Qui voudra sçavoir la pratique
De cette rime juridique,

Je dis que bien mise en effet
La Kyrielle ainsi se fait.
De plante de sillabes huit
Usez en donc si bien vous duit;
Pour faire le couplet parfait

La Kirielle ainsi si fait.

-THEODORE de Banville.

KYRIELLE.

A lark in the mesh of the tangled vine,
A bee that drowns in the flower-cup's wine,
A fly in the sunshine,-such is man.
All things must end, as all began.

A little pain, a l'ttle pleasure,
A little heaping up of treasure;
Then no more gazing upon the sun.
All things must end that have begun.

Where is the time for hope or doubt?
A puff of the wind, and life is out;
A turn of the wheel, and rest is won.
All things must end that have begun.

Golden morning and purple night,
Life that fails with the failing light;
Death is the only deathless one.
All things must end that have begun.

Ending waits on the brief beginning;
Is the prize worth the stress of winning?
E'en in the dawning the day is done.
All things must end that have begun.

Weary waiting and weary striving,
Glad outsetting and sad arriving;
What is it worth when the goal is won?
All things must end that have begun.

Speedily fades the morning glitter;
Love grows irksome and wine grows bitter.
Two are parted from what was one.
All things must end that have begun.

Toil and pain and the evening rest;
Joy is weary and sleep is best ;
Fair and softly the day is done.
All things must end that have begun.

JOHN PAYNE

THE PAVILION.

In the tent the lamps were bright;
Out beyond the summer night
Thrilled and quivered like a star:
We beneath were left so far.

From the depths of blue profound
Never any sight or sound
Came our loneliness to mar:
We beneath were left so far.

But against the summer sky
Only you stood out and I;
From all other things that are
We beneath were left so far.

A. MARY F. ROBINSON.

KYRIELLE.

In spring Love came, a welcome guest,
And tarried long at my behest ;
Now autumn wanes, the skies are grey,
But loyal Love flees not away.

I charmed him with melodious lays
Through long rose-scented summer days;
My songs no more are clear and gay
But loyal Love flees not away.

We plucked and twined the myrtle flowers,
Made joyance in the sylvan bowers;

The blooms have died, wild winds hold sway,
But loyal Love flees not away.

Gone are the fifing crickets, gone
The feathered harbingers of dawn,
And gone the woodland's bright display,
But loyal Love flees not away.

With intermingled light and shade
The shifting seasons come and fade:
Our fond hopes fail, false friends betray,

But loyal Love flees not away!

CLINTON SCollard.

IN TOWN.

"The blue fly sung in the pane."-Tennyson.

Toiling in Town now is "horrid '

(There is that woman again !)—

June in the zenith is torrid,

Thought gets dry in the brain.

There is that woman again :

"Strawberries! fourpence a pottle!" Thought gets dry in the brain;

Ink gets dry in the bottle.

"Strawberries! fourpence a pottle!"
Oh for the green of a lane !—
Ink gets dry in the bottle;

"Buzz" goes a fly in the pane!

Oh for the green of a lane,

Where one might lie and be lazy! "Buzz" goes a fly in the pane; Bluebottles drive me crazy!

Where one might lie and be lazy,
Careless of Town and all in it!-
Bluebottles drive me crazy:

I shall go mad in a minute!

Careless of Town and all in it.

With some one to soothe and to still you I shall go mad in a minute,

Bluebottle, then I shall kill you!

With some one to soothe and to still you,
As only one's feminine kin do,-
Bluebottle, then I shall kill you:
There now! I've broken the window!

As only one's feminine kin do,—

Some muslin-clad Mabel or May !There now! I've broken the window! Bluebottle's off and away!

Some muslin-clad Mabel or May,

To dash one with eau de Cologne ;— Bluebottle's off and away,

And why should stay here alone?

To dash one with eau de Cologne,

All over one's eminent forehead; And why should I stay here alone? Toiling in Town now is "horrid."

AUSTIN DOESON.