POETRY.—Poems. By Matthew Arnold. (Routledge and Sons.) —7'11 . s is a

reprint of a volume published by the poet in 1853, itself mainly a reprint of the earlier volume published anony- mously (by " A*****," if we remember right), in 1819 and 1852. This " 1853 " volume is now out of copyright. Its reappear- ance suggests, not, indeed, for the first time, a serious matter in literary morality. There are several poems in this volume which Mr. Arnold deliberately suppressed. These reappear. There are changes in some of the others which he wished to stand. These are not, and of course could not, be made. There can be but one opinion among right-thinking people as to the impropriety of this disregard of the wishes of the author. It would be better, perhaps, to make this change in the law of copyright, that all an author's works should go out of copyright together, the date, of course, being fixed at forty-two years, if that is to be the period, after the publication of the latest,with the usual alternative of seven years after the author's death. This greedy seizing of each portion as it passes out of protection is nothing less than revolting. Song Favours. By C. W. Dalmon. (John Lane.)—There is much sprightliness and vigour in Mr. Dalmon's verse. Its movement is easy and rhythmical ; its language touched with no common grace. True, there is nothing very new or striking about it ; the same things have been said before, and not once or twice only. But there is a freshness in the way that Mr. Dalmon says them. Not the least of his merits is that he eschews the doleful note which it is so easy to reach, and gives us something of the gaiety which the ordinary minor poet seems to find it so hard to compass. Here is a stanza in which the "Sussex Muse" expresses her pride in Shelley and her grief :- I t ■nglit the child to love, and dream and sing

Of witch. hobgoblin, folk and flower lore ; And often Nil him by the hand away Into St. Leonard's Forest, where of yore The hermit fought the draeon—to this day,

The children, ev'i y Spring,

Find flies of the valley blowing where The fights tiok place. Alas! they quickly drove

My darling, from my bosom and my love,

Ann scotched my crown of laurel from his hair.'

—A Life-History and Miscellaneous Poems. By J. Reddie Mallett. (Bentley and Son.)—The "Homely Verse," to use the phrase by which Mr. Mallett describes his poetry, does not, as may easily be imagined, lend itself to extract. The speaker is supposed to be describing his own childhood, boyhood, love, courtship, marriage, and the joys and troubles of wedded life. All this is done in easy, not unmusical, verse, with just a touch of humour about it. Perhaps the best way of giving our readers an idea of how the story is told will be by referring them to Coventry Patmore. This style suits Mr. Mallett's genius, and he makes a decided success in it. His "Miscellaneous Poems" are common- place, and it would not do him justice to give anything from them as a specimen of his powers.—Verses and Translations. By Mrs. Oisney Leith. (J. Masters and Co.)—Mrs. Leith's verse has got something of Mr. Swinburne's swing in it. Here are three stanzas from " H.M.S. 'Victoria.' " The first and second go well enough, but the third halts sadly, and to halt is fatal to verse of this .kind :— 4. Bright and brave on the tideless wave the line of battle-ships lay to sight. Faultless order and true accord in all their movements to left and right ; Linked in length of a wondrous strength—a nation's joy and a nation's might,

Self-reliant, each meg-clad giant lay unmoving on ocean's breast. What delusion, the failure who-e ? a sign misconstrued, a meaning guess'd ? Sadden terror—a hairbreadth's error in steering—turning—you know the rest.

Shuddering, backed from the fierce impact, as a shot-struck elephant shuddereth, One not scatheless steers landward, nathless—one, her heartwound is unto death.

Strong to ordure, yet the doom is Bare; and all men watch her with bated breath,"

There are some goo( In Memoriam" verses, and some transla- tions from the Icelandic, which, as far as they can be judged in the absence of the original, seem to have merit. —Child's World Ballads, and other Poems. By Sarah Platt. (Archibald Constable and Co.)—Mrs. Piatt has done some good work in verse, of which we have had the pleasure of speaking well before. But she does mot seem to advance because she will not bestow on her poems the labour of correction. They are certainly not commonplace. There is real thought in them, and real feeling. But they are wanting in form. The best thing that we can find is this :— "A WOMAN'S LAST WORD.

Promise me moth ng. Men are mortal. I Loose from your hest t my hand. (The grave is deeper than the heavens are high.) My house—of Love—was builded on the sand.

Promise me nothing. That the heal t wiU rain On eyes whose tears are done And lips that will not kiss you back again For ever any more, I know, for one.

Promise me nothing. You but said 'Till death,' Even with my wedding-ring. Promise me nothing, lest with my lest breath I make you promise—only everything Promise me nothing. One day you will buy Another ring, you know. Then, if the dead walk in their sleep, must I Come, shivering, back to say—' I told you so'?"

There is little to be said of a modest volume which hails from British Columbia, The Lion's Gale, and other Verses, by Lily Alice Lefevre (Province Publishing Company, Victoria, B.C.), but it is clear that the writer has a certain gift of writing vigorous verse. The specimen that we quote from "The Valley of Time" reminds us of the vigorous poem that we quoted some time since (February th) from Mr. Clive Phillips-Wolley. It is this story of the "Ascent of Man"

For ill, unive-se b •fil al his will with legions cf foroes unknown,

Dumb laws that in darkness lac hid. yet surrounded and claimed their ewn, 1 ill he roe, in his manhood ar d cried s.0 . in i.netish to earth and to sky, 'Come forth, m:g t., p news unieen, I wi I fieht ye and conquer, or die 1 A c-ild's Duey tanS agabst Titens I 3 et cleanliness he straggled and fought

Till at last from the crash of the conflict flew a nark of electrical thought,- The Idea I-aped forth from the brain, full armed as when Wisdom began, Axd the forties of Nature were chained like slaves to the chariot of Man!

These the fair first-fruits of Freedom—the gold of the ripening fle'd, The pi ogress that builds upon Science, the peace that with honour is sealed. The mercy that raiseth the lowly, the justice that mike but the Eight, The d awn of a glorious morrow when the rations of earth shall unite. Victoria! may time be thy dower from every country and clime, From lands where beneath the old banner the joybells of jubilee chime, In our strength we are standing alone, yet, if menace or danger be near, Oh, mother and Empress of Nations,—one call, and thy children are here !"

—In Mimosa Leaves, by Grace Denio Litchfield (G. P. Putnam's Sons), the best thing, to our thinking, is "In the Hospital." The gist of the story is that the old surgeon saves three lives by his skill, and cannot but feel that he has saved them for evil and not for good. When he is himself near his and an angel reveals to him how he had really been carrying out God's will and working good, not the evil that he had thought. There is something in the poem which reminds us of Parnell's "Hermit." It would be interesting to compare the two, and see how very differently the nineteenth-century poet expresses the same idea that his prede- cessor had in view.—Songs of a Heart's Surrender, and other Poems. By Arthur L. Salmon. (W. Blackwood and Sons.)—The first part of this volume is occupied with the series of poems which gives it a title. This series is a study of morals and emotions worked out with considerable skill. "Our Lady of Tears" is a striking story. —Sonnets, and other Verse. By Sir Henry Parkes. (Regan Paul, Trench, and Co.)—Sir Henry Parkes was a writer whose position and antecedents entitle him to a hearing. Whether the literary merit of his poems would place him among writers of noticeable verse we need not decide ; it is enough that he wrote, especially when his subject is the future of the great country which he has served for so many years. We may give as a specimen of his powers :— Os Y PEOPLE, ONE DESTINY.

One People working out one Destiny,—

Shall we not live within the ample shores Of our fair land, with unremembered sores Of once.distempe-ed blood ; no enemy, Nor speech nor heists divided ; earth, sea, sky Our own; the coming Nation's plenteous stores Of courage, richer than her golden ores, Expanding with her fame and industry ?

Name of the Future, to inseire and charm The tog nine emulous peoples of the West, To fill the Orient with her peaceful rays.

To lead the King-Apostles to di, arm, To teach the Masses to exalt the Best, To herald in the round of happy days."

—The Song of Boland, by Arthur Way and Frederick Spencer (D. Nutt), is described as "A Summary for the Use of English Readers, with Verse Renderings of Typical Passages," and may be commended as accomplishing its purpose with fair success. —Of Flower Leginds from Many Lands, by Lizzie Dens (Digby, Long, and Co.), it will probably be sufficient to give tha following specimen :— "Trig FIRST POPPIES.

When Ceres, by her grief to frenzy wrought, On Plain of Enna Proserpina sought, For house she ran, and to the gods hard prayed, Who for her grieved, yet powerless her to aid, To soothe awhile the poignance of her wee, Large, heavy-hi aded poppet round her FOIY, At si,s ht of which she stays her weary fee', And stoops, exhausted, of the seeds to eat ; And as the food so sorely she rscriires Passes her lip, with hope it her inspires; But as she tunes, the footway to regain, Plips from her heart the burthen of its pain; Fold-to the tear-washed, heav-lidded eyes, And prone amid the flowers tared Ceres lies, Dead to all sense of present loss or woe, Witch blest oblivion% is the poppj's to bestow.'

Proserpina, not Proserpina, we may remark.—We have also re- ceived :—Arrows of Song. (Hutchinson and Co.)—Shades of the Choir Carvers of Amiens. By S. A. Coxhead. (Digby, Long, and Co.)—The Mermaid's Quest, and other Poems. By Charles Joseph Whitby. (J. Baker and Son, Clifton.)—Sir Kenneth's Wanderings. By Frederick E. Ellis. (Digby, Long and Co.)—Gtoria Christi. By G. T. Cooper. (H. R. .Allenson.)—Chateaux en Espagne. By Percy Cross Standing. (Digby, Long, and Co.)—Sonnets and Songs.

By M. W. Findlater. (D. Nutt.) On the Summit, and other Poems. By Benjamin George Ambler. (Elliot Stock.)—My Only Child. By Edmund James Mills. (Archibald Constable.) —The Janitor's Daughter. By George Amos. (Digby, Long, and (lo.)--The Lilies, and other Poems, by Sabrina ; and The Progress of Love. (Same publishers.)—Echoes and Pictures. By Richard R. Thomas, M D. (Nisbet and Co.)—Songs of My Soli- tude. By Henry Newman. (Digby, Long, and Co.)—A Leaflet of Life. By Stanhope Bayley. (Elkin Mathews.'—The Poetic Year, and other Poems. By Maud Vyse. (H. R. Allenson.)—The Quest of Love, and other Poems. By Lewis Findlay East. (Mel- ville, Mullen, and Slade, Melbourne.)—Eddies. By T. H. Wright. (Simpkin, Marshall, and Co.)—Shiloh, and other Poems. By Reginald Tavey. (Elliot Stock.)—" Voices," and other Verses. By C. Allen Clarke. (Clarion Office.) —Solos in Verse. By Priestly Prime. (Swan Sonnenschein and Co ) —Dove Sono. Part II. (Regan Paul, Trench, and Co.) —Urania, Night, and other Agronomics/ Poems. By S. Jefferson. (Elliot Stock.)