The Chap-book; semi-monthly . so nobly and consistently in itsantique dignity of place, and clothed it with such un-sullied [splendor of purpose and achievement. Thepoet who is afraid to be serious, who is sensitive to theatmosphere of light satire which now-a-days, in so manycircles, plays pleasantly but destructively about all ear-nestness of mood and purpose, may write graceful versebut will never write great poetry. Humor is one otthe highest gifts which fall to the lot of the artist, but itis significant that the great humorists have all been in deadearnest. Lightness of touch is the pecu
The Chap-book; semi-monthly . so nobly and consistently in itsantique dignity of place, and clothed it with such un-sullied [splendor of purpose and achievement. Thepoet who is afraid to be serious, who is sensitive to theatmosphere of light satire which now-a-days, in so manycircles, plays pleasantly but destructively about all ear-nestness of mood and purpose, may write graceful versebut will never write great poetry. Humor is one otthe highest gifts which fall to the lot of the artist, but itis significant that the great humorists have all been in deadearnest. Lightness of touch is the peculiar grace ofmany writers of high skill, but it is noticeable that it isalways united in such cases to great power of concen-tration. No modern English writer has touched thingsmore lightly than Matthew Arnold, but what toughnessot fibre his work has, what persistence of purpose runsthrough it, what concentration of interest and thoughtbinds it together, and builds it into solid symmetry !Hamilton Wright Mabie. 9 DRAWING 487. 488 BALLADE OF THE FIELDS BALLADEOF THE FIELDS THE light of noonday white and babble of a sleepy streamWhose monotone melts in the carAnd lures the weary lids to warm and earthy smells that steamFrom sunburnt soil, the locusts brownThat skim the air with dizzy scream —A meadow with the bars let down. The little winds that flaw and lengthen out an endless clover blossoms bend to hearOf voyages in the blue supremeWhere half-forgotten wonders growing faint and fainter drownIn honey where the bees blaspheme —A meadow with the bars let down. And then the still light, far and centred in a single warm curls glisten, tier on under eyelids white like eyes that pardon and redeem ;So, following these, I leave renovraAnd traverse to its dear extreme,A meadow with the bars let down. , when the golden barriers gleamWhere she awaits with starry that the heave
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