding the absurdity of men-
Their vaunts, their feats--let a sardonic smile,
For one short moment, wander o'er his lips.
That smile was Heine!—for its earthly hour
The strange guest sparkled; now 'tis pass'd away.

-Hini's Grave.


But we, brought forth and rear'd in hours
Of change, alarm, surprise-
What shelter to grow ripe is ours?
What leisure to grow wise ?
Like children bathing on the shore,
Buried a wave beneath,
The second wave succeeds, before
We have had time to breathe.
Too fast we live, too much are tried,
Too harass'd, to attain
Wordsworth's sweet calm, or Goethe's wide
And luminous view to gain.

- In Memory of Obermann.


No painter yet hath such a way,
Nor no musician made, as they,
And gather'd on immortal knolls
Such lovely flowers for cheering souls.
Beethoven, Raphael, cannot reach
The charm which Homer, Shakespeare, teach.
To these, to these, their thankful race
Gives, then, the first, the fairest place;
And brightest is their glory's sheen,
For greatest hath their labor been.

- Epilogue to Lessing's Laocvn.

Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death,
We know not, and no search will make us know;
Only the event will teach us in its hour.

- Sohrab and Rustuun,


Better to live a serf, a captured man,
Who scatters rushes in a master's hall,
Than be a crowned king here, and rule the dead.

-Balder Deud.
Her look was like a sad embrace;
The gaze of one who can divine
A grief, and sympathize.

- Tristram and Iseull.


To the lips, ah! of others

Those lips have been prest,
And others, ere I was,

Were strain'd to that breast;
Far, far from each other

Our spirits have grown.
And what heart knows another?
Ah! who knows his own ?

- Switzerland.
Yes! in the sea of life enisled,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.

-- Tbiit.
But each day brings its petty dust
Our soon-choked souls to fill,
And we forget because we must
And not because we will.

- Tbil
Vain is the agony of grief.

- Faded Leares.

DOUBT. He treats doubt the best who tries to see least ill.

-Empedocles on Etna.

We do not what we ought,
What we ought not, we do,
And lean upon the thought

That chance will bring us through; But our own acts, for good or ill, are mightier powers.


Vor does being weary prove that he has where to



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