POETRY. — Under Quicken Boughs. By Norah Hopper. (John Lane.)—There is a

strange charm about much of Miss Hopper's verse. The meaning is not always plain ; but even then the melody, with but a hint of thought beneath it, seems to lay hold of us. Many of the themes of her song are Irish, and there is the music of the "melancholy ocean" in it. Take, for instance, the poem entitled "The Strangers." An Irish maid is taken to be "a Danish wife in the Strangers' Forts." She is reconciled to her lot—

"For she knew no grief but the near-hand sadness That vexed the Dane: And her joy was the joy of an outland lord, And ray she sat at the outland board In the highest hall."

But in time the memory of her home comes back to her :— " And ' Being but dead '—

. She said, • I bid you earry me Like a maiden back to my own country, Not like a wife long-wed.

Take off my girdle and jewels all, My shining keys and my Irish knife: Bid nay maids go at my daughter's call, And my heathen thrall May serve my son, for my toils are done, And no other eare I have save this, that ye bear me back On the homeward track,

With the straight blue gown for my only wear,

With folded fingers and unbound hair,

As I was ne'er a wife, For I cannot sleep, being dead—

In the Strangers' Forts, with the strangers That dwell in Donegal."

Here is part of another characteristic piece," East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon"

"East o' the Sun are faces kind

That sorrow never turns away. May's sunshine meets the April wind Among the young green leaves at play. There Greek and Trojan fight no more, And Merlin sleeps upon the shore, Leprechaun clouts Rhodope's saloon, East o' the Sun, West o' the Moon.

There Eros seeks his shafts o'ersped, And Arne finds the flying tune, There withered roses blossom red, And Ariers singing on the dune.

There is a castle strong, 'tis said,

Queen Brynhild dwells with White Gudrun,

And would my soul and thy soul sped East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon."

But what is the quantity of "Rhodope "P—Wind on the Harp- Strings. By Arthur E. J. Legge. (Arthur L. Humphreys.)— Something of the same kind might be said. of. Mr. Legge as has been said of Miss Hopper. But there is less of the melodious charm, and certainly less of the hinted sense. Mr. Legge writes verse fluently enough, but the words 'seem to master him :—

" Fiery Morn with her slim, strong wrist Guides her car through the golden mist On a gleaming pathway of amethyst."

This sounds pretty ; but "slim, strong wrist" is a very curious. phrase to use of Aurora, and a "pathway of amethyst" can hardly lie through a "golden mist." What are "waves of make- believe " ? And how canu "creed," be it true or false, "thread thorny branches in our track" P—The Huia's Homeland, and other Verses, by Roslyn (Elliot Stock), is a volume of poems from New Zealand. As the euthor seethe anxious to know -what critics "over the sea" may think of his work, we may say that it is very like scores of volumes that come to us every year, and which do not call for either praise or blame. Here is a specimen of its quality :— "In the azure sky, the bright sun, shining,

Gildeth the mountain, bush, and bay ; Eglantine, lilies, roses twining, Gather we here on Christmas Day; The shamrock beneath, And a 'Trig of heath Rata, Ti-Irei, and fern for our wreath.

The orchards glow with the ruddy cherry,

Clustering vine, fruit-laden tree; Oh, well may young and old be merry At Yule-Tide in the Scluthern Sea, Where o'er cock and rill, Over vale and hill,

Reigns peace on earth, tamen goodwill

We hear not now from the belfry tower The ringing chimes of long ago ; We may not see in the starry hour Through our casement the pure, soft snow.

Yet the season dear Was welcome here,

And our Merrie Christmas!' aatrue and clear."

—Poems. By Samuel Waddington. (G. Bell and Sons.)—These poems are hardly as good as we should expect from the list of journals in which some of them have already appeared. Nor are they equal to the sonnets on which Mr. Waddington's reputation is founded. Take this stanza, for instance, in "And wouldst thou still more beauteous be ? "—

" And wouldst thou still more joyous be, 0 maiden, 'mid thy reverie ?

Let not the gay world thee cajole ; Let Nature now thy heart control."

Why " now " in the last line ? The whole is distinctly prosaic. Here, again, is a stanza from "The Road to Macugnaga " (a piece which is as good as any in the volume) :—

" Aerose the bridge where Toss rolled His sunlit tide of burnished gold We passed, and soon had left behind Pie de Mulira,—to our *ad A hot Gehenna of the plain,

The torrid home of scorching pain, Such as some Christian-folk declare Their fellow-men anon shall share."

How deplorable the intrusion of the last couplet ! Here is what Mr. Waddington has to say to President Kruger :—

" Akin to Cromwell! Hark, methinks I hear

The roar of armed battalions drawing near ; Awake, arise! The hour is peat for sleep ! Arise, and arm thy sons, and have no fear ! Arne, Van Tromp ! Once more the Dutch shall sweep

The icemen from the veldt as from the deep."

—Four Children in Prose and Verse. By W. Trego Webb. (Macmillan and Co.)—This is a volume of pleasing verse, inspired by genuine feeling, and expressed with no little taste, and even beauty. Quaintly humorous and tender, it will not fail to touch all sympathetic hearts. Quotation would not do the book justice, and we must leave it with this general commendation.—Posies Out of Rings, and other Conceits. By William Theodore Peters. (J. Lane.)—There should be nothing clumsy about a gem. Mr. Peters has not quite the delicacy and skill of touch that suffice for this very fine kind of work.—Danton, and other Verse. By A. 11. Beesly. (Longmans and Co.)—The principal poem tells the story of Denton, arranged in ten scenes. Now and then Mr. Beesly's verse becomes distinctly prosaic ; the historical sense seems to master him. He must tell his tale in its details, and the details mar the effect. But he can rise on occasion to the height of his argument. Take this passage in which the tragedy comes to an end :— " Alone stood Denton, after every friend

Had heard his words of comfort (they the more In grief for him that he mast see them die), Like some sole eolumn in an earthquake-shook All motionless, till Samson summoned him ; Then standing at full stature, instantly Be strode up to the scaffold, seen of all, The dying Titan, in the dying sun Which shone in all its splendour on his face, And at the shout that rose he smiled and sighed, Whispering softly, '0 my wife, my love, Must I no more behold thee ? ' then, aloud, 'No weakness, Denton,' and with lion's roar Which pealed in all men's ears in all the Square, He thundered to the excutioner, 'Show them this head of mile, 'tis worth the pains, Such heads the people see not every day."

But the last piece in the volume, " Fortem posce animum mortis terrore carentem," is the finest. Here is the conclusion :—

"He who abhors the gaud/ ambition yields On blood-red battlefields, But at his country's call or Right's alarms Alert will stand to arms.

. . . . .....

This man—who cloth to others what he would

To him that others should, And worships more than any King or Queen

A conse■ence clear and clean—

Whether a hero's be his shining lot Or peasant's in his cot, Has known the athletes joy whose weakness long Self-conquest has made strong, And learnt life's purpose better than by rules Of all the creeds and schools.

Wherefore, when out of darkness beekoneth Inexorable Death, Even with the roaring torrent in his ears, His soul shall know no fears, Nor overmuch be sad, though at the end Bereft of every friend, Bat bold for any future, and still fast

Its bright flag at the mast,

Will meet the call, and dauntless though alone Embark on the Unknown.

—Poems. By Robert Loveman. (J. B. Lippincott, Philadelphia.) —Mr. Lovenaan's verse has no little prettiness and sweetness. Perhaps it was hardly worth sending across the Atlantic. We produce this kind of work in sufficient plenty here. But it shows the man of culture who has studied, and not without success, good models.—The Bose-tree of Hitdesheim, and other Poems. By Jessie L. Weston. (D. Nutt.)—This is a story told in correct verse, which lacks, however, variety of pause and melodious effect. A knight who has taken a monk's vow meets his old love. There is a struggle between love and duty, and the better voice prevails. —Ver Lyrae. Selected Poems of Charles Newton Robinson. (Lawrence and Bullen.)—This is a selection from three volumes, ranging in date from 1870 to 1895, with "seven new lyrics." We have also received :—The Garden of Dreams. By Madison Cawein. (J. P. Morton and Co., Louisville.) —Margaret and Margarites. By Clara Swain Dickins. (Sampson Low, Marston, and Co.)—Songs of Love and Death, By Margaret Armour. (J. M. Dent and Co.)

A Sunset Idyll, and other Poems. By Mrs. G. W. Paine. (Hodder Brothers.) — Rhymes from a Rhyming Forge. By Evanus the Song-Smith. (Cornish, Birmingham.)—Golden Chimes, and other Poems. By Alfred Horatio Gray, B.A. (Elliot Stock.) —From Dawn to Dusk : a Book of Verses. By George Mllnes. (J. C. Cornish, Manchester.)—Vox Humana. By Esther Powell. (Jerrold and Sons.)—Piccadilly Poems: Vers de Societe. By J. L. Owen. (Roxburgh° Press.)—The Love-Philtre, and other Poems. By Helen F. Schweitzer. (John Macqueeo.)