All the morning’s majesty
And mystery of loveliness lay bare
Before him; all the limitless blue sea
Brightening with laughter many a league around.
Wind wrinkled, etc.
But it may be that the genius of Mr. Roberts is nowhere so apparent as in a short poem of his that we have seen somewhere, entitled, “Off Pelorus,” the first stanza of which is an exquisite piece of word-painting, combined with the very soul of song. We quote from memory —
Crimson swims the sun-set over far Pelorus,
Burning crimson tops its frowning crest of pine;
Purple sleeps the shore, and floats the wave before us,
Eachwhere from the oar-stroke eddying warm like wine.