IN THE GARDEN AT
SWAINSTON.

NIGHTINGALES warbled without,
Within was weeping for thee:
Shadows of three dead men
Walk'd in the walks with me,
Shadows of three dead men and thou
wast one of the three.

Nightingales sang in his woods :

The Master was far away: Nightingales warbled and sang Of a passion that lasts but a day; Still in the house in his coffin the Prince of courtesy lay.

Two dead men have I known

In courtesy like to thee: Two dead men have I loved

With a love that ever will be:

Three dead men have I loved and thou art last of the three.

THE FLOWER.
ONCE in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,

The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went

Thro' my garden-bower, And muttering discontent Cursed me and my flower. Then it grew so tall

It wore a crown of light, But thieves from o'er the wall

Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide

By every town and tower, Till all the people cried, 'Splendid is the flower.'

T

274

Read my little fable:

He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough, And some are poor indeed; And now again the people

Call it but a weed.

REQUIESCAT.

FAIR is her cottage in its place,

'My mother clings about my neck,

My sisters crying, "Stay for shame;" My father raves of death and wreck,

They are all to blame, they are all to blame.

'God help me! save I take my part Of danger on the roaring sea,

A devil rises in my heart,

Far worse than any death to me.'

THE ISLET.

glides.

cease.

Her peaceful being slowly passes by To some more perfect peace.

THE SAILOR BOY.

He rose at dawn and, fired with hope, Shot o'er the seething harbour-bar, And reach'd the ship and caught the rope, And whistled to the morning star.

And while he whistled long and loud

He heard a fierce mermaiden cry, 'O boy, tho' thou art young and proud, I see the place where thou wilt lie.

The sands and yeasty surges mix In caves about the dreary bay, And on thy ribs the limpet sticks, And in thy heart the scrawl shall play.'

'Fool,' he answer'd, 'death is sure

To those that stay and those that roam, But I will nevermore endure

To sit with empty hands at home.

For a score of sweet little summers or so?' The sweet little wife of the singer said, On the day that follow'd the day she was wed,

Whither, O whither, love, shall we go?'
And the singer shaking his curly head
Turn'd as he sat, and struck the keys
There at his right with a sudden crash,
Singing, And shall it be over the seas
With a crew that is neither rude nor rash,
But a bevy of Eroses apple-cheek'd,
In a shallop of crystal ivory-beak'd,
With a satin sail of a ruby glow,
To a sweet little Eden on earth that I
know,

A mountain islet pointed and peak'd ;
Waves on a diamond shingle dash,
Cataract brooks to the ocean run,
Fairily-delicate palaces shine
Mixt with myrtle and clad with vine,
And overstream'd and silvery-streak'd
With many a rivulet high against the Sun
The facets of the glorious mountain flash
Above the valleys of palm and pine.'

'Thither, O thither, love, let us go.'

'No, no, no!

For in all that exquisite isle, my dear,

throat,

And his compass is but of a single note, That it makes one weary to hear.'

'Mock me not! mock me not! love, let us go.'

'No, love, no.

But this is the time of hollies. O hollies and ivies and evergreens, How I hate the spites and the follies!

LITERARY SQUABBLES.

Aн God! the petty fools of rhyme

Before the stony face of Time,
And look'd at by the silent stars :
Who hate each other for a song,

And do their little best to bite
And pinch their brethren in the throng,
And scratch the very dead for spite :

And strain to make an inch of room
For their sweet selves, and cannot hear
The sullen Lethe rolling doom
On them and theirs and all things here:

When one small touch of Charity
Could lift them nearer God-like state
Than if the crowded Orb should cry
Like those who cried Diana great:

And I too, talk, and lose the touch
I talk of. Surely, after all,

The noblest answer unto such

What would you have of us? Human life?

Were it our nearest,

Were it our dearest,

(Answer, O answer)

We give you his life.'

II.

came.

'The King is happy In child and wife; Take you his dearest, Give us a life.'

III.

The Priest went out by heath and hill; The King was hunting in the wild ; They found the mother sitting still;

She cast her arms about the child. The child was only eight summers old, His beauty still with his years increased, His face was ruddy, his hair was gold, He seem'd a victim due to the priest. The Priest beheld him, And cried with joy, 'The Gods have answer'd: We give them the boy.'

IV.

The King return'd from out the wild,
He bore but little game in hand ;

The mother said, 'They have taken the child

To spill his blood and heal the land:

The land is sick, the people diseased,

And blight and famine on all the lea: The holy Gods, they must be appeased, So I pray you tell the truth to me. They have taken our son, They will have his life. Is he your dearest ? Or I, the wife?'

V.

The King bent low, with hand on brow, He stay'd his arms upon his knee : 'O wife, what use to answer now?

For now the Priest has judged for me.'

The King was shaken with holy fear; 'The Gods,' he said, 'would have

chosen well;

Yet both are near, and both are dear,
And which the dearest I cannot tell!'
But the Priest was happy,
His victim won :
'We have his dearest,
His only son!'

VI.

The rites prepared, the victim bared,
The knife uprising toward the blow
To the altar-stone she sprang alone,

'Me, not my darling, no!'

He caught her away with a sudden cry;

Suddenly from him brake his wife, And shrieking 'I am his dearest, I— I am his dearest!' rush'd on the knife. And the Priest was happy, 'O, Father Odin, We give you a life. Which was his nearest ? Who was his dearest? The Gods have answer'd ; We give them the wife!'