Puslapio vaizdai
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There is also a word that no one heard
To the furrier's daughter Lou.;
And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red,
And a "Bon Dieu garde M'sicu!”

But a grander way for the Sous-Préfet,
And a bow for Ma'am'selle Anne;
And a mock "off-hat" to the Notary's cat,
And a nod to the Sacristan :-

For ever through life the Curé goes

With a smile on his kind old face

With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair And his green umbrella-case.

THE MASQUE OF THE MONTHS

(FOR A FRESCO)

IRSTLY thou, churl son of Janus,

FIRS

Rough for cold, in drugget clad,

Com'st with rack and rheum to pain us ;Firstly thou, churl son of Janus.

Caverned now is old Sylvanus ;

Numb and chill are maid and lad.

After thee thy dripping brother,

Dank his weeds around him cling;
Fogs his footsteps swathe and smother,-
After thee thy dripping brother.
Hearth-set couples hush each other,
Listening for the cry of Spring.

Hark! for March thereto doth follow,
Blithe, a herald tabarded;
O'er him flies the shifting swallow,-
Hark! for March thereto doth follow.
Swift his horn, by holt and hollow,
Wakes the flowers in winter dead.

Thou then, April, Iris' daughter,
Born between the storm and sun;
Coy as nymph ere Pan hath caught her,-

Thou then, April, Iris' daughter.
Now are light, and rustling water;
Now are mirth, and nests begun.

May the jocund cometh after,

Month of all the Loves (and mine); Month of mock and cuckoo-laughter,— May the jocund cometh after. Beaks are gay on roof and rafter; Luckless lovers peak and pine.

June the next, with roses scented,
Languid from a slumber-spell;
June in shade of leafage tented ;-
June the next, with roses scented.
Now her Itys, still lamented,
Sings the mournful Philomel.

Hot July thereafter rages,

Dog-star smitten, wild with heat; Fierce as pard the hunter cages,— Hot July thereafter rages.

Traffic now no more engages;

Tongues are still in stall and street.

August next, with cider mellow,

Laughs from out the poppied corn ; Hook at back, a lusty fellow,August next, with cider mellow. Now in wains the sheafage yellow 'Twixt the hedges slow is borne.

Laden deep with fruity cluster, Then September, ripe and hale; Bees about his basket fluster,— Laden deep with fruity cluster. Skies have now a softer lustre ; Barns resound to flap of flail.

Thou then, too, of woodlands lover, Dusk October, berry-stained; Wailed about of parting plover,Thou then, too, of woodlands lover. Fading now are copse and cover; Forests now are sere and waned.

Next November, limping, battered,
Blinded in a whirl of leaf,
Worn of want and travel-tattered,-
Next November, limping, battered.
Now the goodly ships are shattered,
Far at sea, on rock and reef.

Last of all the shrunk December
Cowled for age, in ashen gray;
Fading like a fading ember,—
Last of all the shrunk December.
Him regarding, men remember

Life and joy must pass away.

TWO SERMONS

BETWEEN the rail of woven brass,

That hides the "Strangers' Pew,"

I hear the gray-haired Vicar pass
From Section One to Two.

And somewhere on my left I see-
Whene'er I chance to look-

A soft-eyed, girl St. Cecily,

Who notes them-in a book.

Ah, worthy GOODMAN,-sound divine!
Shall I your wrath incur,

If I admit these thoughts of mine
Will sometimes stray-to her?

I know your theme, and I revere;
I hear your precepts tried;
Must I confess I also hear

A sermon at my side?

Or how explain this need I feel,-
This impulse prompting me
Within my secret self to kneel

To Faith,-to Purity!

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