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A SONG TO THE LUTE

WHEN

HEN first I came to Court,
Fa la !

When first I came to Court,

I deemed Dan Cupid but a boy,
And Love an idle sport,

A sport whereat a man might toy
With little hurt and mickle joy—
When first I came to Court!

Too soon I found my fault,
Fa la !

Too soon I found my fault;
The fairest of the fair brigade
Advanced to mine assault.
Alas! against an adverse maid
Nor fosse. can serve nor palisade—
Too soon I found my fault!

When SILVIA's eyes assail,

Fa la !

When SILVIA's eyes assail,

No feint the arts of war can show,

No counterstroke avail;

Naught skills but arms away to throw,

And kneel before that lovely foe,

When SILVIA's eyes assail!

A SONG TO THE LUTE

Yet is all truce in vain,

Fa la !

Yet is all truce in vain,

Since she that spares doth still pursue
To vanquish once again;

And naught remains for man to do
But fight once more, to yield anew,
And so all truce is vain!

A GARDEN SONG

(TO W. E. H.)

HERE, in this sequestered close,

Bloom the hyacinth and rose;

Here beside the modest stock
Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
Here, without a pang, one sees
Ranks, conditions, and degrees.

All the seasons run their race
In this quiet resting place;
Peach, and apricot, and fig
Here will ripen, and grow big;
Here is store and overplus,—
More had not Alcinous !

Here, in alleys cool and green,
Far ahead the thrush is seen;
Here along the southern wall
Keeps the bee his festival;
All is quiet else—afar

Sounds of toil and turmoil are.

A GARDEN SONG

Here be shadows large and long;
Here be spaces meet for song;
Grant, O garden-god, that I,

Now that none profane is nigh,—

Now that mood and moment please,— Find the fair Pierides!

A CHAPTER OF FROISSART

(GRANDPAPA LOQUITUR)

You don't know Froissart now, young folks,

γου

This age, I think, prefers recitals

Of high-spiced crime, with "slang " for jokes,
And startling titles;

But, in my time, when still some few

Loved "old Montaigne," and praised Pope's

Homer

(Nay, thought to style him "poet" too,

Were scarce misnomer),

Sir John was less ignored. Indeed,
I can recall how Some-one present
(Who spoils her grandson, Frank!) would read,
And find him pleasant;

For, by this copy,-hangs a Tale.

Long since, in an old house in Surrey, Where men knew more of "morning ale" Than "Lindley Murray,"

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