Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 2, 13 July 1910, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

•The American Reporter's Envoy. HEN earth’s last paper is print- ■ ■ I ®d> and th® forms and the metal are cold, "When the newest scandal i» ancient, and the latest extra is sold We shall loaf—and, Lord, how we need it!—'with nothing at all to do Till the boss of the perfect paper shall call us to work anew. And then we shall work as we'd like to, each on his own machine, And the truth shall be in our copy and nothing shall intervene; We shall write real stories about them—■beggar and millionaire—■ For an editor keen and fearless, a paper that’s on the square. We shall work in a rush and a hurry, for that is the goodly Game, But we shall not dig in the gutter for stories of tilth and shame; And the copy-readers above us shall leave our “features” alone, And the stories that till the columns we shall recognise as our own! We shall have no fool assignments, no cruel missions of pain, - To torture the broken-hearted or blacken the sinner’s stain; We shall scoop and be scooped a-plenty, we shall love the flurry and noise, We shall fight with the business office and fuss with the copy-boys; But each of us shall be human, and each of us shall be free To write the thing as he sees it for the Paper That Ought To Be. —Berton Braley. ® ffi © The Hour Before the Dawn. The purple night-pall softly breathes, the veldt stirs in its sleep; The stars, with paling fires, essay their ebbing watch to keep;

O'er elumb’ring friends and watchful foe faint zephyrs croon their round; The ghostly hour before the dawn throbs dull with pulsing sound. (Before the sentry’s aching eyes dim shapes begin to loom; A thousand men seem gath’ring there, wrapt in that velvet gloom. Chill Fear is gnawing at his soul, but chillier still the clasp On steel-tipp'd rifle grimly held within his guardian clasp. ****. * * * * Hark! What is that? Do muffled oars upon the river ride? ’Tis but the plash of rising fish that herald morning-tide. And whence that light? A firefly’s flare that skims the gaining breeze. A mounted man? The “Cossack post” beneath yon clump of trees. How long, O Lord, how long, until the sun, that set so red Last night upon the battle field, once more shall lift his head? How Jong before his warming rays shall give the new day breath, And light the waiting world again—to Life—perchance to Death ? Far better, far, the Mauser’s roar, the pom-pom’s yapping bark, The bellow of the Creusot, than this waiting in the dark! The singing lead, the screaming shell, are easier far to bear Than this eerie, weary watching for the foeman in his lair. “Halt! Who comes there?” Die ready steel springs swiftly to the guard— Come friend, come foe, it is a Man who keeps the camp in ward. “Relief at last!” That golden sphere that climbs the orient sky Has killed the hour before the dawn —- the dreadful vigil’s by.

A Masquerade. Dawn came across the star-strewn way In mask and domino of gray; A most demure and Quaker day— Cold, unbeguiling. I marvelled, as I watched her there, What folly ever named her fair. She with her dour, forbidding air, Prim and unsmiling. But even as I watched her, lo! Down dropped her mask and domino Oh, golden hair! Oh, face aglow! Oh, youth unfading! Oh, rosy mouth with laughter set! Oh, roguish eyes of violet! Why, who had guessed the sweet coquette Was masquerading! —Theodosia Pickering Garrison- © © © " The Humoronsness of Things.” What we call a sense of humour is a curious affair; Some say it’s rather common; some consider it quite rare. It's funny when somebody seats himself upon a pin, Provided it’s somebody you’re not interested in. It's funny when the gold brick man deludes a trusting soul And leaves his crops in pawn and puts his family in a hole. It’s funny when small children eat green fruit and cakes and pie And suffer pain—though I could never see exactly why. It's laughable to see a man in most things brave and strong Break down and seem quite helpless when affection’s hopes go wrong. It's funny when some man in whom the public placed its trust Gets out and makes a silly splurge with other people’s dust. It’s funny when you stand for hours as on the ears you ride; It’s funny when big autos have explosions or collide. When you note the timely topic and the gay satiric fling, There’s no doubt a sense of humour is a very curious thing.

Explained. "1 beat my wife!” the stranger Mid, ’-With boastful mien and proud, But he was hit upon the hean And trampled by the crowd. “1 beat my wife!” again he cried; They seized him by t-he neck, Ami to the city court they hied, — Such wickedness to check. “What’s this, what’s this?” His Honor scowled, With visage harsh and grim; "I lieat my wife!” the stranger growled, Though hundreds glared at him. "1 beat my wife!'’ he said once more. "What, boasting of your crime?” The Court retorted with a roar, “Ten years will be your time!” “I beat my wife!” the stranger hissed; The warden heard him well: He put tour handcuffs on each wrist Ami chained him in the cell. “I beat my wife! Let me explain,” The stranger said at last When he was free from jail again His ten-year sentence passed. “I beat my wife, I will confess, — Why should I lie to you? I beat my wife at playing chess, And beat her badly, too!” — Berton Braley. © © © The Rich Man's Dream. 1 have crushed my competitors out, 1 have won in the glorious game; By guards I am hedged all about, I have wealth and position and fame. On the labour of others I thrive, I bend mighty men to my will; I live on the Riverside Drive, Stocks tumble whenever l‘m ill. Now I shall be free from regrets. And nothing may temper my joy. If my daughter but shuns cigarette!.. And no chorus girl marries my boy! —S. E. Kiser.