Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 6, 10 February 1909, Page 44

Verse Old and New

The Perfect Raconteur. (An astonishing Incident on Hie High Seas.) •This tempest’s fearful howlin', and this thunder's frightful roar, Combined with this here boomin’ of them breakers on that shore. And taken with yon creakin’ in the riggin’ in the gale, Reminds me of a singularly interestin' tale.” r J *«pak<‘ Dave Snuggles, skipper of the schooner Sally Chubb. ut out the narrative,” 1 urged, “and navigate this tub.” In vain [ spoke—he heard me not—far, far away he glanced. And (while both masts came crashing down) he dreamily romanced: “Twas on a moonlit tropic night, 'way back in ’B2, A starlit night ” (just here a wave washed overboard our crew) — “A night of soulful balminess ” “Look out!” I screamed in fright. •‘There's rocks ahead!’’ “In short.” he said, “it was a lovely night.” “Ami as T sat upon the deck, one finger on the wheel " (Zip, zip! I heard a jagged rock tear through the Sally's keel.) “I spied a mermaid swimmin' near—( the Sal here broke in two) — “A graceful cuss ** ( here both of us into the water blew.) “She kissed her hand to me, she did, and vow! but she was trim.” •‘Forget the mermaid, Dave.”- I yelled, ’’and swim, you jackass, swim!” Then doggedly I kicked and stroked and struggled for my life. “Said 1." Dave gurgled, almost spent, “dear mermaid, be my wife.” •‘And she”—(his voice was weakening)—• ’’and she —she murmured ‘Dave,’ *‘ - (here he fouled a floating spar and swallowed half a -wave) — “‘l'm highly flattered, David, and in answer I would say •‘‘That’”—(David Snoggles vanished in an avalanche of spray.) •‘ ‘l’ll be your wife on one condish’— i Dave popped up from the sea) — ‘And that's—(he bounded toward the stars in foam-flecked majesty) — ‘That—that'—(straight toward the depths he sank, whilst upward I was bound > — “That —that—O Lord! That— What?” 1 roared. “That—that'”—here Davy drowned.) And T Alas! they rescued me. Would that my aching bones Had sunk with Davy Snoggles to the lair of Davy Jones. For though all day 1 ask: “That—• What?*’ no’answer can 1 find. Am! hence 1 fear my death is near, or— Rats! There goes my mind! —'Diomas R. Ybarra, in the ’’Times.” © © © Rondel. Because of y<>u the world is fair to-day, Ro&c-grey and amber glows transfuse my skies; Your laughter trills as rippling waters play— All heave n, divinely blue, i s in your eyes! Because yon drove monotony away J toss’d to every wind my weary sighs— D•i.ui.M- of you tin* world is fair to-day, k< -<■ grey and amber glows transfuse my skies. Om-e I was sad- ’twas you who made mt gay, F.nh moment brought a newly, sweet siirpri.se! Now <an 1 look into your eyes and say, Al hough the violet's glory fades and dies, ••Because of yon the world is fair today, Rose-grey and amber glows transfuse my skies!” W.M.W.

Bohemia: A Lesson in Geography. On the north it is bounded by mountains <>i* Fame. On the south by the Valley of Tears, On the west by the mystical Highlands of Hope, On the east by the Forest of Fears. Its products are laurels and oats—wild oats; Its minerals gold of the heart; And its natives are known l»y the rents in their coats. While the name of its ruler is Art. The tongue of its people is simple to learn: Their chief words are “borrow” and “lend” “Technique” and ‘idea,” “broke,” “dinner” and “beer,” “Love,” “wine,’’ and “to-morrow” and “friend.” The national hymn is a song of good cheer, I'he national flower, heartease; The national emblem, a tankard of beer, And its motto is. “Do as you please!” Its latitude? Some says it lies in the zone That runs from the heart to the head; For its day just begins, when respectable folk Are quietly going to bed. No laws guard its ports from the stranger without. Would a wanderer enter? He may! Yet, though wide be the world, it is only the few’ Have succeeded in finding the way. Would you go? Take a train at the town, Dream-of-Fame. Or a ship at the port of Don’t Care, Sail or ride for a day, through the Widening Way, And at Poverty land. You are there. Put up at the hostelry, Cheap Table d’Hot e, Where the prince and the pauper may dine, And forget all your ills, all your sorrows and bills, In the national -nectar, Red Wine. 'Tis a wonderful draught, full of bubble-o'-dreams, This draught of the surcease-of-sor-row; So drink to that rare land, that work-wait-and-dare land, Bohemia—Land of To-morrow! HELEN ROWLAND. © © © A. Maiden. Brown and slim and lissome, Sup pie- limbed and wild— Something less than woman, Something more than child—• Toss the dusky glory Of thy wayward hair, Round thine eyes alluring, Lest they should ensnare. Half a woodland spirit, Half a mortal maid, Half a thing oj sunlight, Halt a thing of shade; If I run to meet thee, Throw mine'arms around, Wilt thou not elude me Soon as thou art found? Soul of running water (dimmers hi thine eye— Flashes of the daydawn, Deeps of summer sky. Jn thy voice is music Won from whispering bowers, Ami thy breath is fragrant , With the breath of flowers. Fain would J resist thee, Toss the spell away, Laugh at they bewitchment, Ridicule thy sway. Vain is the resisting; Thou hast conquered quite, With thy charms of sunshine And thy lure of night.