When I no more may sit

Within thine own pleasànce,

To weave, in sentence fit,

Thy golden dalliance ;

When other hands than these

Record thy soft decrees ;—

Leave me at least to sing
About thine outer wall,

To tell thy pleasuring,

Thy mirth, thy festival;

Yea, let my swan-song be

Thy grace, thy sanctity.

[Here ended André's words:

But One, that writeth, saithBetwixt his stricken chords

He heard the wheels of Death; And knew the fruits Love bare But Dead-Sea apples were.]

THE CRADLE.

How steadfastly she'd worked at it!

How lovingly had drest

With all her would-be-mother's wit

That little rosy nest!

How longingly she'd hung on it!It sometimes seemed, she said,

There lay beneath its coverlet

A little sleeping head.

He came at last, the tiny guest,
Ere bleak December fled;

That rosy nest he never prest ..

Her coffin was his bed.

A TALE OF POLYPHEME.

"THERE'S nothing new "-Not that I go so far As he who also said "There's nothing true,"

Since, on the contrary, I hold there are

Surviving still a verity or two;

But, as to novelty, in my conviction,

There's nothing new,-especially in fiction.

Hence, at the outset, I make no apology,

If this my story is as old as Time,

Being, indeed, that idyll of mythology,—

The Cyclop's love,-which, somewhat varied, I'm

To tell once more, the adverse Muse permitting,

In easy rhyme, and phrases neatly fitting.

"Once on a time "—there's nothing new, I said—

It may be fifty years ago or more,

Beside a lonely posting-road that led

Seaward from town, there used to stand of yore,

With low-built bar and old bow-window shady
An ancient Inn, the "Dragon and the Lady."

Say that by chance, wayfaring Reader mine,
You cast a shoe, and at this dusty Dragon,
Where beast and man were equal on the sign,

Inquired at once for Blacksmith and for flagon: The landlord showed you, while you drank your hops, A road-side break beyond the straggling shops.

And so directed, thereupon you led

Your halting roadster to a kind of pass,

This you descended with a crumbling tread,

And found the sea beneath you like a glass;

And soon, beside a building partly walled

Half hut, half cave-you raised your voice and called.

Then a dog growled ; and straightway there began

Tumult within-for, bleating with affright,

A goat burst out, escaping from the can;
And, following close, rose slowly into sight-
Blind of one eye, and black with toil and tan-
An uncouth, limping, heavy-shouldered man.

Part smith, part seaman, and part shepherd too : You scarce knew which, as, pausing with the pail

Half filled with goat's milk, silently he drew

An anvil forth, and reaching shoe and nail,

Bared a red forearm, bringing into view

Anchors and hearts in shadowy tattoo.

And then he lit his fire. . . . But I dispense

Henceforth with you, my Reader, and your horse,

As being but a colourable pretence

To bring an awkward hero in perforce;

Since this our smith, for reasons never known,

To most society preferred his own.