Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVI, Issue 3, 19 July 1911, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

Two Queens In Westminster. IN the chapel of Henry the Seventh, Where the sculptured ceilings rare Show the conquered stone-work hanging Like cobweb films in air, There are held two shrines in keeping, Whose memories closely press — The tomb of the Rose of Scotland And that of stout Queen Bess. Ea'eh side of the sleeping Tudor They lie; and over their dust The canopies mold and blacken, And the gilding gathers rust; .While, low on the marble tablet, Each efligied in stone, They lie, as they went to judgment, Uncrowned and cold, and alone. Beside them nass the thousands Each day; and hundreds strive To read the whole of the lesson That is known to no man alive— Of which was the more to be pitied, Or which the more to be feared, Tlie half-masculine, petulant ruler, Or the woman too close endeared. One weakened her land with faction, One strengthened her band of steel; One died on the black-draped scaffold, One broke an old age’s wheel. And both—O sweet heaven, the pity:—Felt the thorns in the rim of the crown, Far more than the sweep of the ermine; Or the ease of the regal down. Was the Stuart of Scotland plotting For her royal sister’s all? Was it hatred, in crown or in person, Drove the Tudor to wish her fall? Was there guilty marriage with Bothwell, And black.crime at the Kirk of Field? And what .meed how the smothered passion That for Esse'x stood half-revealed?

Dark questions!—and who shall solve them?

Not one, till the great assize When royal secrets and motives Shall be opened to commonest eyes Not even by bookworm students, Who shall dig, and cavil, and grope, And keep t’o the ear learned promise, While they break it to the hope. Ah, well!—there is one sad lesson Made clear to us all, at the worst— Of two forces, made quite incarnate, And that equally blessed and cursed: With the English woman, all conquering, Was Power, with its handmaid Pride; With the Scottish walked hot-browed passion, Calling lovers to her side. And the paths were the paths of ruin, Of disease and of woe, to both— With their guerdon the sleepless pillow, And their weapon the broken troth; And each, when she died, must have shuddered To know she had failed to find So near an approach to contentment As that felt by some landless hind. Ah, well, again!—they are sleeping, Divided, yet side by side; And the lesson were far less heedful If their sepulchres severed wide; And well for Bess and Mary That the Eyes to judge them at last Will be free from the veils and the glamours Blinding all, in the present and past. • Henry Morford. © © © Impossible. ’Twas out at sea; the wind Most fiercely blew; He hung across the rail, And people heard him wall As seasick people do: “This statement I will make—* You cannot cat your cake And have it, too.”

The Crossed Fingers. Ho swore that her kiss was the first he had had; But his fingers were crossed I He’d kissed but his mother, when he was a lad— Yes, his fingers were crossed! He vowed that not only he'd ne'er had a taste Of quivering lips, but that no other waist Had ever been clasped by his arm. Then in haste His two fingers he crossed! The sparkler he gave her he’d purchased that day But his fingers were crossed! No previous maiden had worn it—nay, nay! But his fingers were crossed! And never so long as life would endure, Would eye, cheek, or lip of another maid lure, — He knew it, — past every doubt he was sure, — But his fingers were crossed! She listened to all of the guff he had While his fingers were crossed! She laid on his bosom her wise little head While his fingers were crossed! She answered so low that the famed •Tittle bird” Who paddles sweet secrets could scarcely have heard As she breathed, “Oh, my love, I believe every word!” - - - But her lingers were crossed! —.Strickland Gilii’.an. © © © On the Belfry Tower. A SKETCH.’ “Look down the road. You see that mound Rise on the right, its greasy round Broken as by a scar?” We . stood. Where every, landscape-lover should, High on the grey-old belfryfs lead, Scored with rude names, and to the tread. | ; Waved like a sea. Below ns spread

Cool grave stones, watched by one great yew. To right were ricks; thatched roofs * few; Next came the rectory, with its lawn And nestling schoolhouse; next, withdrawn Beyond a maze of apple boughs, The long, low-latticed Manor-house. The wide door showed an antlered hall: Then, over roof and chimney stack, You caught the fish pond at the back, The roses and the old red wall. Behind, the Dorset ridges go With straggling, wind clipped trees, and so The eye came down the slope to follow The white road winding in the hollow Beside the mound of which he spoke. “There,” said the rector, "from the tow n The Roundheads rode across the down. Sir Miles 'twas then Sir Miles’ day—< Was posted farther south, and lay Watching at Weymouth; but his son—Rupert by name —an only one, The veriest youth, it would appear, Scrambling about for jackdaws here, Spied them a league off. People say f Scorning the tedious turret-way, (Or else because the butler’s care Had turned the key to keep him there)' He slid down by the rain-pipe. Then, Arming the hinds and serving-men With half pike and with harquebuss, Snatched from the wainscot's overplus. Himself in rusty steel cap clad, With flapping ear-pieces, the lad f ed by stealth around the ridge, Sb flanked the others at. the bridge. They were but six to half a score, And yet five Crop-ears, if not more, -Sleep in that hillbek. Sad to tell, The boy,.’by some stray petronel, Or friepd’s or foes—rqport is vagneWas killed; and then, for fear of plague. Buried within twelve hours or so. “Such is the story. Shall we go? I have his portrait here' below: Grave, olive-cheeked, a Southern face His" mother, who was dead, had been Something, 1 think, about the Queen, Long, ere the days of that disgrace, Saddest our England yet has seen. Poor child! The last of all his race.’ Austin Dobson.