WHERE ARE THE SHIPS OF TYRE?

Hark, how the surges dash

On Tyrian beaches hoar !

With far-resounding crash,
And unremitting roar,

The white foam squadrons pour
Their ranks with sullen ire

Along the sandy floor;
"Where are the ships of Tyre?"

Within her walls the clash

Of arms is heard no more;

No supple bough of ash

Is hewn for mast or oar:
Through no tall temple's door
Now gleams the altar fire,

But winds and waves deplore,
"Where are the ships of Tyre?"

By night no torches flash

From porches as of yore;
'Neath sword or stinging lash

No slave now lies in gore;
No voice that men adore

Lifts song to lute or lyre;

With all the freight they bore, "Where are the ships of Tyre?"

Envoy.

Prince, with these "

gone before,"

We, whom these days inspire,

Must seek that unknown shore

"Where are the ships of Tyre?"

CLINTON SCOLLARD.

BALLADE OF VAIN HOPES.

O ghosts of Bygone Hours, that stand
Upon the marge of yonder shore
Where by the pale feet-trampled sand

(Though none is seen to walk that floor)
The Stygian wave flows evermore :

We fain would buy what ye can tell,

Speak! Speak! And thrill to each heart's coreVain Hopes are all we have to sell!

O spectral Hours that throng this land

Where no sweet floods of sunshine pour,
But vast, tenebriously grand,

Dense glooms abide, wind-swept or frore-
O ye who thus have gone before,
Break silence-break your charmëd spell !
Heed not our negligence of yore!
Vain Hopes are all we have to sell!

O sombre, sad-eyed, shadowy band,

Speak, speak, and wave not o'er and o'er Each wan phantasmal shadow-hand; if when with battling sore

O say,

We cross the flood and hear the roar

O' the world like a sighed farewell,

What waits beyond the Grave's last door?

Vain Hopes are all we have to sell!

Envoy.

O coming Hours, O unspent store,

Your promise breathe-as in sea-shell

Imprison'd Echo sings her lore

Vain Hopes are all we have to sell!

WILLIAM SHARP.

BALLADE OF THE SONG OF THE SEA-WIND.

What is the song the sea-wind sings-
The old, old song it singeth for aye?
When abroad it stretcheth its mighty wings
And driveth the white clouds far away,-
What is the song it sings to-day?
From fire and tumuit the white world came,
Where all was a mist of driven spray
And the whirling fragments of a frame!

What is the song the sea-wind sings

The old, old song it singeth for aye?
It seems to breathe a thousand things

Ere the world grew sad and old and grey-
Of the dear gods banished far astray-
Of strange wild rumours of joy and shame!
The Earth is old, so old, To-day-
Blind and halt and weary and lame.

What is the song the sea-wind sings

The old, old song it singeth for aye?
Like a trumpet blast its voice out-rings,

The world spins down the darksome way!
It crieth aloud in wild dismay,

The Earth that from fire and tumult came
Draws swift to her weary end To-day,
Her fires are fusing for that last Flame!

Envoy.

What singeth the sea-wind thus for aye

From fire and tumult the white world came!

What is the sea-wind's cry To-day

Her central fires make one vast flame!

WILLIAM SHARP.

BALLADE OF THE SEA-FOLK.

Where are the creatures of the deep,

That made the sea-world wondrous fair?
The dolphins that with royal sweep
Sped Venus of the golden hair

Through leagues of summer sea and air?
Are they all gone where past things be?
The merman in his weedy lair?

O sweet wild creatures of the sea!

O singing syrens, do ye weep

That now ye hear not anywhere The swift oars of the seamen leap,

See their wild, eager eyes a-stare?
O syrens, that no more ensnare
The souls of men that once were free,

Are ye not filled with cold despair-
O sweet wild creatures of the sea!

O Triton, on some coral steep

In green-gloom depths, dost thou forbear
With wreathed horn to call thy sheep.

The wandering sea-waves, to thy care?
O mermaids, once so debonnair,
Sport ye no more with mirthful glee?
The ways of lover-folk forswear?-
O sweet wild creatures of the sea!

Envoy.

Deep down 'mid coral caves, beware!
They wait a day that yet must be,
When Ocean shall be earth's sole heir-
O sweet wild creatures of the sea!

WILLIAM SHARF.

TO AUSTIN DOBSON.

From the sunny climes of France,
Flying to the west,

Came a flock of birds by chance,
There to sing and rest:

Of some secrets deep in quest,—
Justice for their wrongs,

Seeking one to shield their breast,

One to write their songs.

Melodies of old romance,

Joy and gentle jest,

Notes that made the dull heart dance
With a merry zest ;-

Maids in matchless beauty drest.

Youths in happy throngs;

These they sang to tempt and test

One to write their songs.

In old London's wide expanse
Built each feathered guest,-
Man's small pleasure to entrance,
Singing him to rest,-

Came, and tenderly confessed,

Perched on leafy prongs,

Life were sweet if they possessed

One to write their songs.

Envoy.

Austin, it was you they blest:
Fame to you belongs!

Time has proven you're the best
One to write their songs.

FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN,