Osyth lived, just by the sea. [Illustration: text decoration] MOUNT GAMBIER, SOUTH AUSTRALIA. In lone magnificence and stately pride, Majestic in thy ruin and decay, Thou, whose unfathomed crater yawned wide When Pluto’s furies in thy depths held sway; And forked lightning on black clouds astride, And igneous rocks, their glowing masses hurled While streams of lava in a ceaseless tide Flowed o’er thy base upon a darkened world. What hast thou felt in cycles long untold? What hast thou heard within thine eyrie there, That scalding tears of rage hath down thee rolled Scarring thine image and thy bosom bare? What hath the glorious sun-god looked upon, Searching thy heart with brilliant-zoned light? What hath the silver-veiled Fingari, lone Viewed from her vantage in the solemn night? Thou must have breathed when regal Pompeii, placed On proud Italia’s olive-mantled shore Was by Vesuvius’ wrath engulfed and rased, And eighteen centuries was covered o’er. If thou but had a tongue, mayhap thou would Tell us when fair Lemuria disappeared, Or how the dusky tribes, with rites of blood, In bora rings their writhing victims speared. Thou antique dial: scarce thou feeleth, though Thy faint spasmodic tremblings still are felt, And o’er thy sunken cranium waters flow, The rocky amphitheatre thy belt. Now, foliage green adorns thy noble form-- Lo! Mansions fair are nestling there serene Around thy neck, and in the gathering gloom At eve we picture what thou once hath been. And Oh! Thou mighty Gambier, not in vain Thou teacheth like a sad and silent sage The wisdom and the pleasure we may gain While pondering on thy splendour and thine age. [Illustration: text decoration] Prose Fragments SCENTS AND THE PAST. A STRONG CONNECTING LINK. It sometimes happens that some uncommon perfume will carry us back to the days of our girlhood, when our mothers would devoutly disclose to the light of day all sorts of odd things, such as old letters smelling of musk, or ribbons and pieces of old lace yellow with age, cast off baby clothes, which once on a time, covered our tiny persons, little pinafores or caps and booties, perhaps toys which once belonged to a sister or brother, long since gone on the other side. Again, such a perfume may remind us of a time when the whole family were gathered around the festive board, laughing, bright with repartee, the room redolent of fragrance from the tastefully arranged flowers, long since forgotten. Somehow a scent brings back a flood of memories; the scene; the very arch glance of a pair of eyes, or the grave sweet look of a face, as though it were yesterday.