Dedicated by consent to Alfred Tennyson.

All hail! far-seeing and creative power,
Before whose might the universe bends low
In silent adoration! Guide my pen
While from my soul the sounds of music pour
Towards thy praises! For to thee belongs
The sounding stream of never-ending song.
When out of chaos rose the glorious world,
Sublime with mountains flowing from the skies,
On lonely seas, sweet with slow-winding vales,
Clasping the grandeur of the heavenly hills
With soft and tender arms, or lowly glens
Shrinking from glowing gaze of searching sun
Beneath the shade of the high-soaring hills;
Grand with great torrents roaring o'er fierce crags
In suicidal madness, sad with seas
That flash in silver of the gladdening sun,
Yet ever wail in sadness 'neath the skies
Of smiling heaven (like a lovely life
That wears a sunny face, and wintry soul),
Hopeful with fickle life renewing spring,
Gladden'd with summer's radiance, autumn's joy,
And sad and sullen with fierce winter's rain;
Ruled by the race of God-made men who rush
Towards eternity with half-shut eyes,
Blind to the glories of sweet sky and sea,
Wood-covered earth, and sun-reflecting hill,
Thou in the mind of God, almighty power!
Ruled, and directed his creative hand.
With thee the seas spread and the hills arose
To do thy Maker's will; the silvery stars
Like heavenly glow-worms, beautifully cold,
And gladly silent, gemmed the gloom of night,
And shed the gladdening glances of their eyes
On the sad face of the night-darken'd earth.
Without thy sweetening influence, the soul
Of nature's bard were like a sunless plain,
Or summer garden destitute of flowers,
A winter day ungladden'd by the gleam
Of flowing sun, or river searching wild
Through desert lands for ne'er appearing trees,
Or peaceful flowers that sandy scenes disdain.
No thought the philosophic mind imparts
To an enraptured world, but bears thy power,
And owns thee as the agent of its birth.
O'er the sweet landscape of the poet's mind
Thou sunlike shed'st the gladness of thy love,
Inspiring all the scenes that lie below,
Sweetening the bowers where Fancy loves to dwell,
And on the crest of some huge mountain-thought
Placing the glory of thy fleecy cloud,
To make its frowning grandeur greater still,
And heighten all its beauteous mystery.
Thro' the sweet-coloured plains of Poesy
Thou flowest like a sweetly-sounding stream,
Here, rushing furious o'er the rocky crags
Of wild, original thought, and there, 'neath bowers
Of imagery, winding on thy way
Peaceful and still towards the fadeless sea
Of all enduring immortality.
Like lightning flash for which no thunder-roar
Makes preparation, from th' astonished mind
On an astonished and admiring world
Thou dartest in thine overwhelming course,
Leaving a track of splendour in thy train,
And lighting up the regions of thy way.
With thee sweet music sings her various song,
And thrills the soul and elevates the mind
With "thoughts that often lie too deep for tears,"
And own a sadness sweeter than the rills,
A softer sweetness than the sinking sun
Gives to the sparkling face of pensive sea.
With thee great genius walketh hand in hand
Towards the loftiest thought, or sits in pride
Upon the golden throne of starry Fame.
Borne on thy wings the pensive poet flies
To the sweet-smiling land of sunny dreams,
Or pours his floods of music o'er the world.
With thy bright gleams his daily deeds are gemmed,
And by thy balmy influence, his life
Survives when he is dead!

D. R. WILLIAMSON.

Maidenkirk.