A 
 
 
 o.A*t: 
 
 <P 
 
 Ta 
 
 .0. 
 
 A 
 
 c*. 
 
 ^A 
 
 
 > 
 
 >^ O' 
 
 
 
 c? 
 
 / 
 
 /A 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 It 1^ 
 
 2.0 
 
 U IIIIII.6 
 
CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
 1980 
 
Technical Notes / Notes techniques 
 
 The Institute has attempted to obtain the best 
 original copy available for filming. Physical 
 features of this copy which may alter any of the 
 images in the reproduction are checked below. 
 
 D 
 D 
 
 
 
 Coloured covers/ 
 Couvertures de couleur 
 
 Coloured maps/ 
 
 Cartes gdographiques en couleur 
 
 Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ 
 Pages ddcolordes, tachet^es ou piqu^es 
 
 Tight binding (may cause shadows or 
 distortion along interior margin)/ 
 Reliure serr6 (peut causer de I'ombre ou 
 de la distortion le long de la marge 
 int^rieure) 
 
 L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire 
 qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. Certains 
 ddfauts susceptibles de nuire i la quality de la 
 reproduction sont not^s ci-dessous. 
 
 n 
 
 D 
 D 
 
 D 
 
 Coloured pages/ 
 Pages de couleur 
 
 Coloured plates/ 
 Planches en couleur 
 
 Show through/ 
 Transparence 
 
 Pages damaged/ 
 Pages endommagdes 
 
 Th 
 
 PC 
 
 of 
 
 fil 
 
 TK 
 
 CG 
 
 or 
 ap 
 
 Th 
 fill 
 inj 
 
 Ml 
 
 in 
 
 up 
 
 bo 
 
 fol 
 
 D 
 
 Additional comments/ 
 Commentaires suppl^mentaires 
 
 Bibliographic Notes / Notes bibliographiques 
 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 
 Only edition available/ 
 Seule Edition disponible 
 
 Bound with other material/ 
 Reli6 avec d'autres documents 
 
 Cover title missing/ 
 
 Le titre de couverture manque 
 
 Plates missing/ 
 
 Des planches manquent 
 
 Additional comments/ 
 Commentaires suppl6mentaires 
 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 
 Pagination incorrect/ 
 Erreurs de pagination 
 
 Pages missing/ 
 Des pages manquent 
 
 Maps missing/ 
 
 Des cartes g6ographiques manquent 
 
IS 
 
 la 
 
 The images appearing here are the best quality 
 possible considering the condition and legibility 
 of the original copy and in keeping with the 
 filming contract specifications. 
 
 The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall 
 contain the symbol —►(meaning CONTINUED"), 
 or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever 
 applies. 
 
 The original copy was borrowed from, and 
 filmed with, the kind consent of the following 
 institution: 
 
 National Library of Canada 
 
 Les images suivantes ont 6td reproduites avec le 
 plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et 
 de la nettetd de I'exemplaire film6, et en 
 conformity avec les conditions du contrat de 
 filmage. 
 
 Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la der- 
 nidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: 
 le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbole 
 V signifie "FIN". 
 
 L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce d Oa 
 g6n6rosit6 de I'dtablissement prdteur 
 suivant : 
 
 Bibliothdque nationale du Canada 
 
 Maps or plates too large to be entirely included 
 in one exposure are filmed beginning in the 
 upper Inft hand corner, left to right and top to 
 bottom, as many frames as required. The 
 following diagrams illustrate the method: 
 
 Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour dtre 
 reproduites en un seul cliche sont filmdes d 
 partir de Tangle supdrieure gauche, de gauche d 
 droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre 
 d'images ndcessaire. Le diagramme suivant 
 illustre la m6thode : 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
P kyy^ P<h<LM-o- 
 
 i 
 
 \A 
 
 R. R. R. 
 
 Muse Whangs. 
 
 (Poems Amorous, Bacchanalian, Political, 
 
 Memorial, Hlmorous, and 
 
 Miscellaneous.) 
 
 BY 
 
 JUDSON FRANCE, 
 
 Citizen of Toronto. 
 
 I think as I please, and say what I think. - 
 
 THE Tkutmvirate. 
 
 Printed at the Sign of the Will-o'-the-\Visp, 
 
 1887. 
 
TO 
 
 ALL GOOD FELLOWS 
 
 WHO LOVE SONG. 
 
[ I I 
 
., I 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 .,x.-^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 Sfot Morning Yet . ; 
 
 
 ,•■■• ■■•' 
 
 
 . 9 
 
 
 Dilemma . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 • . 
 
 . 13 
 
 
 The Launch of the Vikine; . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 16 
 
 
 Slumber Song .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 
 Rev. Dr. Bellygod . 
 
 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 
 Rondeaux .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 24 
 
 
 A Trio of Triolets 
 
 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 
 Beronicius .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 28 
 
 
 lu the Dressing-Room 
 
 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 
 Waltz Song . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 32 
 
 ' 
 
 To Tennyson . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 33 
 
 
 To the Shade of Anacreon 
 
 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 » 
 
 To Anacreon ... 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 
 The Picture . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 
 On Bacchus . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 38 \ 
 
 
 On a Silver Drinking Vessel 
 
 
 
 
 
 39 ^ 
 
 
 On the Love of Lucre . .- 
 
 
 
 
 
 40 
 
 
 On Himself . . . . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 . 4. -^ 
 
 
r 
 
 VI 
 
 Contents. 
 
 i 
 
 I' !< 
 
 
 pa(;e 
 
 
 To an Insolent Virgin— Allegory , , 
 •Anacreontics . . . ', . » . 
 
 . 41 
 . 42 
 
 A Toast 
 
 A Bride for Death . , , , , ♦ ,, 
 
 . 44 
 
 Drinking ! 
 
 Alec will Explain . . .... . . 
 
 . 47 
 
 Dt-sole 
 
 A Pair . . . ... 
 
 » . - ■■ ^ ■ " ^ : 
 A Bas les Seigneurs ■ . . . . . ... 
 
 . 49 
 . 50 
 
 A Dead V 
 A Dead F 
 The Spect 
 
 Ronde a Danser . . . , , , . - . . 
 
 51 
 
 Not His 
 
 
 . 53 
 
 Vive la I 
 
 The Splicing of the Twain . . . ; , . 
 
 • 55 
 
 To the Ni 
 
 Lake Ontario ... ...... 
 
 . 56 
 
 To Irelan 
 
 Elysium . . . . . . • «. ^ 
 
 58 
 
 The Marc 
 
 Klytia . . . . ., . ..... 
 
 60 
 
 The Strai 
 
 Vita Caduca . . . v . . * . 
 
 61 
 
 Charles G 
 
 
 62 
 
 In Memoi 
 
 A Rhyme of the Rose . . ... 
 
 64 
 
 Love ant 
 
 The Sword of Damocles . . . . . ' . 
 
 65 
 
 On a Cert 
 
 Lines on the Death of Charles Pelham Mulvany 
 
 67 
 
 Kissing 
 
 Henry Ward Beecher . * . 
 
 68 
 
 At Churc 
 
 Ballade Bacchitjue .... 
 
 69 
 
 To Ed mi 
 
 A Bride's Query .> . . . . . 
 
 70 
 
 The Judgi 
 
 A Study 
 
 71 
 
 Two Stat 
 
 La Zingara . . ' . . . . . 
 
 73 
 
 Now Drer 
 
 De Mortuo ... ....... 
 
 75 
 
 Cantilena 
 
 A Month's Love . 
 
 77 
 
 On the F 
 
 Olivier Pain 
 
 78 
 
 Dolce Far 
 
 -^linus .... 
 
 79 
 
 A New N 
 
 Suspiria . . . . . . . 
 
 80 
 
 After Life 
 
 Love and Death . 
 
 81 
 
 To All St 
 
 I i 
 
Contents. 
 
 VII 
 
 PACE 
 
 
 
 . 41 
 . 42 
 
 44 
 
 A Toast . 
 Drinking Song . 
 
 
 47 
 
 nUole 
 
 
 . 49 
 
 A Dead Warrior 
 
 
 A Dead Face . 
 
 »■ •♦. '".•'- » 
 
 • 50 
 
 The Spectre of the Rose 
 
 
 * 51 
 
 Not His Wife 
 
 
 . 53 
 
 Vive la Republique 
 
 
 • 55 
 
 To the Nihilists 
 
 ' '■ ' . ^ ^ 
 
 . 56 
 
 To Ireland 
 
 . ■..■,.,.# ' ♦ . . 
 
 . 58 
 
 The March of Socialism 
 
 ■ * • • • 
 
 . 60 
 
 The Strangling of Mathilde Simonnet 
 
 . 61 
 
 Charles George Gordon 
 
 » t • 
 
 . 62 
 
 In Memory of Stanley 
 
 Huntley 
 
 . 64 
 
 Love and Prudence 
 
 » • • • ' • 
 
 . 65 
 
 On a Certain Dashing 
 
 Buxom W^idow 
 
 . 67 
 
 Kissing 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 . 68 
 
 At Church 
 
 • • • t • 
 
 . 69 
 
 To Edmund Yates in 
 
 Lavender 
 
 . 70 
 
 The Judgment of Paris 
 
 • ■ • ■ • 
 
 . 71 
 
 Two Statesmen . . 
 
 • • • ■ • 
 
 . 73 
 
 Now Dreams the Poet 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 . 75 
 
 Cantilena 
 
 • • * • » 
 
 . n 
 
 On the Fable of Daphi 
 
 ne and Apollo 
 
 . 78 
 
 Dolce Far Niente 
 
 » • • • > 
 
 . 79 
 
 A New Name for It s 
 
 . 
 
 . 80 
 
 1 
 
 After Life's Fitful Fever He Sleeps Well . 
 
 . 81 
 
 To All Stout Tosspots 
 
 . . ■ . . 
 
 PAGE 
 82 
 
 83 
 
 83 
 84 
 
 85 
 
 86 
 87 
 87 
 88 
 
 89 
 89 
 90 
 
 91 
 92 
 
 93 
 94 
 94 
 95 
 96 
 96 
 
 97 
 98 
 
 98 
 99 
 99 
 99 
 100 
 
 ICXD 
 
 A 
 
 " f 
 
 
i I' 
 
 viii 
 
 Contents. 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 PACE 
 
 Clyte . ... 
 
 • t < 
 
 
 
 
 A ^°° 
 
 Concetto .... 
 
 •■ ' * 
 
 
 
 
 
 lOI 
 
 Another .... 
 
 • t < 
 
 
 
 
 
 10? 
 
 Enigma .... 
 
 t • 
 
 
 
 
 
 101 
 
 Cornua .... 
 
 • • 
 
 
 
 
 
 lOI 
 
 Queen Guinevere 
 
 • • 
 
 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 Epitaph . . . 
 
 • » 
 
 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 To Two Sisters 
 
 * • 
 
 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 Nemesis .... 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 In a Boudoir . . . 
 
 % • < 
 
 
 
 
 
 103 
 
 On vSir Moses Montefiore 
 
 • » 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 
 103 
 
 The Feather-Edge . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 103 
 
 An Aristocratic Trio 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 Complimentary 
 
 • • 
 
 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 After' Reading Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 Illusion .... 
 
 • • 
 
 , 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 . 104 
 
 H 
 
 I I i 
 
 h i 
 
 ti u 
 
 ERRATUM. 
 Page 66, verse 2, fourth line, for "regret," xt2i(k forget . 
 
PAGE 
 lOO 
 
 lOI 
 
 ion 
 
 101 
 lOI 
 
 102 
 
 102 
 102 
 102 
 
 104 I 
 104 
 
 1041 
 
 104 
 
 MUSE WHANGS 
 
 NOT MORNING YET. 
 
 Be of good cheer, O watchers through the night! 
 Till the fair day-god floods the world with light. 
 
 Fair is the sea to-day as when of old 
 
 Divine Uranian hmbs were whirled and rolled 
 
 From wave to wave, and from the sparkling sea 
 The queen of love and beauty gloriously 
 Arose, and all the waters burned like gold. 
 
 Sne came full-flashed with fervour of desire, 
 And in her veins the wine of life ran fire. 
 
 Sea-nymphs and Tritons followed in her train, 
 And hailed her risen radiant from the main, 
 Stars, winds, and waves sang in her matchless choir. 
 
 For miles and miles along the rocky coast 
 The strong sea stretches, till the eye is lost 
 In mazy distance ; on the sun-burnt lee 
 The spring-tide smites and smites unceasingly ; 
 White foam in torrents 'gainst the cliffs is tossed. 
 
 U 
 
10 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 ! «! 
 
 Girdled with light and splendour, fair and free, 
 The vast: and furrowing fields of fruitless sea 
 
 Before me glitter, fed with breeze and beam. 
 
 Sea-straits and channels, shoals and bright bays gleam, 
 And steady ranks of rollers dense I see. 
 
 I watch the sun his westering course pursue, 
 Till fringed with flame long lances struggle through 
 The glowless droop-winged twilight's darkling haze, 
 E'en as I gaze vanish the last red rays, 
 Gray-black the waves change from bright green and blue. 
 
 And like a southern bride, whose soft brune face 
 Burns with dark glory in her love's embrace, 
 
 Night poppy-crowned and moving as a cloud, 
 Mantled with mystery like a goddess proud, 
 Fills with her wings the boundless bounds of space. 
 
 She shakes from out her garments o'er the deep 
 Gray ghosts of dreams and soft-shed scents of sleep. 
 To sweeter music than of lute or lyre, 
 Sown with stray shafts and flying flakes of nre, 
 The summer sea sings in her shoreward sweep. 
 
 The music of the ocean who has heard 
 
 With heart unthrilled, with spirit all unstirred ? 
 
 There are to whom the voices of the sea 
 
 A meaning bear of life and liberty. 
 And change whereby are crowned hopes long deferred. 
 
 The lisp of tree to tree, tlie speech of streams, 
 The murmur of mountains where the morning gleams, 
 The clarion of the thunder-singing storm, 
 Heard in the night that wraps his giant form. 
 Wild winds that wander, sun-sharp noonday beams. 
 
it 
 
 Irhe stars that shine and bubbling water-springs, 
 [rhe birds that soar aloft on wide-spread wings, 
 
 Thrill the strong soul with freedom ; earth, sea, air^ 
 The one antiphonal message all declare, 
 One with the song that chainless freemen sing. 
 
 Teedom, we know thy sacred sons have bled 
 [)n many a field with hero-blood dyed red. 
 
 Glad were they for thy sake their lives to give ; 
 
 Their souls are with us, what of us who live 
 }irt round with memories of the mighty dead. 
 
 [rhe tongues of centuries the tales repeat 
 
 Of battles fought, and tyrants' full defeat. 
 Remember how at Salamis that day, 
 Like wind-chased chaff, like prow-divided spray, 
 
 Was scattered Xerxes' proud-shipped Persian fleet. 
 
 lO high-souled Milton ! like a star alone 
 [1 hou dwelt'sf'*' in visions of strange things unknown. 
 We love thy memory linked with deeds of state 
 When Cromwell cast from England's neck the weight 
 lot tyranny, and from his crime-stained throne 
 
 iHurled traitorous Charles ; we mourn the holy dead, 
 The gallant "Magyars who, when Kossuth said 
 
 To arms ! stout hearts they rallied, though in vain 
 Against the Russians, piling high with slain 
 Fair lands wherethrough Danubian waves are shed. 
 
 Mazzini, Garibaldi, — these are names 
 iHlazoned in fire on freedom's scroll and fame's. 
 
 The glad bright ghosts that sleep not any sleep 
 
 / 
 
 *Thy soul was a star and dwelt apart. 
 
 ^ Wordsworth. 
 
 IB 
 
19 
 
 Are with us while the circling seasons sweep 
 Till victory shine through battle-clouds and flames. 
 
 One chance is with us as we have one birth 
 Before we slumber in the cold grave's girth, 
 Patient to aid and wait the kingless dawn, 
 Or kneel with all the parasites that fawn 
 On rotten royalties which curse the earth. 
 
 Who lead our ranks ? Lights of these latter days, 
 Whose hearts no tawdry-tinselled court dismays ; 
 
 Kings of the realms whereto kings cannot climb, 
 High lit above the sunless steeps of time. 
 With fire-plumed thought and sun-clear reason's rays. 
 
 Trusting we run no slow disheartened race, 
 Living to see the live Republic's face, 
 
 And Canada among the nations take 
 
 An honoured place, and her own white fame make] 
 Peerless, and tair with freedom's every grace. 
 
 As I to night beside the ceaseless sea 
 
 A vigil keep, knowing that dawn must be. 
 
 So wait we through the watches of the night, 
 Eager to hail the morning's mistless light 
 When all the darkness' blind foul things shall flee. 
 
 Across the lands a note of warning rings. 
 
 No rest then, friends, till time full triumph brings, 
 
 And arms are stacked, swords sheathed, and 
 banners furled. 
 
 And peal throughout the joyous ransomed world 
 The nations' anthem, and the knell of kings. 
 
13 
 
 DILEMMA. 
 
 (suggested by a painting.) 
 
 With satin cheeks of rosy brightness 
 Framed with long waves of golden hair, 
 
 A form of willowy grace and lightness, 
 As Venus, soft and white and fair 
 
 Is she. She blushes — each side of her 
 See two men lean, and in her ear 
 
 Pour forth the sweet words of the lover, 
 Maids love to hear. 
 
 The one is wan and thin and leering, 
 A bowed Myconian dim and old, 
 
 His face bleak age is slowly sereing. 
 But Plutus had not more bright gold. 
 
 His lineage high, besides his dollars, 
 These two things grace a lover's sighs ; 
 
 No wonder if the old cock collars 
 The longed-for prize. 
 
 With senile fondness he looks at her, 
 His veinous hands clutch nervously 
 
 His hat ; she wonders who's his hatter, 
 Thinks like his hat a plug is he. 
 
 Well, shall we tell the tale he utters. 
 Piped in a tremulous treble weak ? 
 
 'Tween hope and fear his spirit flutters, 
 Thus doth he speak : — 
 
" Be mine, fair one, and rank and money 
 Are yours, and jewels beyond price : 
 
 Gold sets to match your tresses sunny, 
 And diamonds sparkling as your eyes. 
 
 Gay silks and satins, parties, dinners, 
 An opera-box, a seal-skin sacque 
 
 (The envy of Dame Grundy's sinners,) 
 Upon your back. 
 
 " And books and pictures — all a maiden 
 Can think or dream of shall be thine. 
 
 And troops of servants livery-laden 
 To serve you at your slightest sign. 
 
 A splendid carriage, mettled horses. 
 To take your ladyship eachwhere 
 
 You wish : without you life of course is 
 Empty— I swear. 
 
 " Fast-flying months of foreign travel, 
 The season at some watering-place, 
 
 Where you will be, though women cavil, 
 The queen by right of form and face. 
 
 Sweet one, my sweet, O hear me, hear me ! 
 Come, lay your head upon my breast. 
 
 And speak the words you know will cheer me- 
 ' I love you best.'" 
 
 Young and lithe-limbed her other lover, 
 With wavy locks of dark brown hair, 
 
 His breath as sweet as scented clover, 
 In dawning manhood tall and fair. 
 
 Strong as a god — a splendid fellow. 
 Broad-chested, his Apollo's form ; 
 
 Fearless, clear-eyed, his voice so mellow 
 His crowning charm. 
 
'5 
 
 ^' Riches or rank I cannot proffer, 
 
 Naught but my hand and heart have I; 
 
 But all I have I freely offer, 
 A love time cannot cause to die. 
 
 Even had I worlds I would forsake them 
 For your dear sake and your love true ; 
 
 Fame'r laurels they that strive may take them 
 If I have you. 
 
 " Naught but my strong right arm to boast of, 
 To shield you all the way through life, 
 
 Naught but the will to make the most of 
 What chance affords — my darling wife 
 
 Will you not be, sweet, — mine forever ? 
 Sunshine or storm, let come what will, 
 
 (Only dark death true hearts can sever.) 
 I'll love you still." 
 
 Which shall she choose ? She's hesitating 
 
 Ere she becomes a radiant bride. 
 And anxious are her lovers waiting 
 
 To hear her answer, at her side. 
 She's dreaming of the orange blossoms, 
 
 The frosted cake, nocturnal bliss, 
 When, shyly half, her throbbing bosom's 
 Bared to love's kiss. 
 
 When through the darkened room is creeping 
 
 The argent lustre of the moon. 
 And soft upon fair faces sleeping 
 
 Falls, at the summer night's bright noon — 
 Delight in an unstinted measure 
 
 Is quaffed ; of neither grief nor pain 
 Life dreams. Love dies in a swoon of pleasure 
 And lives again. 
 
I 
 
 It!. 
 
 r6 
 
 Keen-darting, glinting through her tresses, 
 Baffled and beaten backward fall 
 
 The sun-shafts. Sweet for soft caresses 
 Her rounded arms and white hands small. 
 
 Which shall it be ? Her lips are pouting. 
 For this is a dilemma new, 
 
 A riddle — yes, there's room for doubting 
 Which of the two. 
 
 I i 1 
 
 THE LAUNCH OF THE VIKING. 
 
 (revolt — ATLANTIC COAST, I 8 — ) 
 
 Now then, all hands together ; 
 
 My hearties, push with a will ! 
 Hurrah ! for the bright sea-weather. 
 
 And the fields no man can till. 
 
 Out with her — out from the land ; 
 
 Steady there ! slowly she goes ; 
 The keel grates low in the sand, 
 
 And faster the spring-tide flows. 
 
 But a little further yet — 
 
 See how she leans to the sea ; 
 
 Her sails shall the winds soon fret, 
 She is glad to be off as we. 
 
 Ha, ha ! we're afloat — afloat — 
 Afloat on the blue bright sea, 
 
 And never a landward note 
 Is blown from windward to lee. 
 
17 
 
 Up with the snowy sails ! 
 
 Mainsail and topsail and jib ; 
 Never a stout heart quails, 
 
 Strong is each beam and rib. 
 
 Her prow cleaves the silver spray, 
 She swings and welters and shakes. 
 
 By Christ ! she's a beauty, I say. 
 What music the west wind makes. 
 
 With us never a carpet-knight, 
 No fop perfumed and curled. 
 
 In our rapid sea-spun flight 
 Around the merry world. 
 
 Trim and taut from stem to stern 
 Is our ship, and fearless are we ; 
 
 And not from our course shall we turn 
 For the rage of the fierce strong sea. 
 
 If any fear to die 
 
 Let him make for the shore again ; 
 No heed for a coward's cry, 
 
 This is a joy for men. 
 
 Our hearts with hope are filled, 
 Though peril for us may be. 
 
 Welcome the waves ! we are thrilled 
 With rapture born of the sea. 
 
 Farewell to the fading land 
 And the dear delights of home. 
 
 We have bidden adieu to the strand, 
 Hey ! for the flashing foam. 
 
 ftV; 
 
i8 
 
 We are sick of painted cheeks, 
 
 Of fools and hollow shams, 
 Of the lie that a glib tongue speaks, 
 
 And the wolfs head mashed as a lamb's 
 
 Of the pain when the pleasure has ceased, 
 And the weight of the worldly rod, 
 
 Of the grim death's-head at the feast, 
 And the canting mockers of God. 
 
 Though the storm sing loud in the shroud. 
 And the winds are charged with death, 
 
 And the heavy night-fringed cloud 
 Roll black with the tempest's breath : 
 
 Though the fire-fanged lightnings flash, 
 And the lurid sea-flames whirl, 
 
 And the rolling thunders clash. 
 And the billows froth and curl- - 
 
 A firm hand grasps the rudder, 
 
 A stout ship the sea's might braves ; 
 
 And we'll meet with never a shudder 
 The wrath of the wild waste waves. 
 
 Our flag at the gaff-end streams, 
 
 Our pennant flutters free ; 
 We move to a music of dreams, 
 
 Fairer than land is the sea. 
 
'9 
 
 SLUMBER SONG. 
 
 Sommeil, fils de la nuit, et rerede la mort, 
 Ecoutez-moi, Sommeil. (Iautier. 
 
 Softly the south wind blows. 
 Havened in perfumed gloom, 
 Spirit, sleep and have rest ; 
 Life's not all warfare and woes, 
 Yet for respite there is room, 
 
 Fair dreams are slumber's behest. 
 Good, is it good, to regret, 
 Better forgive ana forget, 
 Best to recline and repose. 
 
 Sweet as the Lurline's song 
 Murmur of tree to tree. 
 Rustle of corn and wheat ; 
 Sirens and sylphs shall throng. 
 Smoothing thy pillow for thee. 
 
 Life for a time shall, be sweet. 
 Charmed and disthralled from the world, 
 Night's wings above thee are furled. 
 Sleep then, dreamless of wrong. • 
 
 Why should'st thou sorrow and weep ? 
 
 Why should'st thou ponder o'er pain ? 
 Dead grief that stung as a shaft ; 
 What though ihe rough ways were steep, 
 
 These things shall live not again 
 
ill 
 
 20 - 
 
 Whether lips quivered or laughed. 
 Ay, they are over and past, 
 No ills forever can last. 
 Think not, but he still and sleep. 
 
 Swift wings that winnow the air 
 Flash for a twink and are fled ; 
 Dreams and divisions and powers, 
 Doubts and disguises of care, 
 
 Last words and looks of the dead, 
 
 Loves that were faultless as flowers- 
 Confused and blurred in a mass, 
 Pass as a shade in a glass, 
 Pass with the meaning they bear. 
 
 Hopes and fears are as one. 
 Change and t'le burden of time. 
 Deeds of all men and of fate ; 
 Far from the lij^ t o' the sun, 
 Hushed in a dreamland clime, 
 Careless of treason and hate : 
 Soothed with deep fumes of delight, 
 If it be day or be night, 
 Reck not for labor is done. 
 
 Seen as through wavering veils 
 Mystical faces gleam, 
 
 Echoes come drowsy and faint ; 
 Sound in strange silence fails, 
 Moves to the tune of a dream 
 
 Many a pageant quaint. 
 Creatures of fancy unwist, 
 Spectral with splendour of mist, 
 Ghosts of a thousand tales. 
 
21 
 
 1 )usk plumes of Soninus that wave, 
 Stirred with the breath of the night, 
 Droop on thy wearied cheek ; 
 Weird as dim waters that lave 
 
 Shores that are hidden from sight, 
 
 Bubbles of melody break. 
 Beckoning hands, and eyes 
 Flash where the daylight dies, 
 Read to comfort and save. 
 
 Rose-hidden voices of sleep — 
 Voices that sing and sigh 
 Call thee, and deft hands weave 
 Garlands, and on thee heap 
 
 Flowers of fair hues — Ah ! why — 
 
 Why should'st thou longer grieve. 
 Slumber then, wake not nor rise, 
 Fleece-soft lie lids on tired eyes, 
 And the ways of the darkness are deep. 
 
 REV. DR. BELLYGOD. 
 
 Venter et praeterea nihil. 
 
 Sworn scholiast of the bestial parts. 
 
 ROSETTI. 
 
 He sees religion not as a sphere but as aline, and it is the identical 
 line in which he is moving. He is like an African buffalo, —sees right 
 forward but nothing on the right hand or the left. — John Foster. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Bellygod 
 
 For dollars shows to heaven the way ; 
 He treads the ways his fathers trod, 
 
 As narrow-minded as were they. 
 
ti 
 
 A shiny hat and broadcloth sleek 
 He always wears ; his lengthy hair 
 
 With best Macassar oil doth reek, 
 He has a very pious air. 
 
 He's never found among the poor, 
 He's only anxious lor rich sinners, 
 
 He's an experienced epicure, 
 
 A chronic hunter of good dinners. 
 
 He is a staunch defender of 
 
 The Church, the Bible, and — Apicius : 
 The doctrine which he most doth love 
 
 Is that one of the loaves and fishes. 
 
 Oft from the rostrum he is heard 
 Of strong drink to condemn the use, 
 
 But from his beak 't may be inferred 
 He freely quaffs the generous juice. 
 
 He heaves no end of amorous sighs, 
 Of ladies' company he's fond ; 
 
 For benedicts it would be wise 
 
 ']'o watch their wives when he's around. 
 
 'Tis whispered that he once was caught 
 
 In a surprising situation ; 
 And that his influence was bought 
 
 For a rather doubtful speculation. 
 
 In the exploded right divine 
 
 Of kings he still believes ; the masses 
 In ignorance he would have pine, 
 
 The foot-ball of the privileged classes. 
 
23 
 
 He is particularly hard 
 
 On all who differ from him, he 
 Gloats over each poor wretch ill-starred, 
 
 His God's spite damns eternally. 
 
 He, pulpit-sheltered, bellows out 
 The hollow lies of creeds outworn ; 
 
 But fearing he be put to rout 
 For argument he doesn't yearn. 
 
 A snob he toadies to the high, 
 
 A blatant bigot, too, he is ; 
 His little mind is darkened by 
 
 The unwholesome mists of prejudice. 
 
 O not for you Doc Bellygod ! 
 
 The mighty march of freedom stays. 
 So tread the ways your fathers trod, 
 
 And close your eyes to reason's rays. 
 
 Of the satires on gospel-grinders to be met with in fiction, Peacou'i's Rev 
 Drs, (irovelgrub and Opimian are among the best. The Rev. Nathaniel Sneakesby in 
 Reynold's "Court of London" is a character happily conceiveJ and amusingly 
 'irawn, and probably intended to represent .a type of the Methodist parson not ex- 
 tremely rare. Readers of Stevenson's stories will remember the Rev. Simon Rowles 
 ill the " New Arabian Nights," who found his theological books very dull after he 
 had bagged the Rajah's diamond. Perhaps some readers may be diverted by the 
 following anecdote of an amorous minister : — 
 
 A reverend divine of the olden time, residing .n Hamilton, and still remembered 
 
 there as the famous Dr. S , had occasion to travel to London <"requently. On 
 
 i^ne of these journeys he arrived at the inn where he had former! j .t up, but was 
 informed that the bedrooms were all occupied, and that with the exception of a bed 
 in a double-bedded room, there was no accommodation. The reverend gentleman 
 consented to take the bed ; and on retiring was admonished by the housekeeper to 
 keep himself very quiet as a lady occupied the other bed. The doctor, nothing 
 daunted, proceeded to the room, and it being late in the night, silence reigned 
 throughout the inn. Suddenly a shout from the worthy divine alarmed the house — 
 landlord, scullions, and all rushed half-naked to the scene. The shouting grew 
 more distinct. " The lady's dead I" — "The lady's dead 1" was distinctly uttered 
 t>y the divine, which was met by the jeering response of the landlord : — " Who the 
 devil would have thought of putting you in the same room with a livinf one !" 
 
»4 
 
 RONDEAUX. 
 
 I. 
 
 Nunc ubi sit quaeritis ? Urna tegit. 
 
 Ovu). 
 
 I i 
 
 When Alice died I bowed my head 
 Above the cold face of the dead, 
 
 And knew had passed beyond recall 
 My flower of liowers, my all in all. 
 Dark death was bridegroom m my stead. 
 
 In vain for me new loves would thrall 
 With largess of love's festival. 
 
 His brow with rue was garlanded 
 When Alice died. 
 
 Can I forget the words she said, 
 The scents of summer round her shed ? 
 Nay ; now ar'-oss the perfumed pall 
 Soft rays of silver moonlight fall. 
 From me desire forever fled 
 When Alice died. 
 
 II. 
 
 The ills of life — the source of sichs, 
 And tears that fill world-weary eyes. 
 
 They come unto the men that laugh, 
 Alike to chiffonnier and graf ; 
 They age the heart in pitiless wise. 
 
25 
 
 Pale pain survives, bright pleasure dies ; 
 Death parts, time chills, life wears grief's guise. 
 O bitter cup that all must quaff ! 
 The ills of life. 
 
 On noiseless wings light swift youth flies, 
 Sad with dead dreams and sundered ties. 
 
 Fate whirls us as the wind whirls chaff ; 
 But hope will gild the darkest skies. 
 
 And bravely met are lessened half 
 The ills of life. 
 
 III. 
 
 He met death game ; let this be said 
 
 Above his cold low-lying head. 
 
 Untrumpeted erstwhile of fame, 
 But now a bright immortal name. 
 
 He sleeps the calm sleep of the dead. 
 
 Amid the swift fight's reek and flame 
 He braved the war-god's fiery grame. 
 Right gallantly the charge he led — 
 He met death game. 
 
 Wild was the melee wherein bled 
 
 Brave men whose blood dyed green fields red. 
 " Forward !" he cried, " take deadly aim 
 Comrades, choose honour now or shame !" 
 
 And ere the foe well-beaten fled 
 He met death game. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Too late we meet when light love's lees. 
 And grief more sharp since no man sees 
 
 Were mine ; you quaffed love's fiery wine. 
 The draught that left you half divine, 
 A nymph of warm luxurious ease. 
 
f 
 
 26 
 
 li 
 
 ( 
 
 'f 
 
 !i'! 
 
 Once had we met beyond the brine, • 
 
 When zeal and hope were yours and mine, 
 My fame had been one with the sea's. 
 Too late we meet. 
 
 Theogenes and Charides 
 
 Had matched us not, we had outloved these. 
 But not for me your eyes will shine. 
 And not with mine your limbs will twine 
 
 In rapturous bridal harmonies — 
 ■ Too late we meet. 
 
 V. 
 
 In thalatnis, Regina ! tuis hac nocte jacerem. 
 
 A Beggar to Queen Bess. 
 
 In dishabille she looks more fair 
 Than when arrayed in raiment rare. 
 
 When jewelled splendour twiring throws 
 
 A glamour round her as she goes 
 AValtz-whirled a queen, lithe, debonair. 
 
 Ah ! beauty unadorned has share 
 In poets' dreams — is mirrored there. 
 
 Red-lipped, flower-faced, she gleams and glows, 
 
 Preparing for a night's repose. ., 
 About bright breasts falls golden hair — 
 In dishabille. 
 
 Deeper the scented cool night grows. 
 The nightingale has sought the rose. 
 Ye gods ! what joy to clasp her close 
 In dishabille. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Queen Summer reigns throughout the land. 
 Calm cool waves kiss the silver strand, 
 
27 
 
 And lawn and lea sun-iitten blaze 
 With emerald fire. In woodland ways 
 'Tis sweet to dream 'neath blue skies bland. 
 
 By soft airs beauty's cheek is fanned, 
 Fond lovers wander hand in hand. 
 
 Glad of the gracious golden days — 
 Queen Summer reigns. 
 
 Goddess with largess at command, 
 Thy fair hours dance a saraband 
 
 Of mirth : too short thy splendour stays. 
 
 Life is indeed a pleasant maze 
 When youth and hope are with us and 
 Queen Summer reigns. 
 
 A TRIO OF TRIOLETS. 
 
 education's a wonderful thing. 
 
 Davus sum, non CEdipus, 
 
 Plamer speak, then, if you please. 
 
 Alas ! I'm not " culchawed" thus. 
 
 Davus sum, non CEdipus, 
 
 (Fact atrabilarious !) 
 
 You bring quite a Boston breeze. 
 
 Davus sum, non CEdipus, 
 
 Plainer speak, then, if you please. 
 
 II. 
 
 A DAINTY NEMESIS. 
 
 'Twas more naughty than wise, 
 But why such a hard cuff ? 
 

 Mi 
 
 ii 
 
 9$ 
 
 The speech of your eyes, 
 'Twasmore naughty than wise ; 
 Such a kiss was a prize, 
 
 After doggerel of Clough. 
 'Twas more naughty than wise, 
 
 But why such a hard cuff ? 
 
 m. 
 
 JUVENILE EXCLUSIVENESS. 
 
 We will not play with you, 
 Oi^r parents are respectable. 
 
 It is no use to sue, 
 
 We will not play with you ; 
 
 Our set is choice and few, 
 To us you're not delectable. 
 
 We will not play with you, 
 Our parents are respectable. 
 
 P^il 
 
 ijiii 
 
 BERONICIUS. 
 
 A wondrous genius here doth lie, 
 Who like a beast did live and die; 
 He was a most uncommon satyr, 
 He lived in wine and died in water. 
 
 Epit. by Buizero. 
 
 Juggler, knife-grinder, merry-andrew, wit, 
 
 Poet and scholar ! In what strange shapes appear 
 Men in whose souls the fire divine shines clear, 
 
 Whose names upon her scroll by fame are writ. 
 
29 
 
 What fancies glamour-veiled thine eyes saw flit, 
 
 Who loved too well sharp ale and tavern-cheer ; 
 The Muses whispered solace in thine ear, 
 
 Tliy life with Apollonian gleams was lit. 
 
 Rag-robed, as Bias poor, or Job's famed bird, 
 Mad laughter filled thy wild wise merry eyes. 
 
 Kate-mocking till found dead in mud interred. 
 
 Who wast thou! Jesuit? Monk? Vain all surmise. 
 
 Impervious shadows round thy memory fall, 
 
 Of mystery woven, dark bold bacchanal ! 
 
 Beronicius could turn the newspapers instantly into Latin and 
 Greek verse. He knew the whole of Horace and Virgil by heart, the 
 greatest part of Cicero and both the Plinys ; and would immediately, if 
 a line were mentioned, repeat the whole passage, and tell the exact 
 work, book, chapter, and verse of all these, and many more, especially 
 poets. As to Juvenal, his works were so interwoven in his brain that he 
 perfectly retained every word, nay every letter. Of the Greek poets he 
 had Homer so strongly imprinted in his memory, together with some of 
 the comedies of Aristophanes, that he could directly turn to any line re- 
 quired and repeat the whole sentence. His Latin was full of words 
 selected from all the most celebrated authors. 
 
 He gained his living by sweeping chimneys, grinding knives and 
 scissors, and other mean occupations. But his chief delight was in pur- 
 suing the profession of a juggler, mountebank, or merry-andrew amongst 
 the lowest rabble. His hours of relaxation from his studies were spent 
 in taverns, where he would sometimes remain for a week or more drink- 
 ing without rest or intermission. 
 
 The reader will probably be desirous of knowing what countryman 
 was our extraordinary poet ; but this was a secret he would never dis- 
 cover. When asked which was his country he always answered, " that 
 the country of every one was that in which he could best live comfort- 
 ably." Some said that he had been a professor in France, others a 
 Jesuit, a monk ; but this was merely conjecture. It was well known that 
 he had wandered about many years in France, England, the Nether- 
 lands and Italy ; the tongues of these countries he spoke perfectly. His 
 miserable death afforded reason to believe that he perished while intoxi- 
 cated, for he was found dead at Middleburgh, drowned and smothered 
 in mud. 
 
 As to his translating or rather reading the Dutch newspapers off- 
 hand into Latin and Greek verse the poet Antonides often witnessed the 
 •exertion of this wonderful talent, and so did Prof. John De Raay, who 
 
30 
 
 M-as living at the time of Beronicius' death, which was in 1696, and had 
 been acquainted with him about twenty years. There were still living 
 at Rotterdam in 1716, two gentlemen wlio knew him in Zealand, one of 
 whom he taught the French language. 
 
 —Lives op Eccentric Characters. 
 
 H> 
 
 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 O make me fair, Annette, to-night ! 
 
 With deftest touches that you know. 
 With art's aid make my cheeks more bright, 
 
 And brush my tresses ; let them flow 
 About my shoulders — 'tis my whim 
 
 To look my best when at the ball. 
 Queen of the hour I reign for him, 
 Whom I love most of all. 
 
 ill 
 
 Come, trim my lashes till they wear 
 An oval splendour; with perfume. 
 
 And sweetest spices scent my hair, 
 Add to my lips a rosier bloom. 
 
 I'm thinking which robe I'll put on, 
 The satin white, or silken blue — 
 
 Bright, soft as an Ausonian dawn. 
 The choice lies 'tween the two. 
 
 Well, let me see ; in snowy white 
 I look superb, with pearls divine. 
 
 That rival in their shimmering light 
 Those Cleopatra sunk in wine. 
 
 With swan's-down fluff about my breast, 
 
31 
 
 And lace-girt throat and flashing eye, 
 That I with beauty's dower am blest 
 One scarcely could deny. 
 
 Or clad in blue, when sweeping proud 
 Through wildering mazes of the dance, 
 
 I float as floats a summer cloud, 
 
 Desired with many an ardent glance. 
 
 I'm fair, and blue becomes me too. 
 And then — how very strange it is 
 
 Before I thought not, though I knew 
 'Tis favourite hue of his. 
 
 I'll wear the blue, Annette, and bring 
 My last new set of diamonds, I 
 
 Will star my hands with many a ring, 
 Quick at my throat this ribbon tie. 
 
 With rose buds and light lilac sprays 
 Scatter my golden tresses through, 
 
 A little tighter draw my stays. 
 Still tighter — that will do. 
 
 My white kid gloves — those with fifteen 
 
 Buttons, my pink shoes — now the glass ; 
 Ah ! it reflects the sparkling sheen 
 
 I think, Annette, — don't you ? — I'll pass. 
 My bright blood burns ; a flushing glow 
 Born of excitement mounts my cheek, 
 And mantles o'er my neck of snow — 
 To-night he'll surely speak. 
 
 And he did. 
 
32 
 
 WALTZ SONG. 
 
 'ii 
 
 \m 
 
 liiiiili 
 
 The golden hours are swift-winged as a swallow, 
 
 The flushing light of the rose-cheeked dawn 
 Shall bring surcease to the feet that follow 
 
 The night that flees like a startled fawn. . 
 Not a waft from the gray gaunt wing of sorrow 
 
 Fans ever the plumes of the gracious night ; 
 
 And youth looks not from his brief delight 
 For the veiled dark eyes of the mystic morrow. 
 
 Long waves of light to the highest rafter 
 Float hidden half in a mist of sound ; 
 
 Flushed cheeks burn brighter with love and laughter, 
 In the sinuous maze of the dreamy round. 
 
 If a gauntlet be dropped, if a spell be broken, 
 If a heart break free, if a heart be pight, 
 Who shall understand ? who shall know aright 
 
 Of the god's approach, or the arrow-token ? 
 
 Bright youth will fail as a dying taper, 
 
 And songs and dreams with the night will pass ; 
 
 And life, seers say, is a ghostly vapour, 
 A shadow seen in a gleaming glass. 
 
 Warm hearts wax cold as the waves that splinter 
 On the old bold rocks ; as a falcon's flight 
 Tin^e is swift, and sad is the robe of white. 
 
 And cold are the winds of the white-winged winter. 
 
33 
 
 When these years are fled yet unborn roses 
 
 Shall grow for lovers that love as they, 
 And soft winds murmur where Love reposes 
 
 Weary of flight, till the break of day. 
 Here now knights glitter as brave and loyal 
 
 As perished ever in fearless fight ; 
 
 Beauty is here in che pride of her might, 
 And her smiles are sweet, and her reign is royal. 
 
 Round, round, and round, for the night sinks deeper- 
 Lips laugh, eyes flash, and tresses flow ; 
 
 And pale as the lids of a silent weeper 
 The first faint tints of the morning grow. 
 
 Not a waft from the gray gaunt wing of sorrow 
 Fans ever the plumes of the gracious night ; 
 And youth looks not from his brief delight 
 
 For the veiled dark eyes of the mystic morrow. 
 
 TO TENNYSON. 
 
 L 
 
 On his Acceptance of a Peerage. 
 
 Just for a handful of silver he left us, 
 Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat. 
 
 Bkowninc. 
 
 You take the title as a dog a bone, 
 Who should have met the offer with a sneer, 
 'Tis with regret we hail thee as a peer, 
 
 And see thy servile clinging to the throne. 
 
m 
 
 ■ii 
 
 il 
 
 ! i 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 111 
 
 i i Ulilill 
 
 li 
 
 
 
 ^i 
 
 
 » i 
 
 
 ■ 1 
 
 1 
 
 • 34 
 
 On royalty fawn parasites alone — 
 
 Squeak not of freedom, Alfred Vere de Vere ! 
 
 Thy senile voice grows weaker year by year, 
 Soon o'er thee will oblivion's dust be thrown. 
 
 Forgotteii is the once-famed laureate crew — 
 Rowe, Eusden, Shadwell, Warton, Gibber, Tate, 
 And others who like slaves on kings did wait. 
 
 \\^ho reads voluminous Southey ? Mighty few ! 
 
 A pigmy thou when memory brings to view 
 Immortal glories of the vanished great, 
 Whose fame the centuries keep inviolate ; 
 
 Such will not be, my lord, the fate of you. 
 
 Pipe on for pay, court-toady of St. James ! 
 For present praise, thy meed ephemeral fame's, 
 Dan Chaucer, Milton, Shelley, — each high name 
 Puts thine effeminate mild muse to shame. 
 Sing with grace courtly, and Virgilian mien 
 Of still life, parlour pathos, garden scene ; 
 Of languid lilies, zephyrs, minster towers. 
 Praise brainless pnnces, maudlin dukes, for these 
 Are themes whereto thy grovelling spirit warms, 
 And more congenial to thy paltry powers. 
 Thou canst not sing the splendour of the seas, 
 The mountain's grandeur or the sweeping storm's i 
 
 m ^ 
 
 On his Last Poem (?) on Freedom. 
 
 Doddered with age. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Seeming devotion does but g'ld a knave. 
 
 Waller. 
 
 Still, still you whang your gentle muse, 
 O noble (?) coroneted bard ! 
 
\'our verse is — (twould disgrace the stews,) 
 Worth about fifty cents a yard. 
 
 Prate not of freedom, poor old man ! 
 
 Now that your star is on the wane ; 
 True Freedom — Hfe RepubHcan — 
 
 Has worthier lyres to sing her strain. 
 
 You damned her with faint praise when young. 
 You loved her not as love the brave ; 
 
 Your feeble untempestuous tongue 
 Will scarcely " sing her to her grave." 
 
 Pipe on of court and parlour scene, ,, 
 
 And eulogize the worldly-great'; 
 Trot out your lifeless plays inane, 
 
 And let them find oblivion's fate. 
 
 Let others praise in deathless verse 
 Cromwellian England — Milton's pride ; 
 
 You would but dance behind the hearse 
 If Liberty forever died. 
 
 Let others praise triumvirate Rome, 
 Her splendour, power, and elegance ; 
 
 And fairer than imperial dome 
 The beauty of free modern France. 
 
 Let others of proud Athens sing. 
 
 When Pericles and arts and arms * 
 
 Did unto her great glory bring, 
 And of Aspasia's peerless charms — 
 
 The uncrowned queen whom the gods graced 
 With Pallas' gifts, and Cypris' form : 
 
 wm 
 
36 
 
 No love-dream phantoms fairer-faced 
 In poets' fancies e'er did swarm. 
 
 Prate not of Freedom, throne-tied bard ! 
 
 'Tvvil! need your help — the tottering crown. 
 Coax up your Pegasus, my lord. 
 
 And descant on defunct John Brown. 
 
 TO THE SHADE OF ANACREON. 
 
 liii 
 
 ii ■■i 
 
 O blithe stray spirit of the Teian muse ! 
 
 Anacreon, Lyaeus-loved of old, 
 
 Thou scorned'st the praise of men and Gyges' gold, 
 And lotus-wreathed, rose-garlanded, didst choose 
 A life of pleasure ; wtth the hybla dews 
 
 Parnassian thy lips were flecked. Old Age 
 
 Shrank cowering from thee, care-despising sage, 
 Whose songs forever joy and mirth diffuse. 
 
 With soft Ionic murmurs as a stream 
 
 Rolling persuasion through the myrtle glades, 
 
 Haunted by festive fauns and wood-nymphs bright — 
 So flows thy strain. Ah ! master, comes a dream 
 Of Pyrrha and the white Achaean maids 
 
 To thee in the ghost-glimmering vales of night ? 
 
37 
 
 P 
 
 TO ANACREON. 
 
 Nee si quid oiim lusit Anacreon, 
 Delevit ztas. Hor. 
 
 Hail ! Teian poet, who didst ./age 
 
 War to the knife with hateful age ! 
 
 Thou sought'st with blooming maids and boys 
 
 To grasp the present's fleeting joys ; 
 
 Thy lyre melodious did praise 
 
 Love, wine, and beauty all thy days ; 
 
 Wisely thou urged'st the hours along 
 
 With dance and wassail, mirth and song. 
 
 Though wintrj tresses crowned thy head, • 
 
 Spring never in thy heart was dead. 
 
 O, star of Bacchic revelries ! 
 
 O, master of sweet harmonies ! 
 
 With thee forget we pain and care. 
 
 With thee the face of life is fair. 
 
 What time the world through space spins round 
 
 Shall fame thy name in time's ear sound. 
 
 THE PICTURE. 
 
 Were I a master of Apelles' art, 
 I'd paint with all my skill and all my heart 
 Anacreon, and in this wise him would show : — 
 With merry sparkling eyes, and cheeks aglow, 
 A wine-cup in one hand, the other placed 
 Around gold-tressed Eurypyle's trim waist ; 
 
38 
 
 His lyre near by, and on his tresses w!iite, 
 By his fair mistress twined, a garland bright. 
 Cupid should fan him with his azure wings, 
 And buxoni Bacchus in blithe dallyings 
 \\'ith lovely Venus should be shown and, too, 
 Comus should revel with his roistering crew, 
 And Age and Care be seen passing from sight. 
 Mid jeers and scoffs, into the silent night. 
 
 ON BACCHUS. 
 
 (anacreon, ode l.) 
 
 The god descends who makes the young 
 
 In toil unwearied, in love bold ; 
 He adds persuasion to man's tongue. 
 
 Which wins a maid as much as gold. 
 He gives the dancer grace and ease. 
 
 He points the jest and aids the song, 
 He makes dull care fly with the breeze. 
 
 The coward brave, the feeble strong. 
 
 He guards the green-leaved spreading vine. 
 
 Whereon the ripe grape-clusters swell, 
 Soon to be crushed in stren.ming wine ; 
 
 His darling grapes, he loves them well. 
 O when we quaff the rosy juice 
 
 We freedom find from every woe. 
 Our features all their pallour lose. 
 
 Our cheeks with mantling colour glow. 
 
 Then let us pledge a health around, 
 'Tis the best medicine there is ; 
 
 And Bacchus pray to keep us sound 
 Till next year brings l vv vintage-bliss. 
 
nl 
 
 39 
 
 ON A SILVER DRINKING VESSEL. 
 
 .1. 
 
 If 
 
 ■A 
 trf 
 
 *| 
 
 (ANACREON, ode XVI.) 
 
 Skilled Hephcestus, matchless wright, 
 Carve me from this silver bright 
 Neither arms nor panoply; 
 Battles, wars, are naught to me. 
 Fashion me a hollow bowl, 
 Deep so that my thirsty soul 
 In its depths its cares may think 
 When the grateful juice I drink. 
 Grave me no fantastic forms, 
 Nor Orion, star of storms ; 
 Neither let Bootes rise 
 Glittering in the mimic skies ; 
 Nor the Wain nor Pleiades ; 
 What have I to do with these ! 
 Master, on the goblet shape 
 Purple clusters of the grape ; 
 Let the wine-press, too, be trod 
 By love's naked gold-tressed god 
 And let fair Lyaeus be 
 Present at the revelry. 
 
iitlijlj 
 
 I'l 
 
 4^ 
 
 ON THE LOVE OF LUCRE. 
 
 11! 
 
 i!:i 
 
 (aNACREON, ode XXIII.) 
 
 If wealth would lengthen life's short span 
 I'd love it well as any man, 
 
 And zealously guard my gold ; 
 That if the reaper Death drew nigh, 
 He might take some, and bribed thereby^ 
 
 His dreadful darts withhold. 
 But since we cannot purchase life, 
 Or youth or happiness all strife 
 
 For worldly gain is vain. 
 What boots it then to sigh and mourn ? 
 The miser's from his treasure torn 
 
 By death's remorseless bane. , 
 For if by fate decreed is death. 
 Gold cannot stay man's fleeting breath. 
 
 Be it mine, with flower-crowned head,. 
 To drink with boon friends ; in my arms 
 To clasp my fair in all her charms 
 
 Upon a downy bed. 
 
4* 
 
 ON HIMSELF. 
 
 (aNACREON, ode XXVI.) ' 
 
 When I drink wine my cares are lulled to rest. 
 No longer sorrow reigneth in my breast. 
 
 Of the vast treasures of the Lydian king 
 Deeming myself possessed, I wish to sing. 
 
 The passing glories of my wine-bred dream 
 Make earthly things to me as trifles seem. 
 
 With ivy crowned I languidly recline 
 Hymning the praises of the god of wune. 
 
 (lird on thine armour, thou who tak'st delight 
 In martial splendour, and the fiery fight. 
 
 Boy, brim the bowl — the vine's blood I would shed ; 
 Tis better far to lie dead-drunk than dead. 
 
 TO AN INSOLENT VIRGIN-ALLEGORY. 
 
 (a>;acreon, ode lxi.) 
 
 Thracian filly coyly looking ■ 
 
 At me with coquettish glances, 
 Young and skittish flying from me, 
 Thinkest thou I have no skill ? 
 Nay, but know the truth, untamed one, 
 I could put the bridle on thee, 
 
42 
 
 I 
 
 I; V: 
 
 ill 
 
 And the reins with firm hands grasping 
 Guide thee to the race's goal. 
 
 But the flowering meads thou hauntest, 
 
 Gamboling in frisky frolics, 
 
 Since no skilful daring rider 
 
 Yet to mount thee hast thou found. 
 
 ANACREONTICS. 
 
 I. 
 
 To the lute's voluptuous sound 
 Let the rosy bowl go round. 
 He who drinks not, much doth miss ; 
 Wine the true nepenthe is. 
 In a little while we must 
 Die, and moulder into dust. 
 Let us quaff then while we may, 
 And in paths of pleasure stray. 
 There is music in the whoop 
 Of satyrs, and the merry cloop 
 Of flying corks ; and glasses' clink 
 Makes one of the fairies think. 
 Wine will pallid faces brighten, 
 Wine will Paphian blisses heighten, 
 Wine a glamour bright will throw 
 Over life, and care ana woe 
 Lull in gracious wise to sleep. 
 Comrades, let our draughts be deep, 
 Ere the phantom death draws nigh 
 And within cold erraves we lie. 
 
 iiiil 
 
43 
 
 II. 
 
 Comrades, joyous be to-night, 
 
 After death is no delight. 
 
 Life no pleasures so divine 
 
 Holds as those of wit and wine ; 
 
 When blythe Bacchus rules the roast, 
 
 Care in rosy depths is lost. 
 
 Wine will kindle light in eyes 
 
 Dull with many miseries. 
 
 Let our brows with flowers be crowned, 
 
 And delicious music sound. 
 
 Live as lived Anacreon 
 
 In the merry years agone ; 
 
 Laugh as laughed the Abderan 
 
 At the frailties of man. 
 
 In a little while the end, 
 
 But while have we wine to friend 
 
 Let us gloomy thoughts despise. 
 
 And with fleering mockeries 
 
 Greet Old Age, till off he slink, 
 
 Leaving us to jest and drink. 
 
 III. 
 
 Raindrops dance earthward musically, 
 The moonlight dances on the sea, 
 Blue laughing ripples dance in glee. 
 The falling snowflakes frail and fair 
 Dance through the fields of wintry air, 
 And eke the leaves upon the trees 
 Dance to the music of the breeze. 
 In apogee and perigee 
 The planets dance about the sun, 
 
44 
 
 And as in sportive revelry 
 Their never-ending courses run. 
 As rapt astronomers discern 
 A satellite quartette appears 
 Of Medicean stars that turn 
 Round Jupiter. Two austrine stars 
 Likewise revolve round old Saturn — 
 Dancing to the immortal bars 
 Of the ringing music of the spheres. 
 Fire-flies dance glittering m the dark, 
 King David jigged it 'fore the ark ; 
 Fair Miriam and her female bands 
 Danced, bearing timbrels in their hands 
 When Judith had Holofernes slain. 
 And made Bethulia free again, 
 The dance triumphantly she led, 
 An olive-wreath upon her head. 
 Why cavil then that merrily 
 I dance midst Bacchic revelry ? 
 Through mazy measures will I stray^ 
 Pursuing pleasure while I may. 
 
 A BRIDE FOR DEATH. 
 
 Dead, for a ducat, dead. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 •' Who cannot hate can love not." 
 
 From a far land the tidings come 
 That she is dead — my lips grow dumb ; 
 From where the twiring feast-lights blink 
 I hurry home awhile to think. 
 
45 
 
 Fo»-gotten is the gilded hall 
 
 AVhere hearts are held in pleasure's thrall. 
 
 Living I hated her, and now 
 
 I hate her dead true to my vow. 
 
 But yet I cannot realize 
 
 That death has dimmed her blue bright eyes ; 
 
 She who last year so full of glee 
 
 1 )allied beside the summer sea 
 
 Is senseless now — it cannot be. 
 
 What ! shall no more her full lips part 
 In smiles and words of wanton art ? 
 And shall no more her clear eyes gleam 
 With some far-thoughted gracious dream ? 
 Last year full-flushed with youth's fair bloom 
 
 She twinkled in the halls of mirth, 
 And now she moulders in the tomb, 
 
 Dumb beneath clods of cold dank earth. 
 
 
 Last year death seemed so far away, 
 
 Far as the sea-line girt with gray ; 
 
 Last year she flirted, chaff'ed, and laughed, 
 
 And with exuberant spirits quaffed 
 
 From love's cup many a burning draught. 
 
 Lily and rose strove in her fr.ce, 
 
 She moved with intuitive grace 
 
 Through mazy measures of the dance. 
 Desired with many an amorous glance. 
 Her bosom heaved 'neath folds of lace 
 Voluptuously ; no care had place 
 Within her heart — if heart she had, 
 For divers men grown pale and sad 
 On this point doubted. 
 
{pM 
 
 .1' 
 
 1 
 
 !l 
 
 
 t 
 
 46 
 
 But all now 
 For her is ended. On her brow 
 Death's seal is set. Before the flower 
 Could bloom to deck the marriage bower 
 The bud has faded. Her queenly head 
 Lies low ; to beauty death is wed. 
 
 Again another year takes wing, 
 
 Again I stand beside the sea ; 
 But in my spirit hovering 
 
 Is now Dantesque solemnity. 
 Once more I stand upon the shore 
 
 Which ceaselessly the sea's might braves, 
 And listen to the sullen roar 
 
 Of rank on rank of charging waves. 
 A siren charm the sea's song weaves, 
 Drowning the lilt of laughing leaves ; 
 The sea-birds' snowy plumage gleams 
 Like strange shapes drifting through dim dreams. 
 
 I know I have not long to live. 
 
 Life have 1 half waxed weary of ; 
 But still the perfect dower I give 
 
 Of hate for h'lie, and love for love. 
 Waits ever faithful at my side 
 The solid stolid stoic pride, 
 
 A match for Byron's, or for his . 
 
 The gifted youth's who foodless died. 
 
 But not before Apollo's kiss 
 He lonely, friendless, poor, had won — 
 I speak of Thomas Chatterton. 
 
 A hymn to Anteros I raise. 
 
 And wreathe the Gadarean shrine ; 
 
 Hi 
 
47 
 
 I render dues of prayer and praise, 
 
 With votive gifts of mead and wine. 
 In this most sudden death I see 
 The hand of the avenging deity. 
 
 When summer gilded all the land 
 
 With largess of her light divine, 
 And sweet as airs of Samarcand 
 
 The slow wind murmured through the pine — 
 Death smitten with her beauty came. 
 And breathed upon her hps of flame. 
 Her limbs shaped for delicious toying, 
 And raptures nuptial nights employing, 
 Entwined with his, and his caress 
 Left the pearl pillars motionless. 
 
 And yet her calm and dreamless sleep 
 I envy her. Hard by the deep 
 Green sea I, weary, pause awhile 
 To dwell and carking care beguile. 
 As swallow-like the hours flit by 
 
 This one boon of the gods I crave : — 
 Dreaming beside the glittering wave, , 
 
 Here let me triumph, let me die. 
 
 ALEC WILL EXPLAIN. 
 
 (from GABRIEL LEGOUV^.) 
 
 Though you are not quite sixteen. 
 
 Your red lips are love's own shrine, 
 Budding breasts and shape divine 
 
« 
 
 llil 
 
 ill 
 
 48 
 
 Are yours. Their use you scarcely ween. 
 
 Pretty Jane ! 
 Follow Alec — Alec will explain. 
 
 Beats your heart in fluttering wise, 
 
 Heaves your bosom voluptuously : 
 You know not what love may be, 
 
 But soft languors fill your eyes. 
 Pretty Jane ! 
 
 Follow Alec — Alec will explain. 
 
 In the dove-cotes oft you hear 
 Amorous turtles softly coo, 
 Beak nears beak, but not to you 
 
 Is the tender meaning clear. 
 Pretty Jane ! 
 
 Just ask Alec — Alec will explain. 
 
 When sometimes you chance to read 
 Novels breathing passion's fires, 
 Telling of love's warm desires. 
 
 You know not for what lovers plead. 
 Pretty Jane ! 
 
 Alec does though — Alec will explain. 
 
 'Neath the linden trees whose shade 
 
 Screens you from the summer's heat. 
 Grasses green and flowers sweet 
 
 Make a couch for man and maid. 
 Pretty Jane ! 
 
 Follow Alec — Alec will explain. 
 
3' ' 
 
 49 
 
 A PAIR. 
 
 'I'vvo lovers thralled by cruel fate, 
 No gate of liai)i)ine'<s unbarred ; 
 
 For them the gods' relentless hate,, 
 Fair Heloise, wise Abelard. 
 
 A brief bright season of delight, 
 
 Of close embrace, and amorous fire ; 
 
 And then for many a lonely night 
 To dream of pleasure, and desire, 
 
 I* 
 
 For him the cowl, for her the veil, 
 The monk's mild mysteries for him ; 
 
 And all her beauty wazen pale. 
 Behind the cloister window dim. 
 
 Afar from her he loved he told 
 
 His beads, and dreamed what might not be ; 
 And, bride of heaven, she grew old. 
 
 Like Guinevere at Almesbury. 
 
 By lonely walls of Paraclete, 
 
 By Argenteuil where no world-sounds came. 
 And where at tall St. Gildas' feet 
 
 The wild waves broke in stormy grame — 
 
 Were borne the lovers' hopeless sighs. 
 Time, absence, change, and solitude, 
 
That metamorphose vows to lies — 
 
 All these things conquering love withstood. 
 
 Ah ! surely hand in hand they stray, 
 Assoiled at last, in lands of light ; 
 
 And passionless and pure for aye. 
 Have left behind the sad black night. 
 
 A BAS LES SEIGNEURS ! 
 
 n 
 
 'I'wilight deepens for you, privileged classes — worthless relics 
 
 of the pathless past. 
 In the book of fate your doom is written; time shall seej 
 
 you from your strongholds cast. 
 
 For of progress is the spring-tide storming, steadily up your 
 
 custom-sheltered shore ; 
 And your idle pomp and gaudy glitter dazzle disenchanted 
 
 eyes no more. 
 
 Hoary moss-backs, roues, cuckold-makers, lordling loons, 
 sleek pampered be f prey — 
 
 You like shadows of ' .L will vanish, 'fore the splen- 
 
 dours of the c -g day. 
 
 Craft and treachery, crime and belly-crawling, double-dealing) 
 
 pandering, lying, — these 
 Were the things that in times past did place you on your 
 
 pinnacles of splendid ease. 
 
 Drones you are, and greedy leeches that have drained the 
 
 nation's life-blood all too long ; 
 Heedless of the miseries, wants, and sorrows of the im 
 
 poverished millions that you wrong. 
 
Knowledge now is opening eyes that ignorance sealed as 
 
 with the seal of heavy night ; 
 (living unto men a clear perception of the wrongs which 
 
 justice fain would right. ^ 
 
 m 
 
 Lo ! the serried march of strong men augurs that the glorious 
 
 dawn is drawing near ; 
 Vain cold hearts, 'neath Tyrian purple beating, quake in 
 
 secret with the qualms of fear. 
 
 Take, my lords, your fill of gilded pleasure ; worship god 
 
 Priapus while you may ; 
 
 ess relics ■ p^r the hour approaches when you shall be swept, like straws 
 
 by furious waves, away. 
 
 hall see 
 
 up your 
 ichanted 
 
 RONDE A DANSER. 
 
 g loons, 
 e splen- 
 
 -dealing) 
 on your 
 
 ined the 
 the im 
 
 (from alissan de chazet.) / 
 
 A fig for ascete austere, 
 
 Misanthrope, and anchorite ; 
 To drink, dance, and love good cheer, 
 Is my creed, and my delight. 
 Let Heraclitus be 
 
 Sad as a funeral pall, 
 I will live merrily. 
 Laughing at all. 
 
 When life's pleas*: res fail and vanish, 
 I do not mourn and sigh. 
 
s« 
 
 Gloomy thoughts I quickly banish, 
 To cure the blues dance I. 
 Let Heraclitus be, Sec. 
 
 If desire possesses me 
 
 To grief to give away, 
 I go and see a tragedy, 
 
 Whereat I laugh straightw v. 
 Let Heraclitus be, &c. 
 
 Many a sa^jient man sighs after 
 Seeing fate favour blockheads born, 
 
 They to me are a source of laughter, 
 Not of malice or of scorn. 
 Let Heraclitus be, &c. 
 
 My leman loved is folly, 
 
 Anacreon is my master, ^ ^ 
 Avaunt ! dull melancholy, 
 
 Let the red wine flow faster. 
 Let Heraclitus be, &c. 
 
 Good my friends, may love and wine 
 
 Gild the life before us. 
 Let your voices ring with mine. 
 Swell the careless chorus. 
 Let Heraclitus be 
 '" ^ Sad as a funeral pall, 
 I will live merrily, 
 Laughing at all. 
 
m, ! 
 
 5^ 
 
 AT PARTING. 
 
 Merrily live and long. 
 
 POE. 
 
 Thou 'It find another lover, 
 And I — a grave. 
 
 GlEBEL. 
 
 What shalt be said, my lovely lady, 
 Since now we part at summer's end ; 
 
 Our feet forsake cool paths and shady. 
 Where wind and wave like lovers blend. 
 
 Fair were the hours we spent together, 
 About them fragrant fancies twine ; 
 
 To you of song a light foam-feather 
 I blow across the breathing brine. 
 
 Rose-scents are ever round you clinging, 
 I see your smiles like sunbeams shed ;. 
 
 Dut in your laughing eves upspringing 
 No memories of the mouldering dead. 
 
 We cannot call our love Platonic, 
 For knelt we not at Venus' shrine ? 
 
 Soft Tuscan speech, and grace Ionic, 
 And love-lore of the rippling Rhine — 
 
 Such things were ours indeed — and never 
 Love doubted dalliance half divine ; 
 
 His cenomel we drank — we sever, 
 Our ways are parted, yours and mine. 
 
 For you a radiant round of pleasure, 
 
 Mirth, love and laughter, light and \\ine ;, 
 
 ipi 
 
54 
 
 4 
 
 ■ 
 
 For me scant hours of dreamful leisure 
 In shadow of the dreaming pine. 
 
 Not often has a tear-drop started 
 
 From your clear lustrous amorous eyes ; 
 
 No silent shades of broken-hearted 
 And shipwrecked lovers 'fore you rise. 
 
 You are of those — for all things show it — 
 Who laugh with all and weep with none ; 
 
 But you-ward as the sea winds blow it, 
 My song shall wish naught past undone. 
 
 Go, then, beyond my ken and o'er you 
 The high gods guard — long may y^u live ! 
 
 Alas ! for all the love I bore you 
 I have nothing but a song to give. 
 
 O golden-tressed and azure-eyed one ! 
 
 A knight for you with keener lance ; 
 Sir Tristram no whit fairer bride won 
 
 When Iseult melted 'neath his glance.. 
 
 Pass, pass, I have but little longer 
 
 To be, gaunt dark death's strange face gleams ; 
 The pulse of pain grows ever stronger. 
 
 Though lulled at times by gracious dreams. 
 
 Soon naught to me will be love's blisses, 
 Yet grow I sad (what help can save ?) 
 
 To think your lips another's kisses 
 Will feel when I lie in the grave. 
 
ss 
 
 THE SPLICING OF THE TWAIN. 
 
 Hear the golden wedding bells. 
 
 PoE. 
 
 I aljis ! had naught but love. 
 
 Gay. 
 
 Women's hearts are bought and sold. 
 
 Ibiu. 
 
 Here comes the bride — a flushini^ 
 Mantles her cheeks pure snow, 
 
 A keen joy o'er her rushing, 
 How bright her dark eyes glow. 
 
 A wreath of radiant roses 
 
 Is clustering round her head ; 
 
 The fairest 'ower that grows is 
 (Unmatched for white or red,) 
 
 Not fairer than the creamy 
 Rare splendour of her bloom ; 
 
 Her form is steeped in dreamy 
 And sensuous perfume. 
 
 Flake-dotted is her bridal 
 Veil, carelessly back-thrown, 
 
 And rippling like a tidal 
 Wave by sea-breezes blown. 
 
 Bright is the starlike lustre 
 Of jewels on her breast ; 
 
 By Jove ! she is a buster 
 
 And stunningly well-dressed. 
 
 A whisper and a falter, 
 A ring, a kiss — 'tis o'er, 
 
w 
 
 56 
 
 And she that leaves the altar 
 A maiden is no more. 
 
 A burst of music splendid, 
 Congratulations pour ; 
 
 The whole transaction's ended, 
 The carriage is at the door. 
 
 The marriage-bells in golden 
 Tones mark the close of day ; 
 
 A shower of slippers olden, "^ 
 The vision fades away. 
 
 
 
 Well, lucky dog, freeze to her. 
 You've got a prize, I know. 
 
 You ask, Ned, if I knew her, 
 Yes, slightly — long ago. 
 
 Red lips, blue eyes, a farewell. 
 
 Ah ! at my being's core 
 I — well, I hope she'll wear well ; 
 
 But now of love no more. 
 
 *And also of rice. 
 
 H( 
 
 LAKE ONTARIO. 
 
 How oft by thy side have I lingered alone 
 
 Through the sun-sharp day, and the star-soft night, 
 Far out on thy bosom my spirit has flown ; 
 
 And my heart was full of a deejj delight. 
 Full of the song that the breakers sang, 
 
 With a choral chime, wave chasing wave. 
 In the storm when weirdly the wild notes rang. 
 
 In '' 2 calm when the waters the shore lightly lave. 
 
57 
 
 The white gulls dip in the flashing spray, 
 
 The waters bright in the sunlight shine, 
 And dash o'er the rocks, moss-grown and gray. 
 
 Through time-worn crannies and zigzag chine. 
 The lalce-spume glistens upon the strand, 
 
 And in nooks of the wave-bleached trunks and boughs, 
 Curls and sinks in the red-ribbed sand, 
 
 When the winds the poplars and elms arouse. 
 
 Beyond the tall cliffs, crowned with grass. 
 
 Loom the dusk waved plumes of the swaying pines ; 
 The rank weeds bend in the chill morass, 
 
 The will-o'-the-wisp lights the sylvan shrines. 
 Light skimming skiffs through the blue mists sweep, 
 
 And plash, plash, plash sound the waves on the shore ; 
 The new years rise and the old years sleep. 
 
 But fair lake thou art the same evermore. 
 
 Here once has the gray wolf skulked and preyed. 
 
 And the twigs have snapt 'neath the jaguar's tread, 
 Here once in the dim deer-haunted glade 
 
 Has the black bear wallowed unharassed. 
 Here once has the eagle swooped and screamed, 
 
 And the Indian maid her death song sung. 
 The wild-cat's eye in the break has gleamed, 
 
 Ere the woodman's axe through the forest rung. 
 
 How oft have I lingered dreamingly. 
 
 When sweet as an odalisk's breath blew the breeze, 
 I have loved, O lake, by thy side to be. 
 
 And hear the sough of the wind in the trees, 
 Or ramage of birds, and to watch with fond eyes 
 
 The tremulous trellis leaf-shadows make. 
 In the storm when foaming the billows rise. 
 
 In the calm when the blue laughing ripples break. 
 
ss 
 
 ELYSIUM. 
 
 (on the trail of JOHANNES SECUNDUS.) 
 
 f 
 
 Through your Hps of crimson bloom, 
 Breathing Cyprian perfume, 
 Lovely as Latona you 
 All my ravished spirit drew. 
 Myra, supine as I lay 
 On your breast I swooned away. 
 In your kisses you infuse 
 Hymettus' hydromelic dews ; 
 In your beauty you disclose 
 All the splendours of the rose. . 
 By the shade of old Silenus, 
 Really you out- Venus Venus. 
 Now my lips your white teeth bite, 
 Mingling pain with my delight. 
 While I dally with your tresses 
 Fleck me, sweet, with lithe caresses ; 
 I will hold you to my heart. 
 From you I will never part. 
 Be your kisses, soft and warm, 
 More than snowflakes in the storm. 
 
 Here amid the birds and flowers 
 We will pass delicious hours ; 
 Clasping you within my arms 
 I will fondle all your charms. 
 Not in our retreat be found 
 
59 
 
 Ajax' flower of mournful sound, 
 Nor Narcissus, egotist, 
 Cold, unwilling to be kissed — 
 But the dill's sweet-scented flower 
 Bloom amid our leafy bower ; 
 And the vermeil opening bud, 
 Glowing with Adonis' blood. 
 
 Here beneath tbe beech's shade 
 Will our languid limbs be laid ; 
 We'll with many a wanton glance 
 On the woodland carpet dance. 
 Whispering softly, bending low. 
 Your white arms around me throw 
 In such close wise as the vine 
 Doth round the elm its creepers twine. 
 Through the coverts cool and wide 
 Deer-like dart away and hide ; 
 I your steps will follow fast, 
 Having found you, then, at last, 
 Kisses snatch with heart of flame 
 From my lovely captured game, 
 And your neck and bosom tint 
 Pink with lingering kisses' print. 
 O the thrilling dainty bliss 
 In a melting amorous kiss ! 
 Sweeter far my pleasures prove 
 Than celestial joys of Jove. 
 
 Let's unnumbered kisses give, 
 Live to love, and love to live. 
 While the spring of life is ours. 
 While our footsteps fall on flowers. 
 Care away ! Be ours delight. 
 
6o 
 
 h 
 
 Soon comes age's wintry night. 
 Soon, at best, we needs must go 
 To gloomy realms, the earth below 
 
 KLYTIA. 
 
 iiiiiiiili 
 
 A bright dark face surpassing all 
 
 Gleams laughing, fades into the night ; 
 
 I hear the showering music fall. 
 
 Heart-stirred with subde vague delight. 
 
 The marble dream to life has waked, 
 (Pygmalion's Venus-aided spell ;) 
 
 Some lover has his passion slaked, 
 Doubtless, — a secret guarded well. 
 
 Year by year passes shadow-wise, 
 I journey on by vale and hill. 
 
 Led by dream-glittering amorous eyes. 
 That flash, and lure, and vanish still. 
 
 Since me this mocking vision fair 
 
 Has thralled, none else are fair to me; 
 
 Her beauty is beyond compare, 
 A wild mirage of mystery. 
 
 My beard turns gray ; in panther wise 
 Old age draws nigh, but ever gleams 
 
 Before my sad enamoured eyes 
 The unreal lady of my dreams. 
 
ml 
 
 it 
 
 VITA CADUCA. 
 
 O gracious hours of flower-time ! 
 O happy, happy shower-time ! 
 Would you, would you were our time 
 
 Forever without change ; 
 That we might rove together, 
 All in the golden weather, 
 With hearts light as a feather, 
 
 Through valleys rich and strange. 
 
 But though we sing like Blondel, 
 And in ballade and rondel 
 Praise hair and cheeks we fondle, 
 
 And eyes and lips we prize ; 
 And hail with lute and zither, 
 Love-dreams desire brings hither. 
 We see all dear things wither — 
 
 Charms fade and pleasure dies. 
 
 Kiss me, my love, and borrow 
 Joy from the mystic morrow. 
 It may but bring us sorrow, 
 
 We know but of to-day. 
 What though our hearts remember, 
 Dark fates our dreams dismember. 
 In vain to seek December 
 
 For raptures fresh of May. 
 
 No gifts of gold, or laurel 
 Wreaths, or of rue or sorrel, 
 
 
 1'^ 
 
 S3;,; 
 
 liH 
 
6a 
 
 No written words, or oral, 
 
 Avail when life is past. 
 When green turf coldly covers 
 White corpses of fond lovers, 
 O'er whom no glad dream hovers, 
 But silence reigns at last. 
 
 Alas ! for us we know not 
 
 How soon the streams will flow not, 
 
 How soon the flowers will grow not, 
 
 Life ends when no man saith ; 
 When done with things diurnal, 
 Dreaming no dream supernal. 
 We sleep the sleep eternal — 
 
 The cold deep sleep of death. 
 
 EPICEDIUM. 
 
 Gloomy as Eblis where the yew-trees wave, 
 
 The dull clods rattle on the coffin-lid, 
 And in the silence of the dumb-mouthed grave 
 
 Frail youth and beauty are forever hid. 
 
 Aurora seeks the brightening sun afar, 
 Red in the east like Venus from the sea ; 
 
 Day dies, Diana mounts her silver car, ' 
 But, Hesperus, thou bring'st her not to me. 
 
 Ah love ! so late with pride and life-wine flushed, 
 God-graced with gifts for beauty meet alone, 
 
 Now is the music of thine accents hushed, 
 
 And love hurled headlong from his loveliest throne. 
 
63 
 
 Surely dream-moulded shapes of sleep that wing 
 Their flashing flight through waving veils of dreams, 
 
 Heart-tender as the gracious-hearted spring, 
 Lured thee to wander by enchanted streams. 
 
 And surely in still watches of the night 
 
 Thou hast heard music of the starriest spheres ; 
 
 Such golden notes of azure-winged delight. 
 As never echo in our mortal ears. 
 
 Strains sweeter far than was the sirens' song. 
 Or Orpheus' lyre, charmed thee to perfect rest ; 
 
 Dreamless of lovers, mindless now of wrong. 
 With fair hands folded on thy fair cold breast. 
 
 Yea, senseless now of love's Promethean fire. 
 
 So thou hast passed beyond the night-veiled sea ; 
 
 Dead to life's pain and pleasure and desire, 
 Hailed by the dead that are not even as we. 
 
 Not thine the barren beauty of Clarimonde, 
 
 Or loveless lips of lost Eurydice ; 
 At love's last Mecca here I weep as fond 
 
 Tears as wept Haemon for Antigone, 
 
 Or Cypris for Adonis ; though thou art 
 
 Like Berenice's hair, a light above. 
 Whom the gods love die young — sleep, sleep, sweetheart ! 
 
 For sleep to thee is sweeter than was love. 
 
 'I 
 
64 
 
 A RHYME OF THE ROSE. 
 
 Reine de I'empire de Flore. 
 
 Bernard. 
 
 ( :!i 
 
 I 
 
 You dream in terraces of light ; 
 
 Thrilled by the pulses of the wind 
 Your proud heart trembles with delight 
 
 In chambered recess anther-lined. 
 
 Across your full voluptuous breast 
 The murmuring bee flits in the sun, 
 
 And by the languid air caressed 
 Your petals open one by one. 
 
 The damask-dusted butterfly 
 
 Drinks life from out your wooing lips, 
 
 And seeks your bosom eagerly 
 Wherefrom light pulvil fragrance drips. 
 
 Of Flora's realm the queenliest flower. 
 The nymph's delight, the harem's pride ; 
 
 The nightingale's sweet paramour. 
 Flushed as with dalliance of a bride. 
 
 O fairest flower and delicate ! 
 
 O drowsy-fumed and threefold blest ! 
 O summer-born ! thy happy fate 
 
 To blush on beauty's balmy breast. 
 
 Or nestle in a silken tress 
 
 When plucked by fragile hands that hold 
 
J. 
 •(I 
 
 6s 
 
 Men's destinies, and whose caress 
 Is more than flowers and wine and gold. 
 
 You see with lusk delight the hours 
 Wash past in tides of sparkling sheen ; 
 
 You fade amid dim autumn bowers, 
 A silent wraith of summer scene. 
 
 In garish glare of leaping lights, 
 
 Mid mirth where measured foot-beats fall, 
 You grace the glow of golden nights, 
 
 And brow the bousing bacchanal. 
 
 You burn with heat of bridal shame. 
 Your splendid heart is full of love, 
 
 And full of joy and full of flame. 
 And tender as a vulned dove. 
 
 Rose of the world, these things are thine : — 
 Youth, beauty, fame, love, and delight ; 
 
 With Venus' kisses made divine 
 
 To match a maiden's red and white. 
 
 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. 
 
 Sorrow and hopeless hope, 
 Doubtful presage of ills, 
 
 These have root in my heart ; 
 Yea, and in deep dreams scope 
 Mirage of strange things thrills, 
 (Glamours with dawn depart.) 
 
66 
 
 1^ :\ 
 
 '' :|l! 
 
 
 ii 
 
 i« 
 
 Farewell love and delight, 
 Garlands and rose-red wine, 
 Laughter and mirth and song ; 
 Voiceless phantoms of night. 
 Glimmer in ghostly line, 
 
 And veiled in vain visions throng. 
 
 Pale remorse and regret. 
 
 Loathing, doubt, and despair. 
 Follow a life misspent. 
 In vain men strive to regret. 
 Memories tender and fair 
 Speak, and the soul is shent. 
 
 Bitter the dregs in pleasure's 
 Cup that her votaries drain, 
 Hollow delights of the dark. 
 When the heart knows not love's treasures, 
 But ~eaps a harvest of pain 
 Following a false faint spark. 
 
 After death surely is peace, * 
 
 End of doubt and desire, 
 Evil forebodings and dread ; 
 From gray griefs then is surcease. 
 Trumpet, nor flute, nor lyre, 
 Pierces the ears of the dead. 
 
 No thing, joyous or bitter. 
 
 Cleaves the gloom of the grave. 
 After the last short breath 
 Fires Plutonian glitter, 
 Sweeps the oblivious wave. 
 
 Singing thy triumphs, O Death ! 
 
^7 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES PELHAM MULVANY. 
 
 Queen Summer reigns crowned with live laughing light, 
 
 Rose-flushed and fair in golden bravery. 
 Flowers, woodlands, waves, with shower and sun are bright ; 
 
 But one loved face we miss — the face of thee. 
 
 Who brightened our life's ways with splendent song, 
 Thou, too, hast gone into the unknown lands 
 
 Wherefrom no man returns ; the glittering throng 
 Of deathless dead hail thee with outstretched hands. 
 
 Light, beauty, loved'st thou, yea, and all things fair ; 
 
 Love's charms and dancing hours of mantling mirth ; 
 Death's courier, age, had whitened not thy hair ; 
 
 Too soon, alas ! fate gives thee to the earth. 
 
 Strong praise thou gav'st to Freedom ; prophet-wise 
 Thou sang'st our young Republic yet to come ; 
 
 Thou wilt not see her in her splendour rise 
 In coming years ; thy loyal lips are dumb. 
 
 But surely on us from some strange far clime 
 Thy soul looks ; surely with thee it is well. 
 
 The plangent pulse of many a radiant rhyme 
 Of thine thrills through us as we say farewell. 
 
 Of immortelle and amaranth we twine 
 
 A wreath for thee, O vanished in the gloom ! 
 
 A id shadowed by the cypress and the pine 
 We leave thee to the silence of the tomb. 
 
 'j 
 
n 
 
 68 
 
 ■3 
 
 HENRY WARD BEECHER. 
 
 Ilj 
 
 1 iilMi 
 
 V 
 
 4 
 
 " Death, ere thou hast slain another 
 Good and fair and wise as he, 
 Time shall throw his dart at thee." 
 
 Broad catholic spirit, true cosmopolite, 
 Stout-hearted leader, lover of the right, 
 
 Thy sail across the mystic sundering seas 
 Sweeps softly shoreward out of all men's sight. 
 
 Behold ! men say, a man of might lies dead, 
 With snows of many winters on his head. 
 
 With honours crowned, a pulpit Hercules, 
 Who with live truths, not dogma-lies, sou1«= fed. 
 
 Well-pleased thou wast to watch with searching eyes 
 The morning sun of modern science rise, 
 
 Which dears the shadows from doubt-darkling ways, 
 Before whose splendour night-born error flies. 
 
 Thou wast not of the bigots who would bar 
 The passage of the bright triumphal car 
 
 Of Progress — who are jealous of the rays 
 The light of knowledge scatters near and far. 
 
 Columbia mourns that here thy race is run, » 
 Whose great warm heart beat ever in unison 
 
 With the throbbing pulses of humanity. 
 Who wast indeed fair Freedom's sovereign son. 
 
 Sleep then O thou with harness on who fell ! 
 The lustre of thy name death cannot quell. 
 
 The enigma of existence is by thee 
 Solved now. Hail ! Beecher, and farewell — fare ell. 
 
69 
 
 ja 
 
 m 
 
 BALLADE BACCHIQUE. 
 
 Let us quaff with main and might, 
 
 Till our hearts and faces glow ; , 
 Urge the hours to faster flight, 
 
 Let the red wine freely flow. 
 
 Shall care thrall us ? No, no, no ! 
 In the future no man sees ; 
 
 But as to that matter, though, 
 Non curat Hippoclides. 
 
 Wit, and wine, and fancies bright 
 
 Give to hfe a fairer show; 
 Bacchus kindles with love-light 
 
 Eyes grown lustreless with woe, 
 
 (Bacchus, praise to thee we owe ;) 
 Drain the goblet to the lees ! 
 
 Churls contemn our joys, we know, 
 Non curat Hippoclides. 
 
 For us is no more delight 
 
 When to Pluto's realm we go ; 
 But on dreary death to-night 
 
 Let us not a thought bestow. 
 
 Not a whit we will forego 
 Bacchic mirth and harmonies, 
 
 Saying with the wise man, " Lo ! 
 Non curat Hippoclides ! " 
 
 l'envoi. 
 
 Comrades, when we merry grow 
 In the flush of revelries, 
 
 Whate'er winds of fortune blow 
 Non curat Hippoclides. 
 
70 
 
 A BRIDE'S QUERY. 
 
 Red September, brown October, gray November, winter 
 
 chill, 
 Like a dream have fled, and spring's foot lightly touches 
 
 vale and hill. 
 
 With the scents of April round us, fair is this our wedding 
 
 day, 
 And for us the new life dawning, life seems like a rosy ray. 
 
 Vet a doubting thought comes o'er me, sadly thrilling, chains 
 
 me still. 
 
 That I cannot cast out from me, for it conquering rules my 
 
 will. 
 
 • » 
 
 This it is : — O shall you love me when the bloom of youth 
 
 is dead ! 
 When the fire and light and music of my lovely life are fled. 
 
 Once you saw me in the revels where the flickering feast- 
 lights flamed, 
 And you swore by Helen's spirit, I your fairest vision shamed. 
 
 Through my veins, like lightning coursing, flows the red 
 
 bright blood of youth ; 
 Not a cloud of ill foreshadows, not an omen as of ruth. 
 
Now my cheeks are bright with roses, and my Hps breathe 
 
 forth perfume ; 
 But for youth and beauty, time has set a harsh imperious 
 
 doom. 
 
 Kaugh ! what nonsense. I must free me from this doubt- 
 ing demon spell, 
 
 For I gaze into your brave blue eyes, and know you love me 
 well. 
 
 51, 
 
 51. • 
 
 Yet in spite of all endeavour, leaps this question to my 
 
 tongue : 
 Shall you love me as you do now when I am no longer 
 
 young. 
 
 A STUDY. 
 
 Long waves of golden hair like spray 
 On dimpling fleece-soft shoulders fall ; 
 
 White as Carrara's marble they, 
 Arrayed she is as for a ball. 
 
 The low broad forehead overlooks 
 Slight eyebrows arching over eyes 
 
 Large, clear, like sky-reflecting brooks, 
 Intense blue like Etrurian skies. 
 
 The slender nostril sensitive 
 
 Proclaims itself of Grecian mould. 
 
|! ^i^i 
 
 72 
 
 (In art alone each charm may live • 
 
 Where beauty never groweth old.) 
 
 A faint rose-fervour delicate 
 
 Her fair cheeks, soft as satin, tints, 
 
 As if far thoughts of future fate 
 
 Thrilled with the coming of the Prince. 
 
 A shapely mouth and beautiful — 
 Two roses m h with crimson glow, 
 
 The under lip a trifle full. 
 
 The upper curved like Cupid's bow. 
 
 A shell-like ear as rhymsters feign, 
 A chin that's rather weak than strong ; 
 
 An ivory neck girt with a chain — 
 But mere words do her beauty wrong. 
 
 This is the artist's concept of 
 
 The poet's dream. A beauteous maid 
 Is here depicted well enough — 
 , For such Gisli to Lada prayed, 
 
 To mate the flesh, but not to pour 
 Wine for the spirit ; doubtful prize ! 
 
 A pretty doll-face — nothing more. 
 
 No soul shines forth from her blue clear eyes. 
 
73 
 
 LA ZINGARA. 
 
 With flaunting folds in the light wind streaming, 
 
 Austria's flag in its glory waves ; 
 O'er Presberg's towers hang the blue mists dreaming, 
 
 Whose queenly feet the fair Danube laves. 
 The drawbridge lifts; from Count Arnheim's castle, 
 
 With hail and hollo the hunters throng ; 
 And from loyal lips of serf and vassal, 
 
 Peals forth a welcome in joyous song. 
 
 Hurrah ! for the hunt, by brake, and hollow, 
 
 And glade and glen ring the merry notes. 
 Tally-ho ! tally-ho ! tantivy ! follow ! 
 
 With a rousing cheer from a hundred throats. 
 By wold, and fell, and mountain flying, 
 
 With horse and hound, by plain and mere, 
 Till the wild last note of the mort-scream dying. 
 
 Proclaims the death of the daunted deer. 
 
 In the dim deep ways of the forest shaded. 
 
 Where the wild beast hides from the hunter's dart, 
 With music of winds and song-birds raided. 
 
 Are the haunts where the gipsies live light of l.eart. 
 Here to-day and to-morrow roaming. 
 
 At a word from the queen, or Uevilshoof ; 
 what so sweet as the goblets foaming, 
 
 And the shifting scenes, from, the world aloof! 
 
 I 
 
 t 
 
u 
 
 The years glide on, and the duckhng changes 
 
 To a swan at last, hut a maiden's soul 
 Is never free where the hoy-god ranges. 
 
 And Thaddeus is a gallant Pole. 
 Debonair, graceful, lovely, Arline is, 
 
 Dreams she never that lovers must part ; 
 Darkly si)lendid the gipsy queen is, 
 
 But the green-eyed monster preys on her heart. 
 
 Hey ! for the fair in the great wide city ; 
 
 Din and revelry, song and fight. 
 Yeomen hale, and damsels pretty, 
 
 Knights high-born, and ladies bright. 
 Fair as love's queen from the roseate water, 
 
 With coin-crossed hand can she fate unfold : 
 A thief ! a thief ! No, the Count's lost daughter — 
 
 For her afar are the gates of gold. 
 
 All is changed. As a dead man's face is 
 
 Hidden from sight, are the old dead days. . 
 Silks and satins, and jewels and laces, 
 
 Will make her beauty more brightly blaze. 
 Will she forget when knights are bending 
 
 Before her, the lover that once reigned in 
 Her heart, or think when the dance is ending, 
 
 Of the scarlet cloak, and the tiger-skin ? 
 
 Let the music sound ; all things are ready. 
 
 Bright cheeks are burning, and senses swim. 
 Wit, sport, and dance ! flare the lights unsteady ; 
 
 Ho ! fairly fashioned and lithe of limb. 
 Light laughter ripples, and eyes grow tender, 
 
 Th'^y are waiting for her, and Florestein 
 Shall lead her forth to the scene of splendour, 
 
 Rose-bright and flushed with delight's mad wine. 
 
75 
 
 » 
 
 lUit who is that through the window glancing, 
 With the sun-swarthed face, and the eagle eye ; 
 
 The curtains part — 'tis the chief advancing — 
 A startled look, and a muffled cry. 
 
 "JJack, come back, for we love, we love you. 
 Be our queen, tor we love you yet. 
 
 the wild free life with the sky above you. 
 And the woods around, you cannot forget !" 
 
 No need to fly, Arline, for your lover. 
 
 As well as you, is of noble birth. 
 Bridal visions around you hover, 
 
 Light can you tread in the maze of mirth. 
 
 1 -oud and louder, the music clashes, , 
 
 (^)ueen of the revels you whirl and gleam ; 
 In halls of marble the lamplight flashes. 
 At last come true has the old dear dream. 
 
 DE MORTUu. 
 
 me. 
 
 
 Post varius vita; casus, dabit urna quictem. 
 
 Ei'iT. Vkt. 
 
 The long hours of keen suffering are past, 
 And Libitina brings relief at last. 
 
 An end of pain and ho[)e for death's release ; 
 Deep sleep ! the spirit's chains asunder cast. 
 
 No more for thee life's round of toil and ease. 
 
 And love-flushed nights wherein warm passions please. 
 
 Healer and helper fallen, lapped in lead ! 
 We praise thee as men praised Hippocrates, 
 
 I 
 
j6 
 
 Oalcn, and Rhases — yea, about thee shed 
 A glamour gilds thy loved and honoured head, 
 ('old, calm, and sightless, shortly to be hid 
 Within the silent city of the dead. 
 
 Sadly loved hands seal down the coffin-lid, 
 Last looks, and parting sighs, and tears amid ; 
 
 'J'he dark plumes wave, the cortege moveth slow, 
 Dark death hath triumphed — ever a guest unbid. 
 
 The first frail fluttering foam-like flakes of snow 
 Dance earthward, as the wild winds wailing blow ; 
 
 November's skies gloom overhead ; half bare ' 
 Tall trees wherefrom the dead leaves whirlmg go. 
 
 But thou of rest unbroken hast full share 
 In happy meadows where can come no care. 
 
 There Caius, Haller, Sydenham, Cabanis, Syme, 
 John Hunter, Boerhaave, — names that fame made fair. 
 
 Ah ! surely in some brighter song-lit clime. 
 
 Whose perfect peace makes mock of change and time 
 
 Glitter the stars of ^^sculapius' band, 
 Though chant we here the cheerless N?enian rhyme. 
 
 There Abernethy, Astley Cooper stand, 
 Erasmus Wilson, Marion Sims the bland. 
 
 Surely, there, too, that golden soul of thine, 
 O friend of tender touch and skilful hand ! 
 
 Here at thy grave in this chill days decline, 
 Who art senseless of heat or cold, of rain or shine. 
 
 Saying sleep and have rest, hail and farewell ! 
 We leave thee to the care of Proserpine. 
 
ft 
 
 A MONTH'S LOVE. 
 
 (spirit of light opera.) 
 
 L'amour plus leger qu'un papillon. 
 
 For a month we loved in the rose-flushed summer, 
 
 Lightly loved as the light hours flew ; 
 She laughed with me as with each new comer, 
 
 But our hearts were snared not by love, we knew. 
 Light as thistledown, flower-flake, feather, 
 
 The woven weft of this summer spell ; 
 We dwelt in a land of delight together, 
 
 And merrily laughed as we said farewell. 
 
 With the tinkling tide our frail bark drifted 
 
 O'er the broad bland breast of the blue-waved bay, 
 A sheet of silver when Dian lifted 
 
 A bright face, chasing night's mists away. 
 Her dainty hand through the white foam trailing, 
 
 (lleamed jewel-queened at the stern, like fire; 
 In the harbour far, whither ships were sailing. 
 
 Loomed dome and turret, and shaft and spire. 
 
 Sweet 'twould be thus could one drift forever. 
 
 Forgetting life, i.nd the coil of things, 
 That youth depart^, and dark fates dissever, 
 
 And time speeds ever on sure swift wings. 
 For a month the god of the bow and quiver 
 
 Shot golden arrows at us in vain ; 
 We strayed by forest, and fell, and river, 
 
 By valley and hamlet, and hill and plain. 
 
 
78 
 
 Of niyrtlc-blossonis love wove us garlands, 
 
 (Love more light than a butterfly.) 
 Her eyes were as fires ot the mystic starlands, 
 
 Her lips were brilliant with crimson dye. 
 Her breasts were sweet as the breath of June is, 
 
 Two spheres to conquer a king might sigh ; 
 Her voice was such as the nightingale's tune is, 
 
 In the heart of the red rose longing to lie. 
 
 But never again shall we meet as lovers, 
 
 And never again may we meet at all, 
 For the heaped dry dust of the dead years covers 
 
 The hours that no voice from their grave can cal 
 Light love was slain with the stress of pleasure, 
 
 Deep in the dusk of the dreaming dell ; 
 We c^uaffed wild wine from a charmed measure, 
 
 And merrily laughed as we said farewell. 
 
 OLIVIER PAIN. 
 
 (journalist, adventurer, and communist.) 
 
 Untimely death too oft attends the brave. 
 
 Gr/Eme. 
 Dors en paix, dors en paix, 
 Dans ton tombeau mysterieux. 
 
 Beaudelairk. 
 
 Pens cease scratching ; the revel slackens, 
 Left undrained is the beaker of wine ; 
 
 Death's shade looms like a cloud that blackens 
 When the loud storm lashes the hyaline. 
 
79 ,:. • 
 
 Slowly the lips of Rochefort utter 
 
 The slow-winged news from a strange far clime ; 
 There's a frog in throat, and a sad heart-flutter, 
 
 For one death-stricken in manhood's prime. 
 
 Thee, also, has the d'irk sure Reaper 
 
 Reaped — who dared him s6 long, so long ; 
 Thou, also, art a pallid sleeper. 
 
 Dreamless, senseless of storm or song. 
 Rover, Liberty's steadfast lover. 
 
 Foe uf the twilight brood of kings. 
 Thee, at last, do the night's wings cover, 
 
 Silent now where no war-note rings. 
 
 Russian steppes, and east lands stranger, 
 
 Rose-bright southlands thy footsteps knew ; 
 Wild quest thrilled thee with charm of danger. 
 
 Iron-willed, of the dauntless few ! 
 Star by star from our mortal sight fades. 
 
 Quenched in the darkness and dust of death ; 
 But not the beam of each bold life's light fades. 
 
 And never will while the world has breath. 
 
 . iELINUS. 
 
 Now is ended the harvest's glory, 
 
 Fruits are gathered, and flowers are dead ; 
 No splendour on Autumn's tresses hoary 
 
 Dwells now ; discrowned is her royal head. 
 No more are seen in the forest gleaming 
 
 The maples' crimson, the larches' gold ; 
 
 ttB 
 
8o 
 
 No mellow radiance of sunbeams streaming, 
 But barren branches, and gray skies cold. 
 
 The dun dead leaves, in their eerie dances 
 
 Whirl and whirl, and their rustling sound 
 Fills my brain with funereal fancies, 
 
 As the strange skies sad, as the sea profound. 
 Ghostly memories, dark-stoled, thronging. 
 
 Come hke shadows, and so take flight. 
 Born of sorrow, and fruitless longing. 
 
 And high hopes wr -zked in a starless night. 
 
 Winter's herald, gaunt chill November, i . 
 
 " Way ! make way for the Storm-King !" sings ; 
 "Close on my heels treads bleak December." 
 
 Wild through the woodlands the north wind rings. 
 vSomething e'er of the strong sea's sorrow, 
 
 Something, too, of the wild wind's song, 
 Thrills my soul thrt no myst- .'orrow 
 
 Shall free from the spell of ine wraiths of wrong. 
 
 SUSPIRIA. 
 
 (romance.) 
 
 My life is writ awry. 
 
 My soul is stained with sin. 
 
 My heart is thrall to fate ; 
 No laurels may I win, 
 
 " 'x"oo late," time cries, " too late i" 
 Whoso sows wind for grain 
 
 The whirlwind bare must reap. 
 
8i 
 
 I would I were a child again, 
 Or else asleep — asleep. 
 
 From dim sad eyes tears start 
 
 For the old dead loves' sakes, 
 For him ^hose young boy's heart 
 
 The wild -orld smiting breaks. 
 Hope flies, gray griefs remain ; 
 
 Ah ! far from eyes that weep, 
 I would I were a child again, 
 
 Or else asleep — asleep. 
 
 The dead lie still and calm, 
 
 Heedless of tempest-sweep, 
 Of powers that save or damn — 
 
 The sleep of death is deep. 
 Although desire is vain 
 
 Youth to regain or keep. 
 I would I were a child again. 
 
 Or else asleep — asleep. 
 
 ff^ 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 l.ord Love and Queen Beauty went Maying together, 
 When the fair spring wakened the frost-numbed land ; 
 
 Together they wandered by wold and heather. 
 With kisses and laughter, hand in hand. 
 
 Largess of ligut, and song and splendour, 
 Mirth and music, and arms that cling — 
 
 These were theirs ; over true hearts tender 
 
 Love was kin['. 
 
82 
 
 But the spring fell past, and the summer vanished, 
 With all her fervour and perfumed pride ; 
 
 Round fruit mellowed, and flowers were banished, 
 And autumn reigned like a brown bright bride. 
 
 And or ever the dead red leaves went whirling 
 
 To the sharp strong sound of the north wind's ring, 
 
 From his pomp of power and his throne Love hurling 
 
 Death was king. 
 
 A TOAST, s 
 
 May we be loved by those we love, 
 
 Ho ! merry friend '^.11 glass again ; 
 The joys of warming wine we prove, 
 
 Of beauty, and love's pleasing pain. 
 
 » •■ ■ 
 
 Corinna, Flavia, or Doris, 
 
 Forella, Delia, Chloe, Phyllis ; 
 
 Clorinda, C?elia, Camma, Chloris, 
 Clarista, Myra, Amaryllis — 
 
 t^ 
 
 Whate'er her name is may she be 
 Faithful and fair, and generous too. 
 
 May every Damon's constancy 
 
 Be paid by Venus with love's due. 
 
 Fill up the bowl with sparkling wme, 
 Delight of men and gods above. 
 
 A peerless toast — desire divine, 
 May we be loved by those we love. 
 
83 
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 (from th^.ophile gautier.) 
 
 Let us sing in chorus praises 
 Of jolly buxom Bacchus. ^ 
 
 Long live the purple vintage, 
 Long live the wine-vat's treasure, 
 And long live us to quaff it. 
 
 We love the sparkling colours 
 Of wine, we love carousals. 
 Pale cheeks the wine-bowl flushes, 
 It kindles eyes with love-light, 
 And dullards' tongues makes witty. 
 
 Who worships not the wine-god, 
 , And when the goblet circles 
 Refuses to be merry, 
 May he be changed by Circe 
 To a frog, and croak in marshes. 
 
 D^SOLE. 
 
 My life went wrong ; I see it writ. 
 
 William Morris. 
 
 Year by sad year goes past, 
 Bright hopes are all laid low. 
 
 Though dreams cf June outlast 
 The bleak December's snow, 
 
84 
 
 No dream of all comes true — 
 Love's gifts may not be mine, 
 
 O crown my head with rue, 
 And flowers of Proserpine! 
 
 From error ruinous 
 
 To truth I may not rise, 
 Nor win in arduous 
 
 Strife any laurelled prize. 
 For me no sweet voice sings 
 
 To hush the song of fate ; 
 But the old gray grief still clings, 
 
 And the wild scorn and hate. 
 
 Once had I stood with those 
 
 Whose names and memories shine, 
 Whose bodies find repose 
 
 In an immortal shrine. 
 Once in the fane of fame 
 
 I had seen the strange fires leap; 
 Now nothing sin and shame 
 
 Have left me — I would sleep. 
 
 A DEAD WARRIOR. 
 
 With muffled drums and arms reverse, 
 Moves on the glittering dusk-plumed hearse, 
 'I'hat bears the warrior to his grave, 
 Where silken tasselled grasses wave, 
 Beneath the shadowing elms and firs. 
 
 What breath of martial memory stirs 
 Our hearts ; no legends of the Erse, 
 
8s 
 
 No glury-girt Valhallan tale, 
 No venturous quest for the sangreal, 
 Could boast of hero-knight more bold 
 Than he now lying shroud-wrapped, cold. 
 Here followed by his followers old. 
 
 No more his soul will thrill with bright 
 
 Sharp rapture of the fiery fight. 
 
 A gracious end of glorious days, 
 
 A well-earned wreath of deathless bays, 
 
 Are his, and dreamless sleep, and praise. 
 
 A DEAD FACE. 
 
 The white face 'neath the coffin-lid 
 
 Now by dank churchyard mould is hid. 
 
 But I behold it strangely gleam 
 
 In many a swift elusive dream. 
 
 A ghostly halo round it shed, 
 
 (The unearthly splendour of the dead.) 
 
 Upon the brow was ne'er a cloud. 
 
 So fail within the satin shroud. 
 
 With lids soft-closed on rayless eyes — 
 
 Closed as for slumber flower-wise. 
 
 Vo me it ever comes unbid. 
 
 The white face 'neath the coffin-lid. 
 
 Oft when I v-ould commit some sin 
 
 Wherefor the flesh longs ardently, 
 
 I see it swathed in vapour thin, 
 
 A weird gray glamour round it shed. 
 
 The pale lips seem to say, " O be 
 
 TiUe to the memory of the dead !" 
 
86 
 
 THE SPECTRE OF THE ROSE. 
 
 * (from theophile gautier.) 
 
 Awake, awake, from your repose. 
 
 Shot through with sweet dreams virginal. ' 
 I am the spectre of the rose, * 
 
 That last nii^ht graced you at the ball. i 
 
 You plucked me with a tender air 
 
 When eve's tears gemmed my petals bright ; 
 And proudly, 'mongst the brave and fair, 
 
 You wore me all the radiant night. 
 
 Fair one, for whose sake I am dead, 
 
 I have come back again to you; 
 All night around your curtained bed 
 
 I will the waltz's maze glide through. 
 But though a ghost I haunt your room. 
 
 For me let no vain mass arise ; 
 My soul floats in the perfumed gloom. 
 
 Fresh from the flowers' paradise. 
 
 Before I felt the pangs of death, 
 
 All envied me so fair a doom ; 
 I lavished my voluptuous breath, 
 
 And had your bosom for a tomb. 
 And on the marble as I lay, 
 
 A bard wrote with an amorous kiss:- 
 "Here lies a rose and monarchs may 
 
 Be covetous of an end like this !" 
 
 , . » • ^« , . 
 
87 
 
 NOT HIS WIFE. 
 
 " Needs must we say farewell, ere time the why discloses, 
 For you are very 'ove, and 1 am love's regret. " 
 
 High courage, strength, and adamantine will. 
 Whereby men from the world's grasp laurels wrest, 
 Vou prize. No common man could stir your breast 
 
 With passionate love's divine ecstatic thrill. 
 
 Nor I a king's place in your heart might fill. 
 Who am by fickle fate more banned than blest ; 
 And so farewell ! I will not linger lest 
 
 Some shadow cross you of a wild life's ill. 
 
 Fair queenly flower of beauty, you should be 
 Mated with some fate-conqueror brave and true. 
 
 I am unworthy of you ; noi for me 
 Your soft white char: . cin but dream of you. 
 
 You breathe the breatu o. Jay-spring and delight, 
 
 I walk with sorrow^ in a cheerless night. 
 
 VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE ! 
 
 Of rods and rattles, and of leading strings, 
 Of napkins, soothing-syrup, we have grown 
 Tired, though we may not call our land our own 
 
 Till the loud trumpet-voice of Freedom rings 
 
 The world-wide knell of emperors, princes, kings : 
 Till 'neath clear skies, the people's heart her throne, 
 Peerless in light and beauty reigns alone 
 
 Our young Republic with sphere-shadowing wings. 
 
88 
 
 Ho ! friends and cheer. 'Fore the stubborn mingled might 
 
 Of strong men even Cronos' waves divide. 
 O, fair in dreams and visions of the night ! 
 
 We yet shall see thee bright-faced like a bride : 
 Though roll between us and our souls' desire 
 War's glittering tide of Phlegethonian fire ! 
 
 TO THE NIHILISTS. 
 
 A word for you striving to cast the weight 
 
 Of autocratic sway from Russian land. 
 
 You in the great cause well together stand ; 
 Your game is tzars. Inexorable as fate, 
 \'uurs is the deadly dower of steadfast hate 
 
 For tyrannies that have the nation banned. 
 
 By you the smouldering fires of freedom are fanned- 
 Fires that will purge from all foul wrongs the state. 
 
 Like brave men you meet death, and the horrors dire 
 Ot bleak Siberia. O sad sight to see 
 Truth-tramplers so long thrive, and Liberty 
 
 Haled like a haggard harlot through the mire ! 
 But be ye not dismayed ; as his father fell 
 Will fall the tzar, and burn in hottest hell. 
 
89 
 
 \ 
 
 TO IRELAND. 
 
 Erin, my heart in love goes out to thee. 
 
 Let hope in thy sons' bosoms be as green 
 
 As are thy fields ; of all foul crimes keep clean 
 Thy record, and time will bring thee victory 
 In the long struggle for thy rights at last. 
 
 Vain is the mouthing of the Tory crew. 
 
 And vain is all that 1 igotry can do, 
 Thy cause is stronger for the fatal past. 
 
 Too long, too long, O land of colours fair, 
 Warm hearts, bright wit, and genuine poteen ! 
 Hast thou been saddled with the twofold bale 
 Of priests and landlords, who would strip thee bare. 
 Heedless though on all hands a desolate scene 
 Should be, of wild-eyed want, and misery pale. 
 
 THE MARCH OF SOCIALISM. 
 
 Dazzle mine eyes^ or do I see three suns. 
 
 Shakesfeare. 
 
 The serried ranks, even as resistless seas, 
 Sweep onward, led by men whose records shine: — 
 Morris (high priest of beauty) Krapotkine, 
 Hytidman — all bright-souled thinkers. Surely these 
 Are names wherewith to conjure ; to the lees 
 
 m 
 
90 
 
 Have such men quaffed truth's mist-dispelling wine. 
 To win redress for grievances malign, 
 To dish the drones that harm the honey-bees, 
 
 And slay the hateful beast monopoly, 
 
 March on, O Socialists! Let by the world be seen 
 How stout hearts conquer. Heed ye not the foul 
 Gangs of land-sharks, priests, moss-backs, though they 
 howl 
 War a Voutrance ! till all their forces flee. 
 And work or st«nrve must men porphyrogene. 
 
 THE STRANGLING OF MATHILDE SIMONNET. 
 
 (la GRANDE FLORINE, CHAP. XLV.) 
 
 Rage, madness, jealousy, gleam in the eyes 
 
 Of Lorenz as he hurls her to the ground, 
 (Even thus the tiger at its victim flies,) 
 
 A knee he plants on each twin snowy mound. 
 Upon her throat his hands close like a vise. 
 
 Her face grows purple ; a faint gurgling sound 
 Is only heard. Night fills the sullen skies 
 
 And spreads her pall the weary world around. 
 
 Ah ! she is dead, who was so passing fair 
 In all her queenly beauty, and her pride. 
 A ghastly corpse with features tumefied, 
 
 And death-glazed eyes iixed in a stony stare. 
 With red foam oozing are .i^r gray lips dyed ; 
 
 Wounds on her neck the strangler's crime declare. 
 
 \ 
 
f« 
 
 h 
 
 CHARLES GEORGE GORDON. 
 
 Peace to thy soul. 
 
 OssiAN. 
 
 Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Dead ! over wastes of shimmering Libyan sand 
 At last the tidings come of thy harsh doom. 
 
 Dead art thou, high of heart and sure of hand ! 
 Within the white-walled city of Khartoum. 
 
 Unmeet thine end, before whose magic might, 
 The Tai-pings scattered, and great hosts gave way ; 
 
 A mystic halo girt thee, made more bright 
 With Afric laurels, and with far Cathay. 
 
 Could'st thou have chosen death, thy choice had been 
 
 Doubtless to die in battle valiantly, 
 Leading good troops to victory fair in 
 
 The foremost ranks, like Earle and Burnaby. 
 
 Where brave men's faces brighten hot and blind 
 With leaping lust of battle ; screaming shell, 
 
 And hissinf, shot fly faster than the wind, 
 And swift-winged death is shod with fires of hell. 
 
 Thou should'st have stood, whose glory was the fight's, 
 Stemming war's waves of blood, and fire, and foam : 
 
 Or, midst the flower of Arthur's peerless knights. 
 Dreaming of lithe curled carmine lips, struck home ; 
 
€> 
 
 ^v^* 
 
 A/. 
 
 .o.At 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 ^^ m 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 Z2 
 
 m 
 
 1: 1^ 
 
 2.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 1-4 ill 1.6 
 
 P^. 
 
 <^ 
 
 "a 
 
 ej 
 
 /i 
 
 V 
 
 ^;. 
 
 
 '# ^^<^7..V 
 
 > .^"^^y 
 '> 
 
 7 
 
 >^ 
 
 w 
 
 W/ 
 
iV 
 
9t 
 
 The lonely desert winds thy requiem sing, 
 No false mirage of rescue mocks thee more : 
 
 They see nor hear, whose martial souls take wing, 
 The light of swords, cannons' reverberate roar. 
 
 Too late ! Ah, source of wide-spread teen, too late ! 
 
 Were friendly hands to reach thee through the gloom 
 But thou, caught in the nets of adverse fate, 
 
 Shalt live for ever, hero of Khartoum. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF STANLEY HUNTLEY. 
 
 'mm' 
 
 (a tribute from BOHEMIA.) 
 
 Sleep, jester, sleep, for life at best 
 Is but a flying dream, a jest. 
 Death comes unto the men who laugh 
 At conquering fate with chirky chaff 
 As to the cross-grained peevish churl. 
 
 Through all your life's Bohemian swirl 
 Gay phantoms of the brain did flit, 
 Armed with sharp shafts of vivid wit. 
 Two roles you played in your life brief, 
 A journalist and Indian chief. 
 The trials of the twain Spoopendyke 
 You told us ; waistcoat buttons flew. 
 You wrote us rich love stories too 
 That ended all ridiculously. 
 
 O cruel death so soon to strike ! — 
 
93 
 
 Yet not of rosemary and rue 
 
 A wreath we twine, tor nothing sad 
 
 You loved, whose heart was light and glad. 
 
 Live then in merry memory. 
 
 Sleep, jester, sleep, for life at best 
 
 Is but a flying dream, a jest. 
 
 LOVE AND PRUDENCE. 
 
 Let us linger at the gate. 
 
 As yet it isn't late, 
 And your old man isn't anywhere in sight. 
 
 Let us dream and let us kiss, 
 
 Like — this — and this — and this, 
 For a half an hour or so ere we fondly say good-night. 
 
 See ! the moonlight softly falls 
 
 O'er the vine-clad orchard walls ; 
 The long-drawn cries of fighting cats into night's ear is shed. 
 
 But gracious me ! what's this ? 
 
 Love, just one farewell kiss, 
 For I see your old man coming with a soft and muffled tread. 
 
 Lord ! my nockandrow's sore. 
 
 And I'll never any more 
 Go courting this fair maiden, and be kicked out by her sire. 
 
 His boots are very thick, 
 
 It was a shabby trick, 
 To be a martyr in love's cause I've really no desire. 
 
 .^^ 
 
 j«b 
 
94 
 
 ON A CERTAIN DASHING BUXOM WIDOW. 
 
 (^TUDE REALISTE.) 
 
 In her eyes is a roguish sparkle, 
 
 And hght as a fay's is her tread ; 
 In her heart no sorrows darkle 
 
 Though her lord has not been long dead. 
 Of the arts that will men's' hearts capture 
 
 She's mistress — experience has taught ; 
 And her charms that a saint might enrapture 
 
 With dangerous graces are fraught. 
 She looks lovely in mourning, and that is 
 
 Why she likes black garments to wear ; 
 Although doleful crape on her hat is, 
 
 There's little, God wot, in her air. 
 
 KISSING. 
 
 Je chante le baiser ; le sujet est bien doux. 
 
 Florian. 
 
 What an essence of bliss 
 
 Is contained in a kiss, 
 When a fellow bears on and rolls his eyes I 
 
 'Tis a genial blood-heater, 
 
 There's nothing sweeter 
 Under the skies, the skies, the skies. 
 The star-sown, moon-lit, beautiful skies. 
 
95 
 
 When the maid is shy, 
 
 And you have to try 
 For a long time ere she at last succumbs, 
 
 Why, it tastes the better 
 
 For coming later, 
 Sweeter than succulent sugar-plums, 
 Cream-crested, soul-tempting sugar-plums. 
 
 When the maid's obdurate, 
 
 And swears she'll hate 
 You, if you don't go away this minute, 
 
 If the kiss be stolen 
 
 The bliss is swollen, 
 And the neccarous sweets of the gods are m it ; 
 O words won't describe the rapture in it ! 
 
 AT CHURCH. 
 
 Rich, deep and grand the organ rolls 
 Its thunders to the arching roof; 
 
 The church is crammed with high-toned souls. 
 Who hide with skill the cloven hoof. 
 
 The long-faced gospel-grinder prays. 
 His nodding hearers faintly listen; 
 
 The silver choir chants sacred lays — 
 Silks, diamonds, laces, faces, glisten. 
 
 The plate goes round — important this — 
 Small shining coins the green baize dot ; 
 
 From out the stately edifice 
 
 I pass, and feel there God is not. 
 
96 
 
 TO EDMUND YATES IN LAVENDER. 
 
 Though in Holloway you're dwelHng, 
 One could half wish he were you ; 
 
 Your book"*^ is like hot cakes selling, 
 
 So you needn't at all feel blue. 
 
 I think, since there's no rebelling, 
 You'll manage to tough it through. 
 
 Surely da\ s pleasantly vanish 
 Like thistle-down sailing on air ; 
 
 You have flowers and friends, and Rhenish, 
 You're more famous than ever you were. 
 
 Just keep up your pecker, old fellow, 
 > Though of freedom you are bereft ; 
 
 Life isn't so sere and yellow 
 
 While a flask of good wine is left. 
 
 *" Fifty Years of London Life." 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 
 
 Once upon Mount Garbarus, 
 In puris naturalibus^ 
 For young Paris' judgment came. 
 Radiant with their beauty's shame, 
 Juno stately-stepping queen, 
 Proud, majestic and serene ; 
 And Minerva, very wise. 
 Light of wisdom in her eyes. 
 
97 
 
 Awe-inspiring as the fair 
 Graduates with golden hair ; 
 And the queen of soft deHght, 
 DazzHng the enraptureJ sight. 
 Paris with her beauty smitten, 
 Eris' gift (for so 'tis written,) 
 To the queen of love accorded, 
 Him with Helen she rewarded — 
 Menelaus' spouse, and thus 
 Sprung the Graeco-Trojan fuss. 
 
 TWO STATESMEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sir John. 
 
 Hale Nestor, you at time have laughed, 
 
 Gray master of diplomacy ! 
 Yours Machiavelli's subtle craft. 
 
 And Reynard's strategy. 
 
 II. 
 
 Blake. 
 
 Weak, vacillating, verbose, lengthy, bland, 
 You shirk the growing issue hard at hand— 
 The independence of our maple land. 
 May, in the years when our Republic's great, 
 A worthier helmsman steer the ship of state. 
 
 
 ^^flHSf 
 
98 
 
 NOW DREAMS THE POET. 
 
 'Tis now the dreaming poet lingereth 
 
 Midst mellow autumn pomp and pageantry. 
 
 Sad at the leaves' fall, and the flowers' death, 
 Enchanted with her royal blazonry. 
 
 With gorgeous hues of russet, crimson, gold, ' 
 
 Made fair, he sees the stately tall trees stand ; 
 
 He hears the wild winds moan across the wold, 
 
 Watching the sober skies with dark clouds spanned. 
 
 He muses in sequestered woodland haunts, 
 A far-off" look within his yearning eyes. 
 
 Till a chestnut-burr doth penetrate his paats, 
 And interrupt his soulful reveries. 
 
 CANTILENA. 
 
 Time brings no word across the sea 
 
 Whose waves the winds of memory fret ; 
 Although your love is not for me 
 I love you yet. 
 
 Delusive dreams, uncrowned desires, 
 
 Are left — vain efforts to forget. 
 With all fond love's impetuous fires 
 I love you yet. 
 
99 
 
 ON THE FABLE OF DAPHNE AND APOLLO. 
 
 (out of FRENCH.) 
 
 To 'scape the Delian deity's embrace, 
 And save her maidenhead, as poet's say. 
 Ere the pursuing god had won the race 
 Daphne was changed into a laurel tree. 
 Few trees would to our eyes themselves display, 
 Few plants within our gardens would there be, 
 If they their origin did owe to this 
 Resistance causing such a metamorphosis. 
 
 DOLCE FAR NIENTE. 
 
 Not Antony in Cleopatra's arms, 
 
 Nor Venus' lovers toying with her charms, 
 
 Nor Alexander with his conquered world. 
 
 Nor Hercules, 
 With the golden apples of the Hesperides, 
 Were happier than I so lazily upcurled 
 Here in my hammock, lulled by melodies 
 Of the soft-sighing, scented, southern breeze. 
 
 A NEW NAME FOR IT. 
 
 A gentleman was handing a lady o'er a stile, 
 When, as she jumped, her petticoats entangled got 
 
 Recovering herself she said to him with a smile, 
 " My agility you've seen — come now, sir, ha\ ou not ?" 
 
 Her cavalier made answer, " I have, but I am &u^ / 
 
 I never heard it called by such a name before." 
 
 S'^ I? 
 
lOO 
 
 AFTER LIFE'S FITFUL FEVER HE SLEEPS WELL. 
 
 Thy head is pillowed on the breast of May, 
 
 And she, fair-flushed with very wine of spring. 
 Has lulled thee in her loving arms to sleep. 
 Dark death has drawn the curtains of thy day, 
 
 Thou'lt hear no more the clear-voiced mavis sing, 
 Nor answer make to loved ones as they weep. 
 
 TO ALL STOUT TOSSPOTS. 
 
 With rosy wine, friends, lau-h Old Care to scorn, 
 And quaff in revels lengthened till the morn 
 
 Unto Anacreon's deathless memory. 
 
 His muse love all good fellows ; surely he 
 The merriest lyrist was time e'er saw born. 
 
 CLYTE. 
 
 1 
 
 ^'Ktk 
 
 The face, the arms, the bust, we see ; 
 The bosom heaves voluptuously. 
 No limbs — alas! a mystery. 
 What occult art, what magic spell, 
 Is here, the wisest cannot tell. 
 
lOI 
 
 CONCETTO.'" 
 
 What Queen Mary of Calais said, 
 
 And Browning repeated of Italy, 
 Fits also my case ; when I am dead 
 Were my heart laid bare, on it could be read 
 O death-rapt sweetheart, the name of thee ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 When your red lips laughing part 
 
 There's a dimple in your chin 
 
 - 'Tis a dainty spot wherein 
 ril entomb my conquered heart. 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 (from boileau.) 
 
 I am of mortals' rest the implacable enemy ; 
 The happy life I lead all lovers envy me. 
 I banquet upon blood, I tantalize my prey, 
 In vain my victims strive to take my life away. * 
 
 "" Answer :— A flea. 
 
 CORNUA. 
 
 " She shall give to thy head an ornament 
 Of grace" : when I the sage's words had read, 
 
 A vision through my brain like lightning went 
 Of branching antlers for a husband's head. 
 
102 
 
 «r 
 
 QUEEN GUINEVERE. 
 
 A peerless queen of beauty passing white, 
 A splendid sin with a most noble knight 
 She sinned ; and for that passion-gilded shame 
 Surely a lovelier lustre lights her name. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 No need of column rising fair 
 Beneath dark yews and willow trees ; 
 
 For thou, gone from our midst fore'er, 
 Liv'st in our hearts and memoies. 
 
 TO TWO SISTERS. 
 
 (from MONTESQUIEU.) 
 
 You both are fair as a dream of art, 
 With Paris' task I could easily grapple ; 
 
 To one of you I would give my heart, 
 And to the other the golden apple. 
 
 NEMESIS. 
 
 Where'er I go, by land or sea, 
 
 Until I lie a corse, 
 With goading lash will follow me 
 
 The demon of remorse. 
 
I03 
 
 IN A BOUDOIR. 
 
 (from PIERRE BERNARD.) 
 
 This cosy room though small, my dear, 
 For our delight is large enough ; 
 
 Here happiness abides, and here 
 O'er two fond her.rts reigns love. 
 
 ON SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE. 
 
 At last good Moses Moniefiore, 
 
 Thou hast reached Canaan's hippy shore ; 
 
 Beyond this vale of tears at rest, 
 
 Thou twang'st a /m'.r-harp 'moiigst the blest. 
 
 THE FEATHER-EDGE. 
 
 An angel, queen, a lovely bride. 
 Fond Damon lingers at her side ; 
 But when the honeymoon's o'erblown 
 " Oft Sacharissa turns to Joan." 
 
I04 
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC TRIO. 
 
 'Mongst illustrious men in the Bible there be 
 
 King Domcome, Lord Howlong, and Baron Fig-tree. 
 
 COMPLIMENTARY. 
 
 A pretty compliment, and of the old school type : — 
 " Lend me your eyes I pray, that I may light my pipe." 
 
 AFTER READING SHAKESPEARE'S VENUS AND -ADONIS. 
 
 When Venus was horny and panted for amorous fun, 
 Like foolish Adonis I would not have turned tail and run, 
 
 . ILLUSION. 
 
 I dreamed love softened the cold prude that I have loved 
 
 of late ; 
 Elate I woke — alas ! the dream came through the ivory 
 
 gate. 
 
 ^ 
 
5-tree. 
 
 pipe. 
 
 ADONIS. 
 
 fun, 
 and run. 
 
 ive loved 
 :he ivory