VERSE OLD AND NEW

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 15, 13 April 1907, Page 27

VERSE OLD AND NEW

The Beggar. It snows, snow* white, and in the cold there prays Au aged crone; on the church steps she kneels; Her cloak. in tatters, in the cold blast sways. *Tis for her bread that she to us appeals. .'This church well knows her, ragged and alone In winter’s days or summer-time Indeed; Sightless_and poor, alas’ she makes her moan. - - . . • Ah! give the alms of which she is in need. Who this old creature was you may no r know. So worn and thin, with scanty hair so gray the greatest theatre; also, In former times our finest songstress gay. Young gallants raved of her in former years, To win her favour no restraint would heed. But dreamed or wooed, in happiness ct tears. Ah’ give the alms of which she is in need. How often then, when at the playhouse door, She' from her carriage saw the gazing crowd Awaiting there in masses to adore The actress whom they cheered with “Bravos” Vo'ud, Then, at her porch to hand her to her chair, .Which to some’haunt of pleasure soon would speed, How many rivals strove to show their care.’ Ah! give the alms of which she is in need. frowned as she was. by every form of art, ■She dwelt in wealth and riches for a while, For crystals, bronzes, statues, did in part, As gifts, from love to love, her time beguile. Iler banquets gay fair-weather friends endeared. To seek good cheer and pleasure all agreed; .The swallows from the house-eaves disappeared. Alt! give 'the alms of which she is in need. Sad dreams, alas! for illness changed those days; Her voice wqs lost, and then—her eyes ' went bl hid £ ’ Poor and aloifo, she fell to beggars’ ways; For twenty yonrs she’s asked churcYgoers kiiiifc .When rich, her purse was open for the seeking, \ .. To help the needy always was her creed; Her open hand' is quaveringly speaking. Ah! give the akns of which she is in need. O misery! Have pity! O how cold One feels! Iler fingers, frozen in the blast, ■The rosary itself •■an scarcedy hold (She might have smiivd at such in days long past). Poor, old, and wretched, she, in her sai’ plight. Still calls on God to hear His daughter plead; For faith so great, illumining her night. Ah! give the alms of which she is in need. A. FRANCIS STEFA KT. (From the French of Beranger.) © © © The Real Friends. Call him my friend who seeks me in my den -> •' ' For quiet chats which light the weary day; Call him twice friend who knows exactly To go away. Call him my friend whose voice is always free In my defence when critics’ words are rough; Call him- twice friend who understands when he Has said enough. Call him my friend who comes, in smilii.* faith, • For my assistance when the clouds are - 'lilac!:. ‘ Call him thrice friend—though he Is but a wraith— Who pays me back! © © © My Skip. ,Qh, the ship I sing Is,the ship of night; Its ’ masts are black and its black sails ' <’■ furled. * 1 II carries my lo.ver away .from mo, So slow, so slow o’er a murky sea, ’Away, j away over the rim of the world. Oil, the days I sing are the long, long days Which the billows of life at my feet have ' . hurled. Will my heart be heavy forevermore — So lone, so lone on a desolate shore, While .1 watch, watch over the rim of the ’ World? .;oh, the ship I sing is a ship of light, With tall white masts and with sails fmt pearled. It is bringing my lover back to me So fast/ so fast o’er a dancing, sea. 1 kavo seen it come? over the rim of Hui — world. —Florence L. Patterson.

Spanish Serenader’i Soug. (From Don Quixote.) Love’s mariner am I. And in its waters deep, Hopeless of making my port. Sail ba veil less for aye. Following a star I go. That from afar 1 spy. More bright than all that gleams. That I'alinurus saw. And so bet witched; I steer. Where guided knowing not, My watchful gaze upon the star With heedless soul intent. O clear and shining star, <> light that leads me on,. The bearing deathward points That from me hides thy face. By FRANK 11. RICHMOND. © © © Singer and Song. A singer sang his little song From all the world apart; He cared not for a listening throng, But sang because his heart .Was full of music as- a bird’s. And oftentimes- ran o’er His lips in sweet ami simple words That none had heard before. A weary traveller passed that way, And heard the cheery strain. It followed him through all the day, And lingered in his brain. And sometimes on his way ho sang The song that cheered him so. Till far and wide the echoes rang Across the vales below. Ab, little dreamed the man who sang Ills little song that day. That to the world his voice outrang In such a deathless lay. His grave is green upon the bill; He lived and died unknown. But all the world is singing still The song the ages own. t© © © c The Motor Driver. Under a crimson car The motor driver sprawls. A very mighty man is he. Yet like a worm he crawls: And first at this he takes a tug. And then at that he hauls. He’s covered, o’er with dust and dirt His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with oil and sweat* lie does whate’er ho can. . And tinkers with most ev’ry place— A very desperate man! And children coming home from school , Look at him on the ground; They love to see him lying there. They love to hear him pound; And then at last they see hrm rise, And then the wheels 2o round. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus, at the motor car of lift* Our fortunes must be wrought. We have to do much tinkering - Though of a cliff* rent sort. © © © The Hostler’s Complaint. Now* wot’s to come of ’osscs I du uno. And wot’s to come of mo’s another question. First came them cycles always on the go, The very sight perdooces indigestion. You can’t say •‘click.” and then you can’t say “whoa,” They don’t want groomin’ and they don’t waul shooin’. And them rhoomatic tyres what makes’ cm SO .Luxurious like it all means otir.undoin’. Ami that’s not all, an even rummer staii They next in wonted, called an . autoinubblc. Where parafeen is *a messed to a cart,, To save perhaps the ’uss and ostler t rubble. Lord! ’osses soon will only be in circusses, ■ And if’ you want an ostler- try the work usses. © © © Tke Year One, A.D.G.R. Old Point? We were there all through April. Bar Harbour? Struck that In .Tidy. Cape May? Stopped off in September — So stupid we thought we should die. Virginia Hot Springs? Spent October And part of November down there; We are leaving next week for the Windwards. Came over last night from Belle Air. I think we shall go to Bermuda. Coming bark by Jamaica, perhaps, Abd we’ll try to drop in qt Biloxi— Is there anything else on flic maps? • After dad (gof rich. ’ ’ - - S. E. Kiser in “Life.”