THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME. (BALLADE À DOUBLE REFRAIN.) HEN the ways are heavy with mire and rut, WHE In November fogs, in December snows, When the North Wind howls, and the doors are shut,- When the brain gets dry as an empty nut, When the reason stands on its squarest toes, In a theme where the thoughts have a pedant-strut, There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever a soft glance softer grows And the light hours dance to the trysting-time, And the secret is told "that no one knows,"Then hey!-for the ripple of laughing rhyme ! ENVOY. IN the work-a-day world,—for its needs and woes, 1878. "O NAVIS." (BALLADE.) HIP, to the roadstead rolled, SHIP What dost thou ?-O, once more Regain the port. Behold! Thy sides are bare of oar, Thy tall mast wounded sore Of Africus, and see, What shall thy spars restore !— Tempt not the tyrant sea! What cable now will hold When all drag out from shore! What though thy ribs of old The pines of Pontus bore! Not now to stern of gold Men trust, or painted prore! R Thou, or thou count'st it store A toy of winds to be, Shun thou the Cyclads' roar, Tempt not the tyrant sea! 1883. ENVOY. SHIP OF THE STATE, before H THE DANCE OF DEATH. (CHANT ROYAL, AFTER HOLBEIN.) "Contra vim MORTIS Non est medicamen in hortis." 'E is the despots' Despot. All must bide, Later or soon, the message of his might; Princes and potentates their heads must hide, Touched by the awful sigil of his right; Beside the Kaiser he at eve doth wait And pours a potion in his cup of state; The stately Queen his bidding must obey; No keen-eyed Cardinal shall him affray; And to the Dame that wantoneth he saith"Let be, Sweet-heart, to junket and to play." There is no king more terrible than Death. The lusty Lord, rejoicing in his pride, |