28 JANUARY 1893, Page 31

POETRY.

WE, homely souls, whose courage fails At perils hid in modern tales, Dread airings of religious dreams, Social reforms and moral schemes, Turn to those simple idylls sung, When this old century was young, And watch the Pump-room beauties greet Their courtly_swains in Millsom Street.

They live for us—this old-world throng— Their joys, their loves to us belong, Their sorrows, where the pages show Traces of tears shed long ago.

Oars is the loss, we freely own, Who leave more stalwart fare alone, And in our unlearned hearts rejoice To hear this quaint, old-fashioned voice : As country-folk whose ears are sore, Dinned with the pavement's clash and roar, Through April hedgerows hear again The blackbird's whistle in the lane.

ALFRED COCHRANE.