Beautiful! DREAM POEM Soft is the smell of it, sweet the sad sound of it, Ah! the enlivenment, dark as the distance! Grim as the grandeur that dreams of a day, Ghastly and gracious and groaning and grave, Sinks in the distance the Dream and the Dreaming, ANCESTRAL LORE This man's of noble pedigree, and that is why, no doubt, he Sits glum in his ancestral halls, so taciturn and gouty. Of course heredity has laws, and in obedience thereto, By looking at his ancestors, we learn what he is heir to. "Tis from the gay, convivial one, he probably inherits ANON. His pretty taste in vintages, and judg ment of their merits. And to the armoured gentleman, unsmiling and disdainful, He owes the stiffness in his joints, which is, no doubt, quite painful. And thus, we see, heredity is quite a pretty science; To its inexorable laws we may not bid defiance. THE WEDDING Lady Clara Vere de Vere! I hardly know what I must say, But I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May! I am half-crazed; I don't feel grave, Let me rave! Whole weeks and months, early and late, To win his love I lay in wait. Oh, the Earl was fair to see, We two shall be wed tomorrow morn, And sadly hang my head, But on my husband's arm I'll lean, And roundly waste his plenteous gold, Passing the honeymoon serene In that new world which is the old. For down we'll go and take the boat Beside St. Katherine's docks afloat, Which round about its prow has wrote "The Lady of Shalotter" (Mondays and Thursdays,-Captain Foat), Bound for the Dam of Rotter. And yet one of the younger English poets recently said that Tennyson's works ought to be thrown into the ashheap! OUR HYMN At morning's call The small-voiced pug dog welcomes in the sun, And flea-bit mongrels wakening one by one, Give answer all. When evening dim Draws rounds us, then the lovely caterwaul, Tart solo, sour duet and general squall, These are our hymn. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. INSPECT US Out of the clothes that cover me Tight as the skin is on the grape, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable shape. In the fell clutch of bone and steel I show my thoughts unshamed and proud. The forms of other actorines I put away into the shade; All of them flossy near blondines Find and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how straight the tape, Be good, sweet child, already you are clever. THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU O say, have you seen at the Willows so green- A Singular bird, with a manner absurd, Ever seen this Australian Emeu? It trots all around with its head on the ground, And the ladies all cry, when its figure they spy, Oh! do Just look at that lovely Emeu!" One day to this spot, when the weather was hot, And beside her there came a youth of high name- The two Both loved that wild foreign Emeu. With two loaves of bread then they fed it, instead Of the flesh of the white cockatoo, Which once was its food in that wild neighbourhood Where ranges the sweet kangaroo Old saws and gimlets but its appetite whet There's nothing so hard that the bird will discard, That you Can give that long-legged Emeu! The time slipped away in this innocent play, "Where's that specimen pin that I gaily did win Fortescue?" No word spoke the guilty Emeu! "Quick! tell me his name whom thou gavest that same, Ere these hands in thy blood I imbrue!" "Nay, dearest," she cried as she clung to his side, "I'm innocent as that Emeu!" "Adieu!" He replied, "Miss M. H. Fortescue!" Down she dropped at his feet, all as white as a sheet, He thought 'twas her sin-for he knew not the pin All through "I'm innocent as that Emeu!" No, I don't think it's very funny, either. "KULTURISED" POETRY Being a determined effort of the creative brain to respond during the excitement of a world war The little toy dog is covered with dust, Now I lay me down to sleep. In winter I get up at night, When stars are in the quiet skies; Yet, tho' thy smile be lost to sight, Look at me with thy large brown eyes. "Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest; Drink ye to her that each loves best-" When Jessie comes with her soft breast, My heart's right there! A fool there was, and he made his prayer, Too late for love, too late for joy; Wreathe no more lilies in my hair, Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! The rosy clouds float overhead, Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, "The time has come," the Walrus said, Singing of Mount Abora, BRET HARTE. I never saw a purple cow, Unthinking, idle, wild, and young; Along the garden ways just now, The accents of that unknown tongue. It was six men of Indostan, Weak and irresolute is man, "Catch her and hold her if you can," Said I to myself, said I. Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, In spring of youth it was my lot; That which her slender waist confined Should auld acquaintance be forgot! The white moth to the closing vine, In lands of palm and southern pine, Why bowest thou, O soul of mine? You're a better man than I am, When I was ten, and she fifteen, A rare old plant is the ivy green, Whither, O whither didst thou fly? Oh leave this barren spot to me, With little here to do or see, Who is Silvia? What is she? My mother. KENNETH F. H. UNDERWOOD. About the best of this sort. |