AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7847, 8 July 1911, Page 12

AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE

Horace in Scots. In the ncen'lv published Edinburgh .Anthology of Scottish verso. Sir Gooige Douglas quotes from the poems of .lames login Robertson ("Hugh Ualeburtou ), whoso work, lie says, “has already taken, r/uik as a ('lassie iu Scotland. ft Mr I\o- - imitations of Horace are. dolight.nl. What could be better t urn his play with the tlieme "Non on-ms inoriarr”— Ta vain the future snaps his fang«. ; The tyke may rage—be cauna wrung a, I put my haund upon ,'my saugs AVithoot n swithcr; To me this monument belangs, X need uae ithor. It’s no in granite to endoor, Sandstano comes ripplin’ dcon the stoor, jMarble-rit canna stand the shoo’r, It last nao time; Thei-e’s naethiug yet has hauf th© poo’r O’-silly rhyme. When at my door the hears© draws up, •An, Kate hauuds roun’ the dirgy-cnp, Nac friend o’ mine will tak’ a sup For that the less; But'calmly, wi’ a steady grup, Cowp owr© his glass. The better pairt o’ mo remains! AVhanr Allc-u Walter wcots the plains. An’ Devon, crystal but for rains. Gangs wanderin’ wide. Lang after me yo’U hear my strains On Ochilside. To the Rescue. They tell ns the bankers ore regular cankers Who eat out the heart of the land; That all the reformers are atmosphere warmers Who lie iu-a manner most bland: They say that tho teachers are frauds, and the preachers Are all of them out for tho dust; 'Which leads us to clamor—’mid din from tho hammer— Well, who in the world can wo trust? We’re told that the Bihio is merely a tribal And doubtful old legend or myth; That history’s listed with things that aro twisted, . . That Shakespeare is lacking m pith; That all of tho., papers aro. given to capers Which seem mrvofacious indeed; Thai: books are confusion—a sna.ro and delusion — AVcli, what in the world shall wo read? They say it’s no mission to play politician. That law is a profitless trado; That music or writing or baseball or, lighting Aro not to be lightly essayed: _ To livo,.at your leisure 1 , is "xdlo-rjch. pleasure’,” ' To dig in a ditch is taboo; And therefore we very expectedly query: "Well, w:bat in tho world can wd do?” lay, who's to he trusted? Try me, X am busted, — ’ I’ll care for your money and such; And as for your reading—well, I am conceding 1 My books have been praised very much; And as for your labor, why,' hero you. are, neighbour,— To do as you please you are free. Providing you’re ready to keep at it steady— And give half the profits to met —Berton Braley, in "Puck.” The Tailor. Cross-legged in a low tailor’s den, gasping for breath— , The gas flaring—doors and windows tight shut—the thick sick- atmosphere; Tho men in their shirt sleeves, with close heat ffom-the, stove, and smell of sweat, and of tho cloth; stitching, stitching. 13 hours a day, no set time for meals— 1 , , ■,, Hitching, cross stitching, button-holing, binding. ' ~ , ~ , Silk twist, cotton twist, black thread, .white thread, gloating, felling, pressing, damping, Baieting, seaming,; opening seams, ran. tering, ‘ , V’ith sore- eyes, sick, sick at heart and furious, ' In the low tailor’s , den he sits. —Edward Carpenter. .