AN AUTUMN IDYLL "Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.” LAWRENCE. -SPENSER. FRANK. JACK. LAWRENCE. HERE, where the beech-nuts drop among the grasses, Push the boat in, and throw the rope ashore. Jack, hand me out the claret and the glasses; Here let us sit. We landed here before. FRANK. Jack's undecided. Say, formose puer, Bent in a dream above the "water wan," Shall we row higher, for the reeds are fewer, JACK. Hist! That's a pike. Look-nose against the river Gaunt as a wolf,-the sly old privateer ! Enter a gudgeon. Snap,-a gulp, a shiver ;— Exit the gudgeon. Let us anchor here. FRANK (in the grass). Jove, what a day! Black Care upon the crupper Nods at his post, and slumbers in the sun; Half of Theocritus, with a touch of Tupper, Churns in my head. The frenzy has begun! Sing to us then. LAWRENCE. Damætas in a choker, Much out of tune, will edify the rooks. Sing you again. FRANK. So musical a croaker Surely will draw the fish upon the hooks. JACK. Sing while you may. The beard of manhood still is Listen, O Thames ! Say-by a week, sing? FRANK. His budding beard is riper, LAWRENCE. Yes, if you will. But ere I play the piper, JACK. Here then, my Shepherds. Lo, to him accounted LAWRENCE. Lordly the gift. O Muse of many numbers, FRANK. Me too, O Muse! And when the Umpire slumbers, Sting him with gnats a summer evening long. LAWRENCE. Not in a cot, begarlanded of spiders, Not where the brook traditionally "purls,"No, in the Row, supreme among the riders, Seek I the gem,-the paragon of girls. FRANK. Not in the waste of column and of coping, LAWRENCE. Dark-haired is mine, with splendid tresses plaited FRANK. Dark-haired is mine, with breezy ripples swinging Loose as a vine-branch blowing in the morn; Eyes like the morning, mouth for ever singing, Blithe as a bird new risen from the corn. LAWRENCE. Best is the song with the music interwoven : FRANK. Best? You should hear mine trilling out a ballad, Queen at a picnic, leader of the glees, Not too divine to toss you up a salad, Great in Sir Roger danced among the trees. LAWRENCE. Ah, when the thick night flares with dropping torches, Ah, when the crush-room empties of the swarm, Pleasant the hand that, in the gusty porches, Light as a snow-flake, settles on your arm. FRANK. Better the twilight and the cheery chatting,— LAWRENCE. All worship mine. Her purity doth hedge her FRANK. None worship mine. But some, I fancy, love her,- LAWRENCE. Mine is a Lady, beautiful and queenly, FRANK. Mine is a Woman, kindly beyond measure, |