The Boy's Percy. Being Old Ballads of War, Adventure, and Love, from Bishop Thomas Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. Edited for Boys. Crown 8vo, pp. xxxii, 442. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1882. The English Novel and the Principles of its Development. Crown 8vo, pp. 293. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1883. Poems of Sidney Lanier. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- | SUNRISE, the culminating poem, the highest vision of Sidney Lanier, | | was dedicated through his latest request to that friend | | who indeed came into his life only near its close, | | yet was at first meeting recognized by the poet | | as "the father of his spirit", | | GEORGE WESTFELDT. | | When words were very few and the poem was unread, | | even by any friend, the earnest bidding came: | | "Send him my SUNRISE, | | that he may know how entirely we are one in thought." | ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Hymns of the Marshes. I. Sunrise. In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep, Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting, Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting, Came to the gates of sleep. Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep, Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling: The gates of sleep fell a-trembling Like as the lips of a lady that forth falter `Yes,' Shaken with happiness: The gates of sleep stood wide. I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not abide: I have come ere the dawn, O beloved, my live-oaks, to hide In your gospelling glooms, -- to be As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea. Tell me, sweet burly-bark'd, man-bodied Tree That mine arms in the dark are embracing, dost know From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow? They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps. Reason's not one that weeps. What logic of greeting lies Betwixt dear over-beautiful trees and the rain of the eyes?