ht into rhymes of
gold.
Look, here's the face to which this house is
frame,--
A man too wise to let his heart grow old!

(Dedication of the Aldrich Memorial at Portsmouth, June 11, 1908.)

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN

Oh, quick to feel the lightest touch
Of beauty or of truth,
Rich in the thoughtfulness of age,
The hopefulness of youth,
The courage of the gentle heart,
The wisdom of the pure,
The strength of finely tempered souls
To labour and endure!

The blue of springtime in your eyes
Was never quenched by pain;
And winter brought your head the crown
Of snow without a stain.
The poet's mind, the prince's heart,
You kept until the end,
Nor ever faltered in your work,
Nor ever failed a friend.

You followed, through the quest of life,
The light that shines above
The tumult and the toil of men,
And shows us what to love.
Right loyal to the best you knew,
Reality or dream,
You ran the race, you fought the fight,
A follower of the Gleam.

We lay upon your well-earned grave
The wreath of asphodel,
We speak above your peaceful face
The tender word Farewell!
For well you fare, in God's good care,
Somewhere within the blue,
And know, to-day, your dearest dreams
Are true,--and true,--and true!

(Read at the funeral of Mr. Stedman, January 21, 1908.)

LYRICS

DRAMATIC AND PERSONAL

LATE SPRING

I

Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days,
Why the sweet Spring delays,
And where she hides,--the dear desire
Of every heart that longs
For bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fire
Of maple-buds along the misty hills,
And that immortal call which fills
The waiting wood with songs?
The snow-drops came so long ago,
It seemed that Spring was near!
But then returned the snow
With biting winds, and all the earth grew sere,
And sullen clouds drooped low
To veil the sadness of a hope deferred:
Then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain
Beat on the window-pane,
Through which I watched the solitary bird
That braved the tempest, buffeted and tossed,
With rumpled feathers, down the wind again.
Oh, were the seeds all lost
When winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb?
I searched their haunts in vain
For blue hepaticas, and trilliums white,
And trailing arbutus, the Spring's delight,
Starring the wither