BALLADE OF SEA-MUSIC.

Sink, sun, in crimson far away,

Float out, pale moon, above the roar,
While brown and silver, flame and grey,
Round rock and sand, the waters pour;
For night hath clue to all the store,
Of wild wave-harmony that rings,

And earth hath not in all her lore,
The legends that sea-music brings.

Here singing silver shallows fray
The ruby-tufted golden floor,
Here wondrous twilight forests sway
Round coral porch and corridor

Where lurk- -but ah; why yet implore The splendid dream that round them clings?.. Where lie the dead who heard of yore

The legends that sea-music brings.

This is the sea that could not stay,
The tides of men that evermore

Rolled westward still and cleft its spray,
With hollowed trunk, and dauntless oar.
Here Grecian trireme reeled before,
Rome's purple galley; here sea kings,
Left red on wave and blackened shore
The legends that sea-music brings.

Envoy.

Earth keeps not now the face she wore

The smoke-trails dusk the wide white wings;

No longer as of old shall soar,

The legends that sea-music brings.

MORTIMER WHEELER.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE LARK.

When the fairies are all for their dances drest,
When day's discords in the distance fail,
When the robin and wren are asleep in the nest,
Then list to the note of the nightingale !
But when diamonds glint on the dewy swale,
When star-fires are fading spark by spark,
And the little birds all the dawning hail,
O hark to the song of the merry lark!

When over the hills the silver crest

Is pouring enchantment on mere and vale, And the world lies hushed in a dreamy rest, Then list to the note of the nightingale ! But when the bright sun dight in golden mail Flames over the tree-tops in the park,

And the world goes again on its busy trail, O hark to the song of the merry lark !

When the young heart flutters in Mabel's breast, And Algernon's cheek for once only is pale, As the secret, half guessed, is at last confessed, Then list to the note of the nightingale !

But when Corydon hides in a turn o' the dale, And Philis is met where no one may mark, And the sudden blush and the kiss tell the tale, O hark to the song of the merry lark!

Envoi.

If Il Penseroso's mood prevail,

Then list to the note of the nightingale ! But whenever L'Allegro woos, then hark, O hark to the song of the merry lark!

ERNEST WHITNEY.

MY GRANDCHILDREN AT CHURCII.

Bright Dorothy, with eyes of blue,

And serious Dickie, brave as fair,
Crossing to Church you oft may view
When no one but myself is there:
First to the belfry they repair,
And while to the long ropes they cling,
And make believe to call to prayer,
For angels' ears the bells they ring

Next seated gravely in a pew,

A pulpit homily they share, Meet for my little flock of two,

Pointed and plain as they can bear: Then venture up the pulpit's stair, Pray at the desk or gaily sing :

O sweet Child-life without a careFor angels' ears the bells they ring!

Dear little ones, the early dew

Of holy infancy they wear,

And lift to Heaven a face as true

As flowers that breathe the morning air:
Whate'er they do, where'er they fare,
They can command an angel's wing
Their voices have a music rare,
For angels' ears, the bells they ring!

O parents, of your charge beware:

Their angels stand before the King: In work, play, sleep, and everywhere

For angels' ears the bells they ring!

RICHARD WILTON.

BALLADE MADE IN THE HOT WEATHER.

Fountains that frisk and sprinkle

The moss they overspill;
Grass that the breezes crinkle ;
The wheel beside the mill,
With its wet, weedy frill;
Wind-shadows in the wheat;
A water-cart in the street;

The fringe of foam that girds
An islet's ferneries;

A green sky's minor thirds-
To live, I think of these!

Of ice and glass the tinkle,
Pellucid, silver-shrill ;
Peaches without a wrinkle;

Cherries and snow, at will
From china bowls that fill
The senses with a sweet
Incuriousness of heat;

A melon's dripping sherds;
Cream-clotted strawberries;

Dusk dairies set with curds

To live, I think of these!

Vale-lily and periwinkle ;

Wet stone-crop on the sill;

The look of leaves a-twinkle
With windlets clear and still;
The feel of a forest rill

That wimples fresh and fleet
About one's naked feet;

The muzzles of drinking herds;

Lush flags and bulrushes;

The chirp of rain-bound birds

To live, I think of these!

Envoy.

Dark aisles, new packs of cards,
Mermaidens' tails, cool swards,
Dawn dews and starlit seas,
White marbles, whiter words-
To live, I think of these!

W. E. HENLEY.

BALLADE OF ASPIRATION.

O to be somewhere by the sea,

Far from the city's dust and shine,

[shrine, From Mammon's priests and from Mammon's From the stony street, and the grim decree

That over an inkstand crooks my spine, From the books that are and the books to be, And the need that makes of the sacred Nine A school of harridans !-sweetheart mine,

O to be somewhere by the sea!

Under a desk I bend my knee,

Whether the morn be foul or fine.

I envy the tramp, in a ditch supine,

Or footing it over the sunlit lea.

But I struggle and write and make no sign,
For a labouring ox must earn his fee,

And even a journalist has to dine;
But O for a breath of the eglantine!

O to be somewhere by the sea!

Out on the links, where the wind blows free,

And the surges gush, and the rounding brine
Wanders and sparkles, an air like wine

Fills the senses with pride and glee.

In neighbour hedges are flowers to twine,