* This exquisite little hymn is extracted from a volume of ex-
cellent, but, we fear, neglected, poetry, published under the title
of “English Songs, and other Small Poems, by Barry Cornwall.”
The real name of the author, we understand, is Proctor, and in
him much of the old pure spirit of poetry has revived—the poetry
of nature and of the affections.
cellent, but, we fear, neglected, poetry, published under the title
of “English Songs, and other Small Poems, by Barry Cornwall.”
The real name of the author, we understand, is Proctor, and in
him much of the old pure spirit of poetry has revived—the poetry
of nature and of the affections.
As a farther specifimen of this delightful volume, and akin to the
subject above, we extract
subject above, we extract
The Poet’s Song to His Wife.
How many summers, love,1
Have I been thine ?2
How many days, thou dove,3
Hast thou been mine ?4
Time, like the winged wind,5
When ’t bends the flowers,6
Hath left no mark behind,7
To count the hours.8
Some weight of thought, though loth,9
On thee he leaves ;10
Some lines of care round both11
Perhaps he weaves ;12
Some fears—a soft regret13
For joys scarce known ;14
Sweet looks we half forget—15
All else is flown !16
Ah, with what thankless heart17
I mourn and sing !18
Look, where our children start,19
Like sudden spring !20
With tongues all sweet and low,21
Like a pleasant rhyme,22
They tell how much I owe23
To thee and Time.24