23 JANUARY 1897, Page 15

POETRY.

'THE air, a limpid crystal, flowed O'er sea and land till pure from staia And jewel-clear their colours glowed As in a glass of Claude Lorraine.

The water like a sheet of steel Mirrored the moveless swans afloat The solemn, Sabbath-keeping wheel ; The masts of many a fishing-boat.

Around the harbour spire and tree Were etched against the vaulted blue ; Across the strait were plain to see The trees and spires of Portsmouth too.

So still the scene was, so refined, It seemed a sleight of magic art; Till in a gush of sudden wind The scent of coltsfoot cheered my heart.

H. C. B.