BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 2, Issue 330, 17 October 1908, Page 12

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

VERSES OLD AND NEW.

A THOUGHT. If all the harm that women hat# done Were put in a bundle and rolled into one, Earth would not hold it, The sky could not enfold it, It could not be lighted or wanned by th* ma. Such masses of evil "Would puzzle the devil, And keep him in fuel while Time's wheels nua,

But if all tho harm thafs been done by men Were doubled find doubled and doubled again. And. melted and fused into vapour and then Were squared and raised to the power of ten, There wouldn't bo nearly enough, not near, To keep a small girl for a tenth of a year. —J. K. Stephen. MARATHON'S SONG., •.'From Greek to Roman brother the torch is handed on, .{The strident, busy ages are like a moment gone. • From Marathon', from Marathon, down dusty .' ■: modern lanes, iFrom Marathon there comes a cry, "Who saya the old faith wanes?" Nine leagues, nine leagues, a little more or under, Matters little how far—the plaudits roll like thunder. (3?rom Marathon, from Marathon,- down all the town-paved street, iFrom Marathon the olden 'fire goes shoeing younger feet. Nine leagues, nine leagues. Dorando's small of bnild. Matters little, big 6r small, for he's o' Bravo Men's Guild.

i®"rom Marathon, from Marathon, from Windsor into town, From Marathon you hear the cry come sounding centuries down. , Nine leagues, nina leagues. The last few yards to cover. Matters little if he crawls, so long as he gets over. ' "

'tfFrom Marathon, from Marathon, across the giddy track, .from Marathon the call sounds clear to bring his tired will back. . t Nine leagues, nine leagues. The press of feet behind. Matters littls that he's spent, and'bodysick, and blind.

(Prom Marathon, from Marathon, down modern lanes of pence, 'From Marathon there rings a cry, "Who saya the old fires cease?" Nine leagues, nine leagues. A little way to go.; ■ ' Matters little—for he's np! courage still at flow.

'From i Greek to Roman brother the torch is v handed on. ( JThe strident, busy ages are like a moment gone. —Halliwcll Sntcliffo, in the "Westminster . Gazette." ''ON TOUR ACCOUNT I SHALL NOT DIE." (Prom the Irish.) ' 0 woman shapely as the swan, On your account I shall not die; The men you've slain were trivial men, Not such as I! .Well shaped the breasts and smooth the skin, The cheeks are fair, the tresses free! And yet I shall not come to death God over me! ; IThose even brows, that' hair like gold, * „ '-ftoso languorous tones, that virgin way, And flowing limbs and rounded heel Slight men betray! Tliv spirit keen through radiant mien, thront and smiling eye'.Thy little palm and side like foam! I cannot die! , ! JO woman shapely as the swan, ■ In a cunning house hard-reared was I, And so, white breast and.well-shaped palm, . I shall not die. —Padriac Colum, in "The Nation." WALES. Oh, little" 'co^.try of my heart, ' Lying so far Beyond the sea, Far from, my land of birth apart, And yet 60 near in thought to me! Before I saw you with my eyes My spirit knew your valleys fair, .Watered by turf-brown streams, that rise Upon your mountains wild and bare. Tour mountains beautiful, and wild Where still the fairy people dwell,While I was but a, little child In mystic dreams I knew them well. For of your race a banished part Pines like a prisoned bird in me, Oh, little country of my heart, • Lying so far beyond the sea! Howells, in "Harper's Magazine."