there is an absence of peculiarity, as well as a presence of rhythm, which is especially refreshing:

"I laid the flower across his mouth;

The sparkling drops seemed good for drouth;
He smiled, turn'd round toward the south,
Held up a golden tress.

"The light smote on it from the west:
He drew the covering from his breast,
Against his heart that hair he press'd;

Death him soon will bless."-P. 62.

"Sir Peter Harpdon's End" is a dramatic fragment of some length, which, though lacking character and point, and deficient in clearness of expression, contains some thoughts of considerable originality. As a whole it reminds us considerably of Mr. Robert Browning's writings; and though not crowded with obscure classicalisms, like certain of that author's effusions, it amply atones for the absence of such, by an almost overcrowding of mediæval notions at one time upon the stage. Again, there is in many passages a mixture of common-place and something better, which makes us deeply regret the presence of the former property, and wonder why greater care has not been taken in the polishing-up and final touchings. This has been the case very evidently in a powerful description of the Lady Alice's feelings at pp. 98, 99, for which consequently we regret we have not space. It is thoroughly Pre-Raphaelite in character, and one of the best and most perfect pieces of word-painting in the volume.

Rapunzel," is a wild and romantic production, characterised by much indistinctness. There are two or three passages, how

ever, that deserve to be reprinted, which are given below. The first is the description-by no means unvivid-of a fight; and the second is a pretty and somewhat extravagantly fanciful song by a "Prince :"

"Once came two knights and fought with swords below,
And while they fought I scarce could look at all,
My head swam so, after a moaning low,

Drew my eyes down; I saw against the wall

"One knight lean dead, bleeding from head and breast,
Yet seem'd it like a line of poppies red
In the golden twilight as he took his rest,
In the dusky time he scarcely seemed dead.
"But the other, on his face six paces off,

Lay moaning, and the old familiar name

He mutter'd through the grass, seem'd like a scoff
Of some lost soul remembering his past fame.
"His helm all dented lay beside him there,

The visor-bars were twisted towards the face,
The crest, which was a lady very fair,

Wrought wonderfully, was shifted from its place.
"The shower'd mail-rings on the speed-walk lay,
Perhaps my eyes were dazzled with the light
That blazed in the west, yet surely on that day
Some crimson thing had changed the grass from bright
"Pure green I love so. But the knight who died

Lay there for days after the other went ;
Until one day I heard a voice that cried,
'Fair knight, I see Sir Robert we were sent

"To carry dead or living to the king.'

So the knights came and bore him straight away

On their lance truncheons, such a batter'd thing,

His mother had not known him on that day."-P. 127.

"GUENDOLEN.

""Twixt the sunlight and the shade
Float up memories of my maid,
GOD, remember Guendolen !

"Gold or gems she did not wear,
But her yellow rippled hair,
Like a veil, hid Guendolen!

""Twixt the sunlight and the shade,
My rough hands so strangely made,
Folded Golden Guendolen ;

"Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,
Framed her face, while on the sward
Tears fell down from Guendolen.

"Guendolen now speaks no word,
Hands fold round about the sword.
Now no more of Guendolen.

"Only 'twixt the light and shade
Floating memories of my maid

Make me pray for Guendolen."—P. 131.

The following extract from "A Good Knight in Prison," is of the same character and quality, and has the merit of being somewhat shorter :

"For these vile things that hem me in,
These Pagan beasts who live in sin,
The sickly flowers pale and wan,
The grim blue-bearded castellan,
The stanchions half-worn out with rust,
Whereto their banner vile they trust-
Why, all these things I hold them just
Like dragons in a missal-book,
Wherein, whenever we may look,
We see no horror, yea, delight
We have, the colours are so bright;
Likewise we note the specks of white,
And the great plates of burnish'd gold.

"Just so this Pagan castle old,
And everything I can see there,
Sick-pining in the marshland air,
I note; I will go over now,

Like one who paints with knitted brow,

The flowers and all things one by one,

From the snail on the wall to the setting sun.

"Four great walls and a little one

That leads down to the barbican,

Which walls with many spears they man,

When news comes to the castellan

Of Launcelot being in the land.

"And as I sit here, close at hand

Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand,
The castellan with a long wand
Cuts down their leaves as he goes by,
Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye,
And fingers twisted in his beard-
Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard?
I have a hope makes me afeard :

It cannot be, but if some dream
Just for a minute made me deem
I saw among the flowers, there
My lady's face with long red hair,
Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come,
As I was wont to see her some
Fading September afternoon,
And kiss me, saying nothing, soon
To leave me by myself again;

Could I get this by longing: vain!”—P. 151.

possess

As we have never been able to discover why the large majority of women represented by the Pre-Raphaelite Brothers have red hair, neither can we see why "my lady" alluded to above should that especial adornment. It is perfectly true, in fact, that some people have red hair, but it is equally false that all are gifted in that particular. Of course there are a large number of ordinarylooking people, such as we see often painted by those who pride themselves on representing Nature as she is; but there is on the other hand a no small class of another character who would, we venture to say, be equally paintable, and would not make a picture appear common-place or quaint. Again, we doubt the wisdom of applying the terms "pale, ivory colour'd" to a face. They remind us very unpleasantly of disease and lack of health. Now although the "Good Knight" may have suffered from confinement, we are not informed that this was his lady's misfortune.

"The Gilliflower of Gold" is in many respects worthy of a careful study. It is a most clever imitation, or rather reproduction of the middle age ballad. So artistically is it managed that we might almost imagine that no modern pen had linked the words together. "Shameful Death," which immediately follows, is a trifle less unintelligible, though by no means deficient in obscurity :

"There were four of us about that bed;
The mass-priest knelt at the side,
I and his mother stood at the head,
Over his feet lay the bride;
We were quite sure that he was dead,
Though his eyes were open wide.

"He did not die in the night,

He did not die in the day,

But in the morning twilight

His spirit pass'd away;

When neither sun nor moon was bright,
And the trees were merely grey.

"He was not slain with the sword,

Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,

After he came in here;
I cut away the cord

From the neck of my brother dear. "He did not strike one blow,

For the recreants came behind,
In a place where the hornbeams grow,
A path right hard to find;
For the hornbeam-boughs swing so,
That the twilight makes it blind.

"They lighted a great torch then,
When his arms were pinioned fast,
Sir John the Knight of the Fen,
Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
With knights threescore and ten,
Hung brave Sir Hugh at last.

"I am threescore and ten,
And hair is all turn'd grey,

my

But I met Sir John of the Fen,
Long ago on a summer day,

And am glad to think of the moment whe
I took his life away.

"I am threescore and ten,

And my strength is mostly pass'd,

But long ago I and my men,

When the sky was overcast,

And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the

Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.

"And now, Knights all of you,

I

pray you pray for Sir Hugh,

A good Knight and a true,

And for Alice his wife, pray too."-P. 165.

The "Eve of Crecy," which immediately follows this a poem of considerable beauty, and as our readers must its author a full opportunity of displaying all those ресу which he so unquestionably possesses, and knows so use with advantage :

"Gold on her head, and gold on her feet,
And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,
And a golden girdle round my sweet;
Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

"Margaret's maids are fair to see,
Freshly dress'd and pleasantly;
Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.