Love, strong as death, is dead.
Come, let us make his bed
Among the dying flowers:
A green turf at his head;
And a stone at his feet,
Whereon we may sit
In the quiet evening hours.
He was born in the spring,
And died before the harvesting.
On the last warm summer day
He left us;--he would not stay
For autumn twilight cold and grey
Sit we by his grave and sing
He is gone away.
To few chords, and sad, and low,
Sing we so.
Be our eyes fixed on the grass,
Shadow-veiled, as the years pass,
While we think of all that was
In the long ago.
_Published Monthly, price 1s._
This Periodical will consist of original Poems, Stories to develope
thought and principle, Essays concerning Art and other subjects, and
analytic Reviews of current Literature--particularly of Poetry. Each
number will also contain an Etching; the subject to be taken from the
opening article of the month.
An attempt will be made, both intrinsically and by review, to claim
for Poetry that place to which its present development in the
literature of this country so emphatically entitles it.
The endeavour held in view throughout the writings on Art will be to
encourage and enforce an entire adherence to the simplicity of
nature; and also to direct attention, as an auxiliary medium, to the
comparatively few works which Art has yet produced in this spirit. It
need scarcely be added that the chief object of the etched designs
will be to illustrate this aim practically, as far as the method of
execution will permit; in which purpose they will be produced with
the utmost care and completeness.
No. 2. (_Price One Shilling_.) FEBRUARY, 1850.
With an Etching by JAMES COLLINSON.
The Germ: Thoughts towards Nature In Poetry, Literature, and Art.
When whoso merely hath a little thought
Will plainly think the thought which is in him,--
Not imaging another's bright or dim,
Not mangling with new words what others taught;
When whoso speaks, from having either sought
Or only found,--will speak, not just to skim
A shallow surface with words made and trim,
But in that very speech the matter brought:
Be not too keen to cry--"So this is all!--
A thing I might myself have thought as well,
But would not say it, for it was not worth!"
Ask: "Is this truth?" For is it still to tell
That, be the theme a point or the whole earth,
Truth is a circle, perfect, great or small?
London:
AYLOTT & JONES, 8, PATERNOSTER ROW.
G. F Tupper, Printer, Clement's Lane. Lombard Street.