"WITH PIPE AND FLUTE."

(RONDEAU.)

TH pipe and flute the rustic Pan

WITH

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 !

"IN

A RONDEAU TO ETHEL,

(Who wishes she had lived

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

N teacup-times!" 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?"

"O FONS BANDUSIÆ."

(RONDEAU.)

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!

WE

"VIXI PUELLIS.”

(RONDEAU OF VILLON.)

VE loved of yore, in warfare bold, Nor laurelless. Now all must go; Let this left wall of Venus show. The arms, the tuneless lyre of old.

Here let them hang, the torches cold,
The portal-bursting bar, the bow,
We loved of yore.

But thou, who Cyprus sweet dost hold, And Memphis free from Thracian snow, Goddess and queen, with vengeful blow, Smite,―smite but once that pretty scold We loved of yore!

1877.

"WHEN I SAW YOU LAST, ROSE."

WHE

(VILLANELLE.)

WHEN I saw you last, Rose,
You were only so high ;-

How fast the time goes!

Like a bud ere it blows,
You just peeped at the sky,
When I saw you last, Rose!

Now your petals unclose,
Now your May-time is nigh ;—
How fast the time goes!

And a life,-how it grows !
You were scarcely so shy,
When I saw you last, Rose !

In your bosom it shows
There's a guest on the sly;
(How fast the time goes!)