Mr. Noyes called _Drake_, published in 1908, an English Epic. It is not really an epic--it is a historical romance in verse, as _Aurora Leigh_ is a novel. It is interesting from beginning to end, more interesting as narrative than as poetry. It is big rather than great, rhetorical rather than literary, declamatory rather than passionate. And while many descriptive passages are fine, the pictures of the terrible storm near Cape Horn are surely less vivid than those in _Dauber_. Had Mr. Noyes written _Drake_ without the songs, and written nothing else, I should not feel certain that he was a poet; I should regard him as an extremely fluent versifier, with remarkable skill in telling a rattling good story. But the _Songs_, especially the one beginning, "Now the purple night is past," could have been written only by a poet. In _Forty Singing Seamen_ there is displayed an imagination quite superior to anything in _Drake_; and I would not trade _The Admiral's Ghost_ for the whole "epic." As a specific illustration of his lyrical power, the following poem may be cited. THE MAY-TREE The May-tree on the hill Stands in the night So fragrant and so still, So dusky white. That, stealing from the wood, In that sweet air, You'd think Diana stood Before you there. If it be so, her bloom Trembles with bliss. She waits across the gloom Her shepherd's kiss. Touch her. A bird will start From those pure snows,-- The dark and fluttering heart Endymion knows. Alfred Noyes is "among the English poets." His position is secure. But because he has never identified himself with the "new" poetry--either in choice of material or in free verse and polyphonic prose--it would he a mistake to suppose that he is afraid to make metrical experiments. The fact of the matter is, that after he had mastered the technique of conventional rime and rhythm, as shown in many of his lyrical pieces, he began playing new tunes on the old instrument. In _The Tramp Transfigured_, to which I find myself always returning in a consideration of his work, because it displays some of the highest qualities of pure poetry, there are new metrical effects. The same is true of the Prelude to the _Forest of Wild Thyme_, and of _The Burial of a Queen_; there are new metres used in _Rank and File_ and in _Mount Ida_. The poem _Astrid_, included in the volume _The Lord of Misrule_ (1915), is an experiment in _initial_ rhymes. Try reading it aloud. White-armed Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!-- Nightly wandered weeping thro' the ferns in the moon, Slowly, weaving her strange garland in the forest, Crowned with white violets, Gowned in green. Holy was that glen where she glided, Making her wild garland as Merlin had bidden her, Breaking off the milk-white horns of the honeysuckle, Sweetly dripped the new upon her small white Feet.