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[RONDEL.]

ISS me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,
And Love is Lord of you and me!

The blue-bells beckon each passing bee;

The wild wood laughs to the flowered year:

There is no bird in brake or brere,

But to his little mate sings he,

"Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,
And Love is Lord of you and me!"

The blue sky laughs out sweet and clear;
The missel-thrush upon the tree

Pipes for sheer gladness, loud and free;
And I go singing to my dear,

"Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,"

And Love is Lord of you and me!”

JOHN PAYNE,

[RONDEAU.]

IS poisoned shafts, that fresh he dips
In juice of plants that no bee sips,

He takes, and with his bow renown'd,
Goes out upon his hunting ground,

Hanging his quiver at his hips.

He draws them one by one, and clips
Their heads between his finger tips,
And looses with a twanging sound
His poisoned shafts.

But if a maiden with her lips.

Suck from the wound the blood that drips,

And drink the poison from the wound,

The simple remedy is found

That of their deadly terror strips

His poisoned shafts.

ROBERT BRIDGES.

[RONDEAU.]

ITH pipe and flute the rustic Pan
Of old made music sweet for man;
And wonder hushed the warbling bird,
And closer drew the calm-eyed herd,-

The rolling river slowlier ran.

Ah! would,-ah! would, a little span,
Some air of Arcady could fan

This age of ours, too seldom stirred
With pipe and flute !

But now for gold we plot and plan ; ·
And from Beersheba unto Dan,

Apollo's self might pass unheard,

Or find the night-jar's note preferred. . . Not so it fared, when time began,

With pipe and flute !

AUSTIN DOBSON.

[RONDEAU.]

OF Love should faint, and half decline
Below the fit meridian sign,

And, shorn of all his golden dress,
His regal state and loveliness,

Be no more worth a heart like thine,

Let not thy nobler passion pine,

But, with a charity divine,

Let Memory ply her soft address
If Love should faint.

And oh this laggard soul of mine,

Like some halt pilgrim stirred with wine,

Shall ache in pity's dear distress

Until the balms of thy caress

To work the finished cure combine,

If Love should faint.

EDMUND W. GOSSE.

[RONDEAU.]

and me;

;

IFE lapses by for you
Our sweet days pass us by and flee
And evermore death draws us nigh;
The blue fades fast out of our sky;

The ripple ceases from our sea.

What would we not give, you and I,
The early sweet of life to buy!

Alas! sweetheart, that cannot we :
Life lapses by.

But though our young years buried lie,
Shall Love with Spring and Summer die?
What if the roses faded be?

We in each other's eyes will see

New Springs, nor question how or why
Life lapses by.

JOHN PAYNE.

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