RECESSIONAL.

BY RUDYARD KIPLING.

[December 30, 1865-.]

[In the London Times, at the end of the Queen's Jubilee, 1897.]

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe, -
Such boasting as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law,
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

And guarding, calls not thee to guard,-
For frantic boast and foolish word,

Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!

Amen.

THE WATCH ON THE RHINE.

BY MAX SCHNECKENBURGER.

[1819-1849.]

A VOICE resounds like thunder peal, 'Mid dashing waves and clang of steel: "The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine! Who guards to-day my stream divine?"

CHORUS.

Dear Fatherland, no danger thine:
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine!

They stand, a hundred thousand strong,
Quick to avenge their country's wrong;
With filial love their bosoms swell,
They'll guard the sacred landmark well!

The dead of a heroic race

From heaven look down and meet their gaze; They swear with dauntless heart, "O Rhine, Be German as this breast of mine!"

While flows one drop of German blood,
Or sword remains to guard thy flood,
While rifle rests in patriot hand,-
No foe shall tread thy sacred strand!

Our oath resounds, the river flows,
In golden light our banner glows;
Our hearts will guard thy stream divine:
The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!

IF I COULD ONLY WRITE.

BY CAMPOAMOR.

(Translated by Ellen Watson.)

[RAMON DE CAMPOAMOR, Spanish poet, playwright, and general author, was born at Navia in 1817. His works are very numerous, including "Moral and Political Fables," stories in verse, dramas, many short poems, and writings on social and political subjects.]

"AND will you write a letter for me, padre?"

"Yes, child—no need to tell me the address!"

"Do you know whom it's for because on that dark evening
You saw us walking?"-"Yes."

"Pardon forgive!"-"Oh no, I don't reproach you!
The night, the chance - they tempted you, I know.
Pass me the pen and paper I will begin, then-
'My own Antonio !'"

"My own'?"-"Why, yes, I have it written;

But if you like, I'll

"Oh no, no, go on!".

"How sad I am' is that it?". "Yes, of course,

"How sad I am alone!

"Now that I'm writing you, I feel so troubled!'"
"How do you know so well?".
"The secrets of a young girl's heart, my daughter,
The old can always tell."

"What is the world alone? a vale of tears, love!
-a happy land!'"

With you

"Be sure you write it plainly, won't you, padre ?
So that he'll understand."

"The kiss I gave you on the eve of marching —'
"Why, how did you find out?".
"Oh, when young people come and go together,
Always- nay, do not pout!"

"And if your love can't bring you back here quickly,
'Twill make me suffer—I—""

"Suffer! and nothing more? No, no, dear padre,
Tell him 'twill make me die!"

"Die! child, do you know that offends our Father?"
"But still, padre, write 'die.'

"I will not write 'die.'". -"What a man of iron!

sir!".

If I could only try!

VOL. XXVI.-16

"Oh no, it is no use, you dear good padre:
"Twill never perfect be

If in these signs you cannot lay before him
The very heart of me.

"Write him, I pray you, that my soul without him
Would gladly mourn and die,

But that this lonely heart-ache does not kill me
Because I've learned to cry.

"And that my lips, the roses of my love's breath,
Will never ope again;

That they forget the very art of smiling,
By dint of so much pain.

"And that my eyes he always thought so lovely,-
No longer clear and bright,

Since there is no dear face to mirror in them,
Forever shun the light.

"And that of all the torments ever suffered,
Parting's most hard to bear;

That like a dream the echo of his voice is ringing
Forever in my ear.

"But since it is for his dear sake I suffer,

My heavy heart grows light;

Goodness! how many things I'd like to tell him
If I could only write!

"But, padre—”. "Bravo, Amor! I'll copy and conclude there. Our learning should be meek:

'Tis clear that one needs for this style of writing Small Latin and less Greek."

AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE.

BY ALICE CARY.

[1820-1871.]

O GOOD painter, tell me true,

Has your hand the cunning to draw
Shapes of things that you never saw?
Ay? Well, here is an order for you.