Has blurred the Liberal programme from the skies?
To-morrow rises its resistless flood
Round fleet and army, church and colonies.
Enough for me; with joy I see
The different doom our fates assign—
Be thine Despair and Gartered care;
To translate and to hew are mine.”
Thus spake the Bard; and, from the mountain’s brow,
Swinging his axe, he vanished in the snow.
ETONESIS. (The Rev. J. S. Vaughan.)