PROLOGUE

ΤΟ DE LIBRIS'

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

SI 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!

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 Chatelaine!

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 Chatelaine !

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.