A BALLADE OF EVOLUTION.

In the mud of the Cambrian main

Did our earliest ancestor dive:
From a shapeless albuminous grain
We mortals our being derive.
He could split himself up into five,
Or roll himself round like a ball;

For the fittest will always survive,
While the weakliest go to the wall.

As an active ascidian again

Fresh forms he began to contrive, Till he grew to a fish with a brain,

And brought forth a mammal alive. With his rivals he next had to strive, To woo him a mate and a thrall;

So the handsomest managed to wive While the ugliest went to the wall.

At length as an ape he was fain

The nuts of the forest to rive; Till he took to the low-lying plain,

And proceeded his fellow to knive. Thus did cannibal men first arrive, One another to swallow and maul;

And the strongest continued to thrive, While the weakliest went to the wall.

Envoy.

Prince, in our civilised hive

Now money's the measure of all; And the wealthy in coaches can drive While the needier go to the wall.

GRANT ALLEN.

BALLADE OF SOLITUDE.

Thank Heaven, in these despondent days,
I have at least one faithful friend,
Who meekly listens to my lays,

As o'er the darkened downs we wend.
Nay, naught of mine may him offend;
In sooth he is a courteous wight,

His constancy needs no amend-
My shadow on a moonlight night.

Too proud to give me perjured praise,
He hearkens as we onward tend,
And ne'er disputes a doubtful phrase,
Nor says he cannot comprehend.
Might God such critics always send!
He turns not to the left or right,

But patient follows to the end-
My shadow on a moonlight night.

And if the public grant me bays,

On him no jealousies descend;

But through the midnight woodland ways,
He velvet-footed will attend;

Or where the chalk cliffs downward bend

To meet the sea all silver bright,

There will he come, most reverend

My shadow on a moonlight night.

Envoy.

O wise companion, I commend

Your grace in being silent quite; And envy with approval blend

8

My shadow on a moonlight night.

WILLIAM BLACK.

A BALLADE OF BOTHERS.

From country, from coast and from city,
From nowhere and goodness knows where,
The visitors come without pity,

There is not a corner to spare;
And students with work to prepare
Must charter a captive balloon

And study aloft in the air,

For the May Week has fallen in June.

The grinding of feet that are gritty

So ceaseless on landing and stair; The notes of some drawing-room ditty Disturb the recluse in his lair

And cause him to clutch at his hair As he toils in the hot afternoon;

But nobody hears if he swear,

For the May Week has fallen in June.

Then the damsels supposing its pretty
Their art-curtain patterns to wear,
And the youths who conceive they are witty,
Came round to be stared at, and stare.
And amateur buglers that blare,

And singers that howl to the moon,

Are more than the system can bear; For the May Week has fallen in June.

Envoi.

Friend, do not be caught in the snare,
And strive not to sing or to spoon,

Your tripos is all your affair,

For the May Week has fallen in june.

From the Cambridge Meteor.'

1

BALLADE OF BELIEF.

Says Herbert: Pray, list to my notion,
All ye who the truth would invite;
Be Agnostics, and spurn the emotion
That ghosts and the gospels excite.
In th' Unknown do I find all delight,
And in Infinite Energy see

All casual cravings unite

And that's the religion for me.

Says Frederic: Pray list to my notion,
Away with Impersonal Might,
To Humanity tender promotion,
And worship the ideal wight.

Though from stock that is Simian hight

He may trace out a pure pedigree,

Yet to Man will I anthems recite

And that's the religion for me.

Says Wilfrid Pray, list to my notion,
On the hip I will infidels smite;
'Tis only through Christian devotion
That virtues with vices can fight.
Whate'er may Theology write,
Whatever the Church may decree,

My soul shall acknowledge as right—
And that's the religion for me.

Envoi.

(Voice of the bewildered one.)

O faith full of riddle and rite,

O philosophies deep as the sea,

In this posse of problems polite,

Prithee, where's the religion for me?

COTSFORD DICK

BALLADE OF BURIAL.

The sunlight sways the summer sky,

Quivers with breath each quicken'd blade,
The birds with one another vie

To move to mirth the grove and glade,
While yonder solemn cavalcade

Winds o'er the glebe in gloom august,
Chanting a dead man's serenade,

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

A smile is mated to a sigh,

One flashes ere the other fade,

Farce arm-in-arm with tragedy,

So struts the motley masquerade.
Youth deems for joy the world is made,

Till disappointment deals disgust,
Disease defiles the last decade,

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Within the grave our earnest eye

Beholds a brother's body laid,

Around us sombre hirelings ply

The unctuous usage of their trade.
Beneath the hedgerow laughs a maid,

Held in a lover's arm robust;

One day for her it shall be said, Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Envoi.

Life, dost thou still possess the shade
Of him in earth so rudely thrust?
Canst thou the sentence yet evade,
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust?

COTSFORD DICK.