THE CITY BUILDERS.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume XXXIV, Issue 11127, 16 November 1907, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE CITY BUILDERS.

No more we build as they who built of old: Stone upon stone, m solemn order set, Prayer upon prayer; the gilded minaret, The sculptured spire, the stern defiant hold, Each slowly reared, to stand while years unfold. Then builders knew not haste, nor the keen fret That Spurs our toil, but all m patience met, They gave long lives to beauty long foretold. " " , We fling across the clouds a fabric sheer, Deep m the earth our hidden pillars drive; Lo, an adventure: towers to greet the night! ' The forces of the lightning and the mere Are slaves we conquer that bur dreams may thrive ; We rest : m wonder— but without de«i light. — Thonias Wood Stevens, m Cosmopolitan. THUS ENDETH THE FIRST LESSON.. I slipped my ring upon My Lady's finger . And she lifted up' her lips for me to kiss. All time, I thought,, would not be long to linger - 4 With such a.witchi Quite confident of bliss, x x - ■ •■- T * T ; I- offered lavish vows of Love's endurance — For I had doubted winning one so fair. But frbpi her hand my gem flashed reassurance. I had been wildly glad To put it there. My dainty minx was not content to . settle. ■■•"■■'■"' "' A dozen eager swains were m my way. The- -lively : chase first put me on rily mettle-^ Then staled a bit. I tired of the play. Ariother hand consoled my gloom extensive. ■«■■-" I found blue eyes an antidote for black. Sweethearts were plentiful— my gem expensive— •And I was wildly glad 'if y ■<"' To get' it back. ; ,TfiE CUP OF LIfR Of all tlie vintage m the world,; One single cup of wine, .One cup of life, one . cup of death, One destiny -is mine. , I'd not give up tlia,t special cup My fates "have .filled forytne For any "other m all' tinie , Of aU eternity. . T. • For m my time and m my place No foot lias Btoqdi before ; ; . '}&.y. taste of fortune., fine/ or base, T No lips can know of nioro. ' So, might I choose, I would not- lode For: nectared- draughts, divine'; This deep-spiced vintage here and now, In mine own place and time. Mine be the strength .to li£t it up In pride, drink full and free; And standing drain the mortal cup " My fates have poured for me. —Edith Wyatt, hi Appletqn's Magazine. --,-:. 'THE FISHERMAN. ' He.was.a lad of high degree; She was a. farmer's daughter; He came to fish the silver lay, Or did he come to court her ? T .. "Oh, angle where you will," quoth she; ;' "The little trout may swim to thee; ) But never think that you'll catch me." Yet where was that fair maiden born But felt her heart beat higher To gee a lordling- look forlorn > And beg tocOme anigli her? , T "Stray . nearer, if youi must," quoth she, .'.'Since 'tis an act of charity j . But ; never try to speak to me." The woodland ways are sweet audi green VI Under the summer weather. And through the dirigle, tlirough the dene, Go lx>y and girLtogether.--'lYou.held my hand-because," qiio-Jh she, "The stepping stones were slippery ; But now -I'm over, let it be." A heart that bums, a breast that sighs, Red lips with promise laden ; A pleading voice and bright brown eyes— ■ Alas, my pretty maiden ! ■ "Gan-Vuch a king' of men," quoth she, "Look dbwn to tyed Va. girl like me? Then T will trust riiy soul to thee!" She sits amid the yellow sheaves, That little farmer's daujgh'ter. ■'' I Or counts the scarlet cherry leaves Fall on the shining water. **Red ledves and river deep," quoth she, ''Come hide my tear-worn hear£, for he • Hath broken and forgotten mei 7 ' — E4en Phillpotts.