LÉAL SOUVENIR

(E. F. B.)

'FOR old sake's sake!" "Twere hard to choose

Words fitter for an old-world Muse

Than these, that in their cadence bring
Faint fragrance of the posy-ring,

And charms that rustic lovers use.

The long day lengthens, and we lose
The first pale flush, the morning hues,-
Ah! but the back-look, lingering,

For old sake's sake!

That we retain. Though Time refuse
To lift the veil on forward views,
Despot in most, he is not king
Of those kind memories that cling
Around his travelled avenues

For old sake's sake!

"E

AFTER WATTEAU

(TO F. W.)

MBARQUONS-NOUS!" I seem to go
Against my will.

'Neath alleys low

I bend, and hear across the air

Across the stream-faint music rare,Whose "cornemuse," whose "chalumeau” }

Hark! was not that a laugh I know?
Who was it, hurrying, turned to show
The galley swinging by the stair ?—
"Embarquons-nous !"

The silk sail flaps, light breezes blow;
Frail laces flutter, satins flow;

You, with the love-knot in your hair, "Allons, embarquons pour Cythère"; You will not?

Press her, then, PIERROT,"Embarquons-nous !"

TO ETHEL

(Who wishes she had lived--

"In teacup-times of hood and hoop,
Or while the patch was worn.")

N teacup-times!"

'IN

The style of dress
Would suit your beauty, I confess;
BELINDA-like, the patch you'd wear ;
I picture you with powdered hair,-
You'd make a charming Shepherdess!

And I no doubt-could well express
SIR PLUME'S complete conceitedness,-
Could poise a clouded cane with care
"In teacup-times! "

The parts would fit precisely-yes:
We should achieve a huge success!
You should disdain, and I despair,
With quite the true Augustan air;
But.. could I love you more, or less,-
"In teacup-times"?

"WHEN FINIS COMES 93

WHEN

HEN Finis comes, the Book we close,
And somewhat sadly, Fancy goes,

With backward step, from stage to stage
Of that accomplished pilgrimage.

The thorn lies thicker than the rose!

There is so much that no one knows,—
So much un-reached that none suppose;
What flaws! what faults!-on every page,
When Finis comes.

Still, they must pass! The swift Tide flows.
Though not for all the laurel grows,

Perchance, in this be-slandered age,
The worker, mainly, wins his wage;-
And Time will sweep both friends and foes

When FINIS comes!

"O FONS BANDUSIE"

BABBLING Spring, than glass more clear Worthy of wreath and cup sincere, To-morrow shall a kid be thine

With swelled and sprouting brows for sign,Sure sign of loves and battles near.

Child of the race that butt and rear !

Not less, alas! his life-blood dear
Must tinge thy cold wave crystalline,
O babbling Spring!

Thee Sirius knows not. Thou dost cheer With pleasant cool the plough-worn steer,The wandering flock. This verse of mine Will rank thee one with founts divine; Men shall thy rock and tree revere,

O babbling Spring!