ESSAYS IN VERSE

Evening Post, Volume LXXXI, Issue 47, 25 February 1911, Page 13

ESSAYS IN VERSE

BALLAD OF GOOD COMRADES. Oh, up the hill and down the dale The autumn breezes blow, And gold and scarlet on the gale The ripe leaves whirling go? The year is drawing to its close, The garden flowers are dead, But who forgets the summer's rose When Summertime has fled? The wind of fate will blow away The years that come to all. The rose of youth is fair to-day How soon its leaves will fall ! O, dreams that perish all too soon Sweet with the hopes unsung, ' Can we forget life's happy June, The days when we were young? Good comrades of the morning-time It nears the afternoon. ' When life's brief day has passed its prime The sunset comes full Boon. But friendship's fire is burning yet To keep G|ut twilight's cold,° And we — we never will forget The friends we loved of old ! — Eben E. Rexford. "Pansies and Rosemary." THE SEA-MOTHER. Borne on the_ night wind wailing over tho sleeping land Comes the voice of the olc^ Sea-mother to those who -understand. I "Ye have wandered far, my children, ye have left me long alone, But I wait with a patience eternal, for I can not lose my own. My hand has been laid upon you, my seal is set on your brow; Mine ye shall be in the ending though ye flout and scorn mo now. Long have I waited your coming, unheeding the passing of years, While ye toiled in the busy city' for bread made bitter with tears, But over the strife of the city ye ehall hear at the last my cry, And back when the night is falling ye shall creep to my arms to die. Powerless shall fall and helpless the arms of the jealous land When you hear my voice through the darkness and listen and understnnd." Prince and pauper and peasant, in prisons or stately halls, Restless they turn on their pillows when the old old "Sea-mother calls. — Marjorie Charles Driscpll. Outing Magazine. SHAME. I was ashamed, I dare not lift my eyes, I could not bear to look upon the skies! What I had done, sure, everybody knew. From everywhere hands pointed where I had stood, And scornful eyes were piercing through and through ' The moody armour of my hardihood. I heard their voices, too — each word a wasp That buzz'd and stung me sudden as a flame ; And all the world was jolting on my name, And now and then I heard a wicked rasp Of laughter, jarring me to creeper shame. And then I looked, and there was no one nigh, No eyes that stabbed like swords or glinted sly ; No laughter creaking on the silent air And then I found that I was all alone Facing my soul, and next I was aware That this mad mockery was all my own. — James Stephens. London Nation. THE LYTTEL BOY. Some time there ben a lyttel boy That woldfj not rcmito und play, And helpless like that lyttel tyke Ben allwais in the way. "Goc, make you merrie with the rest," His weary mother cried ; But; with a frown he catcht her gown And hong untill her 6ide. That boy did love his moder well, Which spaike him faire. I ween; He loved to stand and hold her hands And ken her with his een; His oosset bleated in tho croft, His toys unheeded lay, — He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, Ben allwais in the \yay. Godde loveth children and doth gird His throne with sooho as these, And he doth smile in plaisaunce while They cluster at his knees; And some time, when he looked on earth And watched the bairns at play, He keened A-ith joy v, lyttel boy Ben allwais in the way. And then a moder felt her heart How that it ben to-torne, > She kissed eche day till she ben gray The shoon he use' to wore ; No bairn let hold untill her gown Nor played upon the floore,— Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy Ben in the way no more ! Argonaut. —Eugene Field.