[3:1] The picture on the front cover is from an illustration by Mr. Gerald Metcalfe, for Coleridge's "Christabel," in _The Poems of Coleridge_, published by John Lane.
_Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round, walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread._
=Allingham=, William. A Dream. (In Charles Welsh's The Golden Treasury of Irish Songs and Lyrics.)
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night. I went to the window to see the sight: All the dead that ever I knew Going one by one and two by two.
In its delicate loveliness "The Forsaken Merman" ranks high among Mr. Arnold's poems. It is the story of a Sea-King, married to a mortal maiden, who forsook him and her children under the impulse of a Christian conviction that she must return and pray for her soul.--_H. W. Paul._
She sate by the pillar: we saw her clear; "Margaret, hist! Come quick, we are here! Dear heart," I said, "We are long alone; The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.
. . . a picturesque embodiment of a strange mediaeval legend touching Judas Iscariot, who is supposed to be released from Hell for a few hours every Christmas because he had done in his life a single deed of charity.--_H. W. Paul._
=Barlow=, Jane. Three Throws and One. (In Walter Jerrold's The Book of Living Poets.)
At each throw of my net there's a life must go down into death on the sea. At each throw of my net it comes laden, O rare, with my wish back to me. With my choice of all treasures most peerless that lapt in the oceans be.
=Boyd=, Thomas. The King's Son. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)
Who rideth through the driving rain At such a headlong speed? Naked and pale he rides amain, Upon a naked steed.
=Browning=, Elizabeth Barrett. The Lay of the Brown Rosary.
Who meet there, my mother, at dawn and at even? Who meet by that wall, never looking at heaven? O sweetest my sister, what doeth with thee The ghost of a nun with a brown rosary And a face turned from heaven?
And the socket floats and flares, And the house-beams groan And a foot unknown Is surmised on the garret stairs And the locks slip unawares. . .