FOR TO HIS BOOK (HOR., EP. I. 20) OR mart and street you seem to pine I reared you up for no such fate. But mind, you can't come back, you know! "What have I done?" I hear you cry, And writhe beneath some critic's eye; "What did I want?"-when, scarce polite, They do but yawn, and roll you tight. And yet methinks, if I may guess (Putting aside your heartlessness In leaving me and this your home), You should find favour, too, at Rome. That is, they'll like you while you're young, When you are old, you'll pass among The Great Unwashed, then thumbed and sped, Or Utica, for banishment! And I, whose counsel you disdain, Thrust o'er the cliff his restive mule. But go. When on warm days you see In peace and war, and pleased the town; Quick-tempered, too, but nothing more. Or was, the year that over us FOR A COPY OF HERRICK MANY days have come and gone, Many suns have set and shone, HERRICK, Since thou sang'st of Wake, Morris-dance and Barley-break ;Many men have ceased from care, Many maidens have been fair, Since thou sang'st of JULIA'S eyes, JULIA'S lawns and tiffanies;Many things are past: but thou, GOLDEN-MOUTH, art singing now, Singing clearly as of old, And thy numbers are of gold! A WITH A VOLUME OF VERSE BOUT the ending of the Ramadán, When leanest grows the famished Mussulman, A haggard ne'er-do-well, Mahmoud by name, At the tenth hour to Caliph OMAR came. "Lord of the Faithful (quoth he), at the last The long moon waneth, and men cease to fast; Hard then, O hard! the lot of him must be, Who spares to eat . . . but not for piety!" "Hast thou no calling, Friend?"—the Caliph said. "Sir, I make verses for my daily bread." "Verse!"-answered OMAR. ""Tis a dish, indeed, Whereof but scantily a man may feed. Go. Learn the Tenter's or the Potter's Art,Verse is a drug not sold in any mart.” I know not if that hungry Mahmoud died; BOUGHTON, had you bid me chant Nay, but where my hand must fail In the dark-beamed Council-Chamber. Only art like yours can touch Shapes so dignified. . and Dutch; Only art like yours can show How the pine-logs gleam and glow, |