Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 4, 27 July 1907, Page 34

Verse Old and New

The Axeman. He bears a cunning lightning in his hand That smites the broad, green verdure from the hand; Lean down, thou soaring giant of the hills. To him that kills. To him that comes with steel that gnaws and bites Into the ancient aisles of semi-lights; The ravager of ancient forestries r And hoary monarchies. He walks between the butts, and rings them round, He cuts communion with the nether ground; He gloats to see, in every myriad branch, The high heads blanch. The tall and straight, he eats into their girth And brings their long stupendous bulk to earth; They thunder down, and soon are , hacked and cleft 1 Till nought is left. Yet he. that bears the haft within his hand. And smites the ancient tenants of the land, Shall by an Axeman of a wider plane Himself be slain.

The Original Figure 8. If people when on Life’s highway should halt and foolishly look back, They’d note with" grief that day by day their steps had,made a zigzag track. The dust of travel there would show that, while convinced of walking straight, They reel’d about so all might know their course ran like the figure 8. lAnd in the years to come when men proceed along that trampl’d road On which, before them, walking straight at least in thought, their forbears strode. They’ll smile to see the giddy gait of those now sleeping on Time’s shelves, And the dust of Life's old highway make some figure eights themselves.

Old China. (With apologies to Tennyson.) Break, break, break, At the hands of my maids, ah me! And ’tis well that I do not utter The thoughs that rage inwardly. Oh! well for the the sixpenny plaque That it hangs untouched on the wall, Oh! well for the vase that one buys at bazaars, That never is known to fall. While the “Lowestoft” bowls go “bang,” And the “Wedgwood” ware is crash’d, And ’tis O for the touch of the “Crown Derby” cups And the eight of the “Sevres” they’ve , smash'd! Break, break, break, At the hands of my maids, ah me! But the little there’s left of the china 1 love Shall be kept under lock and key.

Mr. Fepya’a Diary. A.D. 1907. January 1. 2T)>>s morning I ilrop|H'<l in at May's And had a game of bridge. 'At Fan’s to lunch, and afterward A little game of bridge. To-night we entertained at home— A dinner; later, bridge, Cooked supper in the chafing-dish, * And finished up with bridge. ia— (Jtepeat 364 timee.J,

He'll Change His Mind. I have no doubt of happiness Since Araminta has consented. We’ll get along first rate, I guess, Our bliss can hardly be prevented. They tell me that she cannot cook, Knows nothing of the housewife’s duty, But I can always sit and look At her incomparable beauty. Things cannot possibly go wrong When such a paragon I capture, Our life will be one grand, sweet song Of unremitting joy and rapture. At ill-cook’d food I’ll never storm Howe’er it may deserve my stricture, When I can wateh her fairy form Jn poses pretty as a picture. What eare I if the soup is cold, Or if the hash is overseason’d’ Her hair will still be gleaming gold, Her eyes still azure, so I’ve reason’d. A lover fond as true as I A lunch or dinner never misses, So if we can’t have meat and pie We’ll do with bread and cheese and kisses.

A Song of Bridge. You speak of a game called, by courtesy, “Bridge,” Which is played by all sorts of society. There is high Bridge and low Bridge, and good Bridge and bad Bridge— In fact, quite an endless variety!. There’s the Bridge which is played by a partner not wise, Who forgets what arc trumps, and looks up at the skies; . , He never holds cards, never how he tries- — Now, that is the game which is called “Bridge of Sighs.” , Again, there’s the man who dop’t know his own mind; He scratches his head, and his forehead is lined; Then he plays the wrong card with slow condescension— This is the kind known as “Clifton Suspension.” We all know the man with his hand full of trumps, Who plays ’em all wrong, and his par'd gets the dumps; He’s afraid he may lose, though the points are a penny— This game is known as “Bridge of the Menai.” Now, I trust you'll forgive this description so hasty, And don’t wish to say the least thing which is nasty; But the Bridge which you play with such want of decorum Is commonly known as “The Pons Asinorum-”

Boy and Girl. A boy and a girl—l think I see them stand Upon a little strip of yellow sand, Barelegged and merry-eyed—the sunflecked sea Circles in eddies round that swirl and flee. Then with a laugh they take their splashing way Baek to the land. And standing in the shingles hand in hand, They eager watch their wistful little strand, Submerged at last by the besieging sea. A boy and girl. Long since have crossed the fateful borderland, Urged on by Time’s importunate command, And smilingly sadly that such things must be, They watch the world of waters booming free Above the pleasant, bygone wonderland —. — . Of B O y and GirL