Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIX, Issue 26, 25 June 1913, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

Things Unsaid. V \ O doubt, UKe all others, you’ve I ■ known circumstances JL 1 Where your honest opinions / yotfd gladly have bared. Yet didn’t speak put, for you wouldn’t take chances— For where is the fellow who always has dared, . , ■ j 14 . That sharp'. thrust about people, with pioney—■ What a keen thing it was! —and it ; should have been shared; But your creditor, Smith, might have thought it unfunny, JStill, you thus : Would have crushed him i-f you Md but dared. ’ ■! Bill Jones is a regifer whale of a fellow; To grant he’s goed-looking you’re also prepared; ' Blit to.judge by his ehatter, his intellect’s mellow— And you’d tell hiin so quickly, if only you dtiied. Were it not for the tongue of that kid of McPherson's 1 ou'd have scored him long since and you have spared; You know that he’s nif respecter of persons —• But what would you, tell, him if only you dared! Oh. you’ve held in and swallowed and gurgled and spluttered—■’ With but one consolation; when all shall be squared ‘ You’ll be found better off for your not •having uttered The things you’d have said if you only had dared.

A Death and a Life. Fair young Hannah, Ben, the eunburnt fisher, gaily wooes; Hale and clever. For a willing heart and hand he sues. May-day wkies are all aglow, And the waves are laughing so! For her wedding % Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. May i« pairing; Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos. ■Hannah shudders, For the mild south-wester mischief brews. Round the rocks of Marblehead, Outward bound, a schooner sped. Silent, lonesome, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. ■Sailing away! Lotting the breath of the shores in May, Dropping down from the beautiful bay, Over the sea-slope vast and gray! And the skipper# eves with a mist are blind. For a vision comes on the rising wind Of a gentle face that he leaves behind, And a heart that throbs through the fog-bank dim, Thinking of him. Far into the night He watches the gleam of the lessening light Fixed on that dangerous island height That bans the harbour he loves from sight. And he wishes, at dawn, he could tell the tale Of how they weathered the south-west gale. To brighten the cheek that had grown so pale With a wakeful night among spectres grim— Terrors for him. Yo-heave-ho ! Here's the Bank where the fishermen go. Over the schooners side they throw Tackle and bait !o the deeps below.

And Skipper Ben in the water sees, When its ripples curl to the light land breeze, Something that stirs like his apple-tree#. And two soft eyes that taneath them gwim, Lifted to him. Hear the wind roar, And the rain through the slit sails tear and pour! “Steady! we'll scud by the Cape Ann shore, Then hark to the Beverly bells once more!” And each man worked with tin? will of ten; While up in the rigging, now and then, The lightning glared on the face of Ben, Turned to the black horizon’s rim. Scowling on him. Into his brain Burned with the iron of hopeless pain, Into thoughts that grapple, and eyes that strain, Pierces the memory, cruel and vain—* Never again shall he walk at ease Under the blossoming apple-trees That whisper and sway to the sunset breeze, While soft eyes float where the sea-gulls skim, Gazing at him. How they went down Never was known in the still old town. Nobody guessed how the fisherman brown. With the look of despair that was half a frown, Faced his fate in the furious night— Faced the mad billows with hunger white, Just within hail of the beacon-light That shone on a woman sweet and trim, Waiting for him. Beverly bells Ring lo tbe tide as it ebbs and swells! Hits was the anguish a moment tells— The passionate sorrow detifh quickly knells. . . But the wearing wash of a lifelong woe Is loft for the desolate heart to know. Whose tides with the - dull years come and go, Till hope drifts dead io its* stagnant brim. Thinking of him.

■Poor lone Hannah. Sitting at the window binding shoes* Faded, wrinkled. Silting, stitching, in a mournful muse, Bright-eyed beauty once was she, When the bloom was on the tree; Spring and winter. • Hannah's at the window, binding shoe?. Not a neighbour Parsing nod or answer will refuse To her whisper: “Irf there from the fishers e//F news?” Oh, her heart's adrift with one On an endkts voyage gone! Night and morning, Hannah's at the window. binding shoes. ''l'is November. Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews. From Newfoundland Not a sail returning will/she lose, Whispering hoarsely. “Fishermen. Have you. have you hoard of Ben?'* Old with wat<-hing. )lannah's at the window, binding shoes. Twenty winters Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views. Twenty seasons Never one has brought her any news. ("'till her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea. Hopeless, faithful. Hannah s at the window, binding shoes, fairy La room. © & © Charms. I hold to a cup m.y mother gave me Of tears, bright ’ tear*. glad tears to save me. Shed at my birth and ofttimes afterTerrs of pain and tears of laughter. I lift against the shadowing years The brilliance of her cup of tears. .Around my neck I wear forever A chain no mortal hand may sever. The links are pride, with honors clasping That mocks each tempters evil grasping, Aga inst ij.!l fear on heartening me. My father's bright integrity. Last is the scroll my true-love proffered When all the hive her deep heart offered Was sealed therein, it* seal commanding All truth, all trust, all understanding. Bound fast forever on my brows Is this phylactery of our vow*. William Hose Benet.