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AN ARCTIC EPITAPH
No grave more nobly graced,
No whiter pall than that which wraps the heads Of those who sleep where the lone land outspreads Its ice-bound waste.
These, Mother, were thy sons,
Brood of thy brood, whose seed by sea and land Still man to-day, and in days gone have manned Our English guns.
No mortal foe defied.
What Nature in her silent holds of snow
Hides from all outer ken, they strove to know, And striving-died.
ON THE FUTURE OF POETRY
BARDS of the Future! you that come
With striding march, and roll of drum, What will your newest challenge be To our prose-bound community?
What magic will you find to stir
Will Pegasus return again
I know not. Far be it from me
Leave Pindus Hill for those who list,
So be it. "They that break shall pay."
I hold it for a certain thing,
I hold that they who deal in rhyme
That the old notes are still the new,
That your first theme is Human Life,
For this, beyond all doubt, is plain :
When Hector's wife smiled through her tears. 1914 .
THE BALLAD OF THE BEGGAR
THE starlings fly in the windy sky,
The rabbits run out a-row,
The pheasants stalk in the stubble dry,
And think, as the riders pass and go-
The Farmer trots by on his roadster high,
The Squire on his pony low;
Young Miss sweeps out from the Park-Gate nigh,
And canters away with her beau:
They are proud of themselves, I trow,
But couldn't I too show pride?
And couldn't I too cut a dash and show,
The Farmer is four times as fat as I,
Young Miss has not nearly so bright an eye As Bess at the "Barley Mow";
Ah, wouldn't I cry "Gee-hup, Gee-ho,"
And wouldn't I teach him to gallop it though,
It was only a Beggar that grumbled so,
As his blistered feet he eyed;
But the cry is a cry that we all of us knowIf I had a horse to ride!