conceited. 
  Q are the Questions put by noble Lords;
  R my Responses, more cutting than swords. 
  S is the Sultan, my friend true and warm;
  T are the Turks, whom I hope to reform. 
  U’s my Utopia—­Cyprus, I mean: 
  V is Victoria, my Empress and Queen. 
  W’s the World, which ere long I shall own;
  X is the sign of my power unknown. 
  Y is the Yacht I shall keep in the Red Sea: 
  Z the Zulus, whom I wish in the Dead Sea.

  (1879).

THE GLADSTONE ALPHABET.

  A’s Aristides, or Gladstone the Good;
  B is Lord B., whom I’d crush if I could. 
  C are Conservatives, full of mad pranks;
  D are the Dunces who fill up their ranks. 
  E stands for Ewelme, of some notoriety;
  F for the Fuss made in Oxford society. 
  G stands for Gladstone, a hewer of wood;
  H is my Hatchet of merciless mood. 
  I is the Irish Church which I cut down: 
  J are the Jobs which I kill with a frown,
  K are the Knocks which I give and I take: 
  L are the Liberals whom I forsake. 
  M are the Ministry whom I revile;
  N are the Noodles my speeches beguile. 
  O is the Office I mean to refuse: 
  P is the Premier—­I long for his shoes. 
  Q are the Qualms of my conscience refined;
  R is the Rhetoric nothing can bind,
  S is Herr Schliemann who loves much to walk about
  T ancient Troy, which I love much to talk about. 
  U is the Union of Church and State;
  V are my former Views, now out of date. 
  W is William, the People’s ‘True Bill,’
  X is the Exit from power of that ‘Will.’ 
  Y is Young England, who soon will unite
  Z in fresh Zeal for the ‘People’s Delight.’

  (1879)

SOLITUDE IN SEPTEMBER.

  O BEATA SOLITUDO; O SOLA BEATITUDO.

  (Inscription in the Grounds of Burg Birseck, near Basel.)

  Sweet Solitude where dost thou linger? 
    When and where shall I look in thy face? 
  Feel the soft magic touch of thy finger,
    The glow of thy silent embrace? 
  Stern Civilization has banished
    Thy charms to a region unknown;
  The spell of thy beauty has vanished—­
    Sweet Solitude, where hast thou flown?

  I have sought thee on pampas and prairie,
    By blue lake and bluer crevasse,
  On shores that are arid and airy,
    Lone peak, and precipitous pass. 
  I have sought thee, sweet Solitude, ever
    Regardless of peril and pain;
  But in spite of my utmost endeavour
    I have sought thee, fair charmer, in vain.

  To the Alps, to the Alps in September,
    Unconducted by Cook, did I rush;
  Full well even now I remember
    How my heart with emotion did gush. 
  Here at least in these lonely recesses
    With thee I shall cast in my lot;
  Shall feel thy endearing caresses,
    Forgetting all else and forgot.