and heavy with the vapours of gutterdom. It is despair, hunger,
prophecy, hate, revenge. Francis Adams, a ripe and true scholar, in
this shows his devotion to truth and to art. The traditions of
classicism are in this volume thrown to the winds. The poet's muse is
a glorified street trull, a Cassandra of the slums, a draggle-tailed
Menad from Whitechapel, and her voice is thick and frenzied with
shouting at the barricades. 'The Evening Hymn in the Hovels,'
'Hagar,' 'To the Girls of the Unions,' 'In the Edgware Road,' 'In
Trafalgar Square,' 'Aux Ternes,' 'One among so many,' 'The New
Locksley Hall,' 'To the Christians,' voice in passionate, simple
people's lyrics the socialism which is always felt in strong
under-currents by a nation before it appears in literary form, but
which is only on the eve of bursting forth and overwhelming everything
with its fury, when it does appear in literary form. Rosseau,
Voltaire, and Diderot ushered in the French Revolution; in similar
fashion the English Revolution is heralded by William Morris and
Francis Adams."--F. J. BROOMFIELD, Sydney _Bulletin_.

"DAWNWARDS?"

_To the Author of the_ "_Songs of the Army of the Night_."

We--who, encircled in sleepless sadness
With ears laid close to the Austral earth,
Have heard far cries of wrong-wrought madness,
Of hopeless anguish and murd'rous mirth
Beneath all noise of maudlin gladness
Awail, environ the world's wide girth--

Almost arise with Hope's keen urging
When out the vasty and night-bound North
Red rays ascend, and Songs resurging
Through all the darkness and chill, come forth!

The comet climbs until it scorches
The sacred dais that skies the great,
Until it gleams on palace porches,
Where blissful aeons-to-be hold state--
Fades, and we know it one of the torches
Madmen a moment elevate!

And, closer clutching the earth, our sorrow
Doth then with desperate murmur cry,
"We ne'er shall see or morn or morrow!
For never star doth scale the sky,

"All men made wise through midnight sable
To lead where, safe after all annoy,
Sleep soft in earth's Augean stable
The virgin "_Justice_," the infant "_Joy_!"--
Grant this, O Father, being able,
Or else in merciful might destroy

"This orb whose past and present, awful
Alike, attest it a torture