Landor… Julius Hare.
As several readers have expressed their pleasure in the opportunity of reading the poems of MILNES, with which we adorned a previous notice, we must copy one more, from among the “Memorials of Many Scenes.” It is not one of much poetic merit, but for its delicacy of feeling, and the living picture of a Southern moonlit night, delightful to read, especially in the frosty dullness of a Northern Spring:
TO THE MOON OF THE SOUTH
LET him go down,—the gallant Sun! His work is nobly done: Well may He now absorb Within his solid orb The rays so beautiful and strong, The rays that have been out so long Embracing this delighted land as with a mystic song. Let the brave Sun go down to his repose, And though his heart be kind, He need not mourn for those He leaves behind; He knows, that when his ardent throne Is rolled beyond the vaulting sky, The earth shall not be left alone In darkness and perplexity.
We shall not sit in sullen sorrow Expectant of a tardy morrow, But there where he himself arose, Another power shall rise, And gracious rivalry disclose