WITH THE BARDIC CLAN.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 6678, 28 November 1908, Page 5

WITH THE BARDIC CLAN.

There are long, slow overtures before Such bursts of Song; much tension unconfessed, Much training ant* much tuning—years compressed. Concentrated in overfilling store; Till thoughts that surged in secret deep below. Rise from volcanic fount in sudden overflow. —F. R. Havergalk TWO THINGS I KNOW Two things I know more tender Than springs in Arctic clime. Than bluebells in November, Thau berries in the rime; Than laugh of baby in cloister. Than fonts in desert soil; The joy of those who suffer. The rest of those who toil. Two things T know more sacred Than blossoms sprung from graves, Than stains of gold or purple In depths of glooming naves. Than shrines in marts of traffic. Than livmns in battle broil: The joy of those who suffer. The rest of those who toil. . O. W. FIRKINS. BY THE BEACH Oh, the salt wind in my nostril s\ And the white sp.il in the creek I And the blue beyond the marshes! And the flag at the peak! Mr soul lifts to the bugles. Of a far call on the breeze— The cry of my storm-kin calling Overseas, overseas! Blow horns of the old sea-rapture.! When voiir call comes so, afar. I would rise from the grave to Teach you Whore the sea-dooms are. RICHARD HOVBY. THE CHINA CRUCIFIX In the land of counters and and shelves, where the bluish arc lights hum. And store-stuffs wait, in showcase state, as the gazers go and come; Where, jangling still, the busy till ticks the plodding moments on, Ere a dusty pr.ll has shrouded all, and the throbbing day is done. In this land of counters and shelves and aisles, a folk of merry mien. On a corner shelf, by a row of delf, 'mid the porcelain is seen; Senoras pert, and a gypsy flirt, and a fiddling- troubadour, A milkmaid blithe, a harlequin lithe, and a vivandiere demure. There's a chubby china cherub, too, with old rococo looks, And Hans and Gretchen hand in hand, clog-shoon, and baggy frocks. In this land of counters and shelves and aisles, on the shelf where the statuets stand. There's a crucifix, too, of tawdry blue, a Christ with nail-pierced But the dust is spread on the drooping head, and the red-limned wounds are dim. And the shop-worn Christ is half the price of the things that encircle Him. O Han of woe, in the long_ ago, when the crosses crowned the hill. Your throne of pain was a symbol plain of love that triumphs still. For (hough rears have sped since His blood was" shed, yet the shabby cross ‘again ■ In the busy store speaks the love of yore, the love of a Man for men. C. H. LYTTLE. A MITESH’S SONG Pittertv! Patterty! Pitterty! Pum! My da wife's no dorty an' couldna look Hemoenerie, sheenerie, aye glinted bricht Sin' e'er the wee queenorie cam' to daylicht. Sleekcrio, cheekerie, sweet as a rose, Coutherie mootlierie, gentle wee nose, Huuncrios gaunerie fiittertie flock. An' wee leggic-peggies as firm as a rock. Vogie, wee roguie, my mensefu’ wee miss Cam* to oor biggin* a' in it to bless; To equal oor dawfcie,’sae blythesome ~i an' braw, - 5 . i Your Aggies and. Maggies are naewhaur ava! Pittertv! Patterty! Pitterty! Pum! Blaw your wee trumpio an* rattle your drum. Tell Mam a story or sing a bit sang. ■lthcot yo she’d weary sair a* the day lang. . ' Daddio’s ain dearie, an’ dawtit wee dame. .Toy o' his he'rtie an' licht o' his name. To fin’ me a marrow folk dunket alloo ’Mang Lotties an’ Tottics they’d ne’er warslo through.' Baffin’ sae, laughin’ sae, lissom wee lass, . Nae ither bairn could oor bairn surpass; Awa’ frae oor weanie, sae winsome an’ wee. Your Hetties an’ Netties could neer bure the greel Pitterty! Patterty! Pitterty! Puml To the door creopio an’ watch Baddxo come. Gie him a cheenie frae cherry woe rami’. For wow! but your Daddie’s gano gyte aboot you; He lippens ye’ll grow up a sonsie bit queen, Bingin’ lads donnart wi’ blinkin’ blue een; But he maun be bonnie—an’ guid as he s braw*. Or we let ony lad won ye awa’. Dancin’, sne, glancin’ sae, ne’er was the like Sweeter than hinnie just brocht frae the byke, There’s no sic a fairy ’mang doohters o’ men, Be’t Meenie, or Tecnie, or Jeanie, or Jen. Pitterty! Patterty! Pitterty! Pum! Was that the Bogieman skirled down the lum? Steek your wee winnocks, keep quate,as a moose, : • I’ll toll him to gang on to some ither hoose — "Hey, man! are ye seekin’ a waukrifo we© wean ? Ye’ll get ane jist down at the fit o’, the lane. ' : . J Oor Jessie’s soun’ sleepin’—on’ ’oor -.ain an’ mair, ' ' gang awa’ Bogieman dinna screech there.” Kceperle sleoperie, leesome wee lamb, Coserie boserie cuddle to Mam; Some day it may be—Gude guide you weel through— Your ainie wee weanie’ll cuddle to you! ROBERT HOGG.