POETRY.
TO A LONDON STATUE. CHILL-LIPPED and cold and carved in stone, Enialed by thundering seas of sound, Fame's trumpet o'er them mutely blown, Three dreamers stand on London ground : Three dreamers who have climbed the heights, And won the ever-deathless bays, Watch here o'er London's days and nights Musing amidst her busy ways. Mere see wein n4ive, town, :Whose varied100m loved to view, Our.firet sweet singer of renown, Din ,Chaucer, man yet dreamer too: Who read-as books his fellow-men, And with rare wit. and wisdom limned .Theirporfreits,with a feithful.pen YPFk9se #gtb, nor Time nor cbangolmve dimmed.
' alstsixt Irim-svpdove perchance the best, : Bo c hninanget iromortal -still, A.man with passions like the rest And yet their master, honest Will : Ay mirth: nd leas and anger swayed, Most wayward yet most innocent, On whom the winds of fancy played As on.some sweet-stringed instrument.
Last, Milton, mighty-souled and strong—, For Weapons ,weighty words had hes- Waging fierce war against the wrong F or love of truth and liberty; Who, battle over, sought again The Mime he wooed in days more bright, Turning blind eyes, and not in vain, Ten- era that inner, peaceful Light: With thoughts remote, in chilly mood, -The mighty three stand silent.there.
The music of the multitude Rings louctin London's thoroughfare, NOW harsh, now sweet, yet never thrills Their ears, nor sets one pulse abeat.
Work ! What faint breath Fame's -trumpet fills, And stirs .the folds about her feet?
. J. ComenoN.
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