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All this a man of Lanier's breadth understood fully, for he had a large capacity and he sought a full equipment. Perhaps the most remarkable feature of his gifts was their complete symmetry. It is hard to tell what register of perception, or sensibility, or wit, or will was lacking. The constructive and the critical faculties, the imaginative and the practical, balanced each other. His wit and humor played upon the soberer background of his more recognized qualities. The artist's withdrawn vision was at any need promptly exchanged for the exercise of that scrupulous exactitude called for in the routine of the lawoffice or the post-office clerkship or other business relations, or for the play of those energies exerted in camp or field. There, so his comrades testify, the most wearing drudgeries of a soldier's life were always undertaken with notable alacrity and were thoroughly discharged, when he would as invariably return, the task being done, to the gentle region of his own high thoughts and the artist's realm of beauty.

But how short was his day, and how slender his opportunity! From the time he was of age he waged a constant, courageous, hopeless fight against adverse circumstance for room to live and write. Much very dear, and sweet, and most sympathetic helpfulness he met in the city of his adoption, and from friends elsewhere, but he could not command the time and leisure which might have lengthened his life and given him opportunity to write the music and the verse with which his soul was teeming. Yet short as was his literary life, and hindered though it were, its fruit will fill a large space in the garnering of the poetic art of our country.

WILLIAM HAYES WARD.

Mr. Lanier's published works, previous to the present volume, and exclusive of poems and essays published in literary journals, are the following:

TIGER LILIES: A novel. 16mo, pp. v, 252.

New York, 1867.

Hurd & Houghton,

FLORIDA: Its Scenery, Climate, and History. 12mo, pp. 336. J.
B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, 1876.

POEMS. PP. 94. J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, 1877.
THE BOY'S FROISSART. Being Sir John Froissart's Chronicles of
Adventure, Battle, and Custom in England, France, Spain, etc.
Edited for Boys. Crown 8vo, pp. xxviii, 422. Charles Scrib-
ner's Sons, New York, 1878.

THE SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE.

Crown 8vo, FP. xv, 315.

Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1880.

Edited

THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR. Being Sir Thomas Malory's History of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. for Boys. Crown 8vo, pp. xlviii, 404. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1880.

THE BOY'S MABINOGION. Being the Earliest Welsh Tales of King

Arthur in the famous Red Book of Hergest. Edited for Boys. Crown 8vo, pp. xxiv, 378. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1881.

THE BOY'S PERCY. Being Old Ballads of War, Adventure, and Love, from Bishop Thomas Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. Edited for Boys. Crown 8vo, pp. xxxii, 442.

Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1882.

THE ENGLISH NOVEL AND THE PRINCIPLES OF ITS DEVELOP

MENT. Crown 8vo, pp. 293. Charles Scribner's Sons, New
York, 1883.

POEMS OF SIDNEY LANIER

HYMNS OF THE MARSHES.

I.

SUNRISE.

IN my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain

Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main.

The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of

sweep,

Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting,

Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting,

Came to the gates of sleep.

Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep
Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep,
Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling:
The gates of sleep fell a-trembling

Like as the lips of a lady that forth falter yes,
Shaken with happiness :

The gates of sleep stood wide.

I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not abide :

I have come ere the dawn, O beloved, my live-oaks, to hide In your gospelling glooms,-to be

As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea.

Tell me, sweet burly-bark'd, man-bodied Tree
That mine arms in the dark are embracing, dost know
From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow?

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