THE PILOT.

How I bawled "Ship, ahoy!"
Hard by Medmenham Ferry!

And she answered with joy,
She moved like a convoy,

And would love to employ
A bold pilot so merry.

How I bawled "Ship. ahoy!"
Hard by Medmenham Ferry!

THE VOYAGE.

'Neath the trees gold and red

In that bright autumn weather,
When our white sails were spread
O'er the waters we sped-
What was it she said?

When we drifted together!

'Neath the trees gold and red

In that bright autumn weather!

THE IIAVEN.

Ah! the moments flew fast,

But our trip too soon ended!
When we reached land at last,
And our craft was made fast,
It was six or half-past-

And Mama looked offended!

Ah! the moments flew fast,
But our trip too soon ended.

J. ASHBY STERRY.

VESTIGIA.

I.

I saw her shadow on the grass
That day we walked together.
Across the field where the pond was
I saw her shadow.on the grass.
And now I sigh and say, Alas!

That e'er in summer weather

I saw her shadow on the grass
That day we walked together!

II.

Hope bowed his head in sleep:
Ah me and wellaway!
Although I cannot weep,
Hope bowed his head in sleep.

The heavy hours creep:

When is the break of day? Hope bowed his head in sleep, Ah me and wellaway!

III.

The sea on the beach

Flung the foam of its ire.

We watched without speech

The sea on the beach,

And we clung each to each

As the tempest shrilled higher

And the sea on the beach

Flung the foam of its ire.

IV.

When Love is once dead
Who shall awake him?

Bitter our bread

When Love is once dead
His comforts are fled,

His favours forsake him.
When Love is once dead
Who shall awake him?

V.

Love is a swallow

Flitting with spring:

Though we would follow,

Love is a swallow,

All his vows hollow:

Than let us sing,

Love is a swallow

Flitting with spring.

ARTHUR SYMONS.

A poor cicala, piping shrill,

I may not ape the Nightingale,

I sit upon the sun-browned hill,

A poor cicala, piping shrill

When summer noon is warm and still,

Content to chirp my homely tale;

A poor cicala piping shrill,

I may not ape the Nightingale.

GRAHAM R. TOMSON.

THREE TRIOLETS.

I.

Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint,
He will not leave our hearth again:
So safely lulled his murmuring plaint,
Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint;
All clasped and bound in fond constraint,
And circled with a shining chain,
Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint,
He will not leave our hearth again.

II.

Your rose-red bonds are all in vain,

If bound Love weep for weariness:
His faded eyes are drowned in rain.
Your rose-red bonds are all in vain,
He murmurs low a dull refrain,

And turns his lips from our caress-
Your rose-red bonds are all in vain

If bound Love weep for weariness!

III.

That grey, last day we said goodbye

Makes winter weather in my heart;

Dull cloud wreaths veiled our summer sky
That grey, last day we said goodbye
And loosed faint love; I wonder why

(For then, in truth, 'twas well to part)

That grey, last day we said goodbye
Makes wintry weather in my heart.

GRAHAM R. TOMSON.

TRIOLET.

The roses are dead,
And swallows are flying:
White, golden, and red,
The roses are dead;

Yet tenderly tread

Where their petals are lying.

The roses are dead,

And swallows are flying.

GRAHAM R. TOMSON.

REJECTED.

You've spoken of love,

And I've answered with laughter;

You've kissed--my kid glove.

You've spoken of love.

Why! powers above?

Is there more to come after.

You've spoken of love

And I've answered with laughter.

Her lips were so near

That-what else could I do?

You'll be angry, I fear,

Her lips were so near.

Well, I can't make it clear

Or explain it to you.

Her lips were so near

That-what else could I do?

From "The Century."