AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1204, 29 March 1895, Page 9

AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

IN SALAD DAYS.

ORIGINAL VERSE. " Tempus erat dapibus, sodales." —Horace. Fling the dewy wind-drops high and drown all care and sorrow, From the grape of Gascon culture fond oblivion borrow; Though she prove a jade to beggars Chloe smiles upon the bold, Time was when we laughed and sported ere the heart 'gan growing cold. In the early dawn of manhood Hope flushed rosy red and high, Light we recked that with the seasons cherished idols had to die. Loves have left us, parents parted ; yellow dross took wings and fled ; Scorn frowns on the broken-hearted, wishing that they might be dead. Yet are times when, half forgetting what we suffer here to-day, Banished care and demon fretting yield to Bacchus' kingly sway. Let me drink to Lady Clara, her I worshipped fondly so, Bicher, prouder, dearer, fairer, than all else I used to know. How my feeble pulses tingle as the living picture comes ; I can hear her bracelets jingle at a hundred swellish " drums." When the lights burned low and softly, after all the fev'rish rout, I lay mutely pleading raercy half in hope and half in doubt. Hope P A fool had fared far better with the . pouting pettish '* belle," Hard that I had ever met her } for I loved &er passing well,

Let it g! o f though aaons fly me, yet I'll feel & mad regret; Mad, because she's ever nigh me, ling'ring in my mem'ry yet. No, I'll drink to other torments —here's to Jim, my gallant horse; One that bore me happy moments in the field and on the course. Draw the table 'neath the pine trees, let me dream beside the lake, Drinking to the deepest wine lees, mem'ries. I can ne'er forsake. How can I forget the hour when we cantered past the stand, Leading all the choicest flower of the horseflesh in the land? And the thund'ring cries and clapping as we flew the six-foot wall,' Over fences all were rapping hard, and landing with a fall. Gone are home and hunting stable, gone are loves and friends <of yore ;. She is clothed in silk and sable ; I am weary, worn and sore.' ; Yet, though far from scenes biTpleasure, when the sun is shining high, Loafing where each hour is leisure, I can hear the distant cry. Like the roar of guns in battle, like the boom. of waves in storm, I can hear the hoof .strokes-rattle round me when the pace was warm ; And the blue lake seems to quiver mistily and blurred and dim, As the satins used to shiver when I made my call on Jim ; . And the rustling, kauri branches seem to whistle in my ear Like the whip strokes on the haunches of the fav'rite in the rear. Then a dark cloud swiftly chases 'cross the bright disc of the sun, And there comes a sea of faces round me when the race was won. All the present care is banished ; backward looks my mind again, To the past for ever vanished in a mist of tears. and pain. Down the table, silver plated, covered with the crest ' ' Ich dien,'' I can see the men we feted rise to " Mr Vice— The Queen "c; . - •» And the band bursts loud and bravely, as with brimming goblets high Every English soldier gravely flings her anthem to the sky. Why disturb me ? Let me linger happier in an empty dreamj< ; . Where I hear a, voiceless singer chant beside a haunted stream. -; Fill the flagon, drinking, dreaming, let my soul grow glad again, Till the morning star is beaming, then let slumber conquer pain. —Fabian De Lisle. Palmerston North, March 9th.

; TO MY DARLING. Yes, it was thee, darling, Who first won my heart, And since I have met thee From thee I'd ne'er part. The leaves in the autumn May fall from the trees, Be sundered and driven • By each passing breeze; But like to the ivy My hopes cleave to thee, My soul loves thee only, Clings only to thee. As day's golden dawning Thou'rt light to mine eyes, Thy sweet smile is daily The sun of my skies. Which sets for me only When thou'rt not near, \ When far from thee —lonely— I sigh for thee, dear. Should sorrow o'ertake me To darken my way, My soul in its misery For one boon would pray : To have thee, its treasure, Near by and to cheer, To feel for its anguish By dropping a tear. One word from thee, darling, Of thee one fond sight Can bring to me gladness And to day turn my night. —A. M. CALiiAN, in the St. George Journal, '■ Philadelphia. GOD KNOWETH BEST. " God knoweth best "—His deep, full gaze Bends on our broken lives. He sees the shadow in the sorrow-ways, 'Midst which the spirit strives. O sad soul, care opprestStill God knows" best. " God knoweth best " —O take the healing hand, And hold it trustful still, The sunbeams break across the darkened land, And shadow-valleys fill. Here is thy goal—thy quest; And God knows best. Jennings Carmichael, in the Australasian.