age, and apparently the author of these extraordin-
ary poems realizes the fact, for his volume is
privately printed.... Magnificent poems—pagan
in their intensity and vividness of colouring.”—
Oxford Magazine.
The Soul of Osiris. 5s.
‘<The depth and volume and the passionate inten-
sity of the feeling in many of these poems are un-
mistakable, as are the frequent richness and vision-
ary splendour of the imagery and the aptness and
the transfiguring power of the rhythms.”—New
York Nation.
Mr. G. K. Chesterton also writes a_column and
a quarter in praise of this book in the Daily News;
we quote the following:
‘“To the side of a mind concerned with idle
merriment [sic!] there is certainly something a
little funny in Mr. Crowley’s passionate devotion
to deities who bear such names as Mout, and Nuit,
and Ra, and Shu, and Hormakhou. They do not
seem to the English mind to lend themselves to
pious exhilaration. Mr. Crowley says in the same
poem:
‘The burden is too hard to bear;
I took too adamant a cross;
This sackcloth rends my soul to wear,
My self-denial is as dross.
O, Shu, that holdest up the sky,
Hold up thy servant, lest he die!’
** That our world-worn men of art should believe
for a moment that moral salvation is possible and
supremely important is an unmixed benefit. If
Mr. Crowley and the new mystics think for one
moment that an Egyptian desert is more mystic
than an English meadow, that a palm tree is more
poetic than a Sussex beech, that a broken temple
of Osiris is more supernatural than a Baptist Chapel
in Brixton, then they are sectarians. ... But
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