POETRY.

A LIFE.

(In Memoriam L. T. H.—August, 1882, to August, 1909.) DEEP in the heather, in sound of the sea, Rose a burn that is dear to me: Softly, softly it sprang.

It caught the kiss of the morning sun, And played with the shadows, one by one: Gaily, softly it ran.

It laughed and sparkled through the heather, And sang with the morning stars together: Gaily, gladly it sang.

It dived deep down beneath the peat To shelter from the noonday heat, And then sprang forth again to greet A little thirsty lamb.

It joined the other burns in a race, And caught them all in its embrace, And deepened its bed and quickened its pace: Gaily, swiftly it ran.

It leapt down rocks, and waited in pools, And sunned itself in sandy shoals : Gaily, gaily it ran.

It listened the long, long afternoon, To the drowsy heather-bee's drowsy tune : Warm and deep it ran.

It held the gold of the evening sky And the purple clouds that floated high, In solemn, tender sympathy : Dark and glowing it ran.

It lay all night in a deep wide water Beneath the stars, and ever greater Its wonder and magic ran.

At dawn it started forth again And wandered througli a lowland plains Smoothly, swiftly it ran. It met the oar of strong men rowing, And heard the talk of young men growing, And caught their laughter, and followed after : Gaily, swiftly it ran.

And then it came to a big, black city And gathered to it tears and pity: Deeply, strongly it ran.

It played with the children and wept with the poor, And bathed the wounds of the weary and sore, And shared with the glad its golden store : Deeper, stronger it ran.

Through all the city's smoke and roar It kept the magic of the moor, And gathered human love and lore : Deeper, fuller it ran.

From the River of Life it drew its springs, And its ripples stirred to the touch of strings On a far, eternal shore.

When the land was full of ripening corn It flowed one day out towards the morn, Out to the sea, to be re-born- Out to the infinite sea.