Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVI, Issue 1, 5 July 1911, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

A Word of Warning. (Next season, says a fashion gossip, the stout woman will be popular.) ▼"X 0 more the sylph-like figure shall ■ command our admiration, I 1 . The light and airy maiden "will / be badly out of date, The slender waist will undergo a rapid transformation, For in order to be popular a woman must be “great.” The road to embonpoint may be an easy ■ one to follow', But what would be your horror, woman, lovely woman, when The fashion changed and all the patent pills that you could swallow Refused to bring your former slimness back to you again? —W.H.H. © © © The Lady of Beauty. She comes like fullest moon on happy night; Taper of waist, with shape of magic might; She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind; And Ruby on her cheeek reflects his 1 ight; Envoi Is her arms the blackness of her hair; Beware of curls that bite with viper bite! Her sides arc silken soft, the while the heart Mere rock behind that surface lurks from sight; From the fringed curtains of her eyes she shoots Shafts which at furthest range on mark alight: Ah, how her beauty all excels! ah, how That shape transcends the graceful waving bough! —FromjSir Richard'Bm ton’s Translation of the “Arabian Nights.”

The Red Thread of Honour. Eleven men of England A breast-work charge in vain; Eleven men of England Lie stripp’d and gash’d, and slain. Slain; but of foes<that guarded Their rock-built fortress well, Some twenty had been master’d, When the last soldier fell. The robber-chief mused deeply, 'Above those daring dead; “Bring here,” at length he shouted, “Bring quick the battle thread. Let Eblis blast forever Their souls: if Allah will: But WE must keep unbroken The old rules of the Hill. “Before the Ghiznee tiger Leapt forth to burn and slay; Before the holy Prophet Taught our grim tribes to pray; Before Secunder’s lances Pierced through each Indian glen; The mountain laws of honour Were framed for fearless men. “Still, when a chief dies bravely, We bind -with green ‘one’ wrist— Green for the brave, for heroes ONE crimson thread we twist. Say ye, oh gallant Hillmen, For these, whose life has fled, Which is the fitting colour, ■The green one, or the red?” “Our brethren, laid in honour’d graves, may wear Their green reward,” each noble savage said; “To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear, Who dares deny the red?” Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right, Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came; Beneath a waning moon each spectral height Roll’d back its loud acclaim.

Once more the chief gazed keenly Down on those daring dead; From his good sword their heart’s blood Crept to that crimson thread. Once more he cried, “The judgment, Good friends, is wise and true, But though the red be given, Have we not more to do? “These were not irtirr’d by anger, Nor yet by lust made bold; Renown they thought above them, Nor did they ilook for gold. To them their leader’s signal Was as the voice of God: Unmoved and uncomplaining. The path it show’ll they trod. “As, without sound or struggle, The stars un'hurrying march, Where Allah’s finger guides tliem, Through yonder purple arch, These Franks, sublimely silent, Without a quickened breath, Went, in the strength of duty, Straight to their goal of death. “If I were now to ask you, To name our bravest man, Ye aill at once would answer. They called him Mehrab Khan. He sleeps among his fathers, Dear to our native land. With the bright mark he bled for Firm round his faithful hand. “The songs they sing of Roostum Fill all the past with light; If truth be in their music, He was a noble knight. But were those heroes living, And strong for battle still. Would Mehrab Khan or Roostum Have climbed, like these, the Hill?” And they replied, “Though Mehrab Khan was brave, As chief he chose himself what risks to run; Prince Roostum lied, his forfeit life to save, Which these have never done.” “Enough!” he shouted fiercely; “Doom’d though they be to hell, Bind fast the crimson trophy Round BOTH wrists—bind it well. Who knows but that great Allah May grudge such matchless men, With none so deck’d in Heaven} To the fiends’ flaming den?”

Then all the gallant robbers Shouted a stern “Amen!” They raised a slaughter’d sergeant, They raised his mangled ten. And when we found their bodies Left bleaching in the wind, Around “both” wrists in glory 'that crimson thread was twined. —F. H. Doyle. © © © La Grisette. Ah, < lenience! when 1 saw thee last Trip down the Rue de Seine, And turning, when thy form had passed. 1 said. “We meet again”— I dreamed not in that’ idle glance Thy latest image came. Ami only left to memory’s trance A shadow and a name. Ihe few strange words my liips had ta light I hy timid voice to speak, Their gentler signs, w-liPch often brought Fresh roses to thy cheek, I he trailing of thy long loose hair Bent o’er my couvh of pain. All, all returned, mon* sweet, more fair; Oh, had we met again! ] walked where saint and virgin keep The vigil lights of Heaven, I knew that thou hadst woes to weep, And sins to be forgiven; 1 watched when* Genevieve was laid, I knelt by Mary’s shrine. Beside me low, soft voices prayed; Alas! but where was thine? And when the morning sun was bright, When wind and waves were calm. And flamed, in thousand-tinted light, The rose of Notre Dame, I wandered through the haunts of men. From Boulevard to Quai, Till, frowning o'er Saint Etienne, 'The Pantheon’s shadow lay. Tn vain, in vain; we meet no more, Nor dream what fates befall; Ami long upon the stranger’s shore My voice on thee may call. When years have clothed the line in moss That, tells thy name and days, And withered, on thy simple cross, ' The wreaths of Pere-la-Chaise! —Oliver Wendell llolino?.