Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIV, Issue 4, 26 January 1910, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

The Civilised. ©UR parting was in peace. Another day Shall mark our courteous greeting—even so. Have we not learned that still the easier way Is wiser far to go? The times have made us what we are; we crowd Beneath a placid brow a thought uncouth. Only to those untutored is allowed The privilege of truth. The generations that went quietly Have left their mark upon us, and, in turn, Our passions know that tame civility Caged animals must learn. Before one’s host should be disturbed a jot (So runs the code) we turn with easy m ien To clasp the dank hand of Iscariot Rather than make a scene. And so to-day my hand touched yours the while You knew what right it had, as well as I. To dash from off your mouth its fawning smile And brand and burn its lie. ’Tis well, no doubt, that careful training grips The throat of honesty. Yet well you knew Baek of the civil greeting on my lips The name that fitted you. And so we part in peace to meet again With gracious words —no doubt the wiser way— Yet, once upon a time, the world bred men, Not mummers in a play. Theodosia Garrison.

A Peevisb Plaint. The learned writers for tne press Are very, very good At proving how we waste On dress On furbelows or food. Each writer new who makes his bow With other sages vies To show unhappy mortals how They may economise. They tell us of the thrifty French, Who aill excesses shun. But I’m not anxious to retrench; It isn’t any fnu. I’m weary of this endless song; I wish some seer wise Would show us how to get along And not economise. © © © A Song in Exile. Oh, they that leave their fathers’ land, new friends and homes to find them. They turn their faces to the sea, but "leave their hearts behind them. Their hearts lie buried in the fields, along the blackthorn hedges, Beside the brooks where rushes cool crowd close about the edges. They’re rooted in the holy soil, the "green soil, of the sireland. Who turn their faces to the West must leave their hearts in Ireland. The West is wide and rich and free, a grand land—but a cold land. I hunger for the warmth of love that’s found but in the old land. I hunger for the linnet’s song across the sunlit spaces, I want the sights and sounds of home, the dear familiar faces. At twilight how the heart stirs —when the angelus is calling, And on the misty Irish fields the silver dew is falling!

Asthore maehree! The sea’s between, and foreign skies are o’er me, But in the night I feel my heart throb in the land that bore me. I feel it beating strong beneath the shamrocks and the mosses, It clings about my people's bones beneath the Irish crosses. It calls and calls across the sea, to come home to the sireland, The hunted hills, the singing winds, the smiling skies of Ireland. -—Marie Conway Oemler. © © © Unlawful Speed. "The charge against you,” said the magistrate, "Is that of walking at a furious rate. “ ’Tis further charged against you that last night You trod the public streets without a light. “Four miles an hour upon the public way Is most preposterous; what have you to say ?” “Please, sir,” the pedestrian said, “Without a light because my oil was spent. “But surely this policeman here will tell That I did not neglect to ring my bell.” “Sir,” quoth the magistrate, in tones quite gruff, ‘Simply to ring your bell was not enough. “We are resolved, let me again repeat, To protect autos in the public street. “Only last week a couple was much hurt By an unlucky child who did a ‘spurt.’ "The car was blood-stained, and its front destroyed; The garage company was much annoyed. “We must protect our autos, if we can, Against the reckless, bold pedestrian. "Fine: Ten pounds and costs, sir!—your defence is vain, And never walk without your light again! ” Amy R. Miller.

The Perfectly Proper Tarty. She was always very proper in a hijtft, proper way. She could not forgive a woman who would ride a horse astride; She would never show her ankles on a rainy, sloppy day, In her very proper mode of life she took a proper pride; She would never think of looking at a man the second time If a formal introduction had not taken place before; In her solemn, sober judgment flirting was an awful crime, And she blushed to even think about the underclothes she wore. She was always highly proper in her manners and her dress, It shocked her to hear people speak about the “naked truth”; In heir opinion chairs had “limbs”; it gave her deep distress To think that men could sometimes be immodest and uncouth. When the doctor asked to see her tongue she very nearly swooned, She was always on the lookout for a shock where’er she went; Because of what co:..posed the strings whereby the thing was tuned She thought the violin was not a proper instrument. She often said if angels wore no clothing in the skies She hoped she wouldn’t have to go tc heaven when she died; She preferred some lonely planet where, with plenty of supplies, She might in decent raiment lie possessed of proper pride; But the night the conflagration started in the flat next door She forgot that being proper was the only thing worth while, And was carried down a ladder from about the seventh floor With nothing much upon her but a mighty thankful smile

S. E. Kiser.