LECTOR Benevole !---for so

They used to call you, years ago,---

I can't pretend to make you read
The pages that to this succeed;
Nor would I, if I could, excuse

The wayward promptings of the Muse,
At whose command I wrote them down.

I have no hope to "please the town."
I did but think some friendly soul
(Not ill-advised, upon the whole!)
Might like them; and-" to interpose
A little ease,"--between the prose,
Slipped in the scraps of verse, that thus
Things might be less monotonous.

Then, Lector, be Benevolus !

1908.

A SONG OF THE GREENAWAY CHILD

AS I went a-walking on Lavender Hill,

O, I met a Darling in frock and frill; And she looked at me shyly, with eyes of blue, "Are you going a-walking? Then take me too!"

So we strolled to the field where the cowslips grow,

And we played-and we played for an hour or so ; Then we climbed to the top of the old park wall, And the Darling she threaded a cowslip ball.

Then we played again, till I said " My Dear,
This pain in my side, it has grown severe;
I ought to have told you I'm past three-score,
And I fear that I scarcely can play any more!"

But the Darling she answered,-"O no! O no! You must play-you must play.-I shan't let you go!"

And I woke with a start and a sigh of despair And I found myself safe in my Grandfather's-chair 1

1908.

FOR A VISITORS' BOOK

(TO THE LADY OF THE CASTLE)

"HE who fears the trial,

Naught can hope to gain":

Shall I make denial

À la Châtelaine?

Come then, MUSE, and lend me

All that poets feign:

Let my verse commend me
À la Châtelaine !

TIME, that rarely lingers,

TIME, that churl ingrain,

Kisses courtier fingers

À la Châtelaine ;

Leads her by soft places

Free from stone and stain;

Spares his sterner traces
À la Châtelaine !

Ah! benign, caressing,
Still, O TIME, remain;
Send thy chiefest blessing
À la Châtelaine !

Make her sorest troubles
Light as summer rain;
Crosses be but bubbles
À la Châtelaine !

Neither mar nor mend her;
Save her toil and pain;

TIME, be always tender
À la Châtelaine !

1908.

"TWO MAIDS UPROSE IN THE SHIMMERING LIGHT"

Two

"Que gagne bataille

Aura mes amours. "

"Qu'il gagne ou qu'il perde

Les aura toujours."

WO maids uprose in the shimmering light
Of the clanging battle-morn;

And one was tressed like the bird of night,
And one like the ripening corn.

Then out spoke she with the raven locks,

And her dark eyes glowed like wine :— "If he slay the foe, the knight I know, He shall win this heart of mine!"

But softlier she of the yellow hair,
And her blue eyes 'gan to fill:

"Though he gain or lose, the man I choose, He shall be my true love still!"

1908.