A SONG AGAINST SINGING.

TO E. J. H.

I.

THEY bid me sing to thee,

Thou golden-haired and silver-voiced child, With lips by no worse sigh than sleep's defiled, With eyes unknowing how tears dim the sight, With feet all trembling at the new delight.

Treaders of earth to be!

II.

Ah no! the lark may bring

A song to thee from out the morning cloud,
The merry river from its lilies bowed,

The brisk rain from the trees, the lucky wind,

That half doth make its music, half doth find,-

VOL. II.

But I-I may not sing.

Τ

III.

How could I think it right,

New-comer on our earth as, Sweet, thou art,
To bring a verse from out an human heart,
Made heavy with accumulated tears,
And cross with such amount of weary years
Thy day-sum of delight?

IV.

Even if the verse were said,

Thou, who wouldst clap thy tiny hands to hear
The wind or rain, gay bird or river clear,
Wouldst, at that sound of sad humanities,
Upturn thy bright uncomprehending eyes
And bid me play instead.

V.

Therefore no song of mine!

But prayer in place of singing! prayer that would Commend thee to the new-creating God,

Whose gift is childhood's heart without its stain Of weakness, ignorance, and changing vainThat gift of God be thine!

VI.

So wilt thou aye be young,

In lovelier childhood than thy shining brow
And pretty winning accents make thee now!

Yea, sweeter than this scarce articulate sound

(How sweet!) of father,' mother,' shall be found

The ABBA on thy tongue.

VII.

And so, as years shall chase

Each other's shadows, thou wilt less resemble
Thy fellows of the earth who toil and tremble,
Than him thou seest not, thine angel bold
Yet meek, whose ever-lifted eyes behold
The Ever-loving's face.

WINE OF CYPRUS.

GIVEN TO ME BY H. S. BOYD, AUTHOR OF "SELECT PASSAGES FROM THE GREEK FATHERS," ETC.,

TO WHOM THESE STANZAS ARE ADDRESSED.

1.

If old Bacchus were the speaker
He would tell you with a sigh,
Of the Cyprus in this beaker
I am sipping like a fly,-

Like a fly or gnat on Ida

At the hour of goblet-pledge,

By queen Juno brushed aside, a

Full white arm-sweep, from the edge.

II.

Sooth, the drinking should be ampler,
When the drink is so divine:

And some deep-mouthed Greek exampler
Would become your Cyprus wine!
Cyclop's mouth might plunge aright in,

While his one eye over-leered-
Nor too large were mouth of Titan,

Drinking rivers down his beard.

III.

Pan might dip his head so deep in,
That his ears alone pricked out,
Fauns around him, pressing, leaping,
Each one pointing to his throat:
While the Naiads like Bacchantes,

Wild, with urns thrown out to waste,
Cry,-O earth, that thou wouldst grant us
Springs to keep, of such a taste!'

IV.

But for me, I am not worthy

After gods and Greeks to drink; And my lips are pale and earthy To go bathing from this brink. Since you heard them speak the last time, They have faded from their blooms,

And the laughter of my pastime

Has learnt silence at the tombs.

V.

Ah, my friend the antique drinkers Crowned the cup and crowned the brow. Can I answer the old thinkers

In the forms they thought of, now? Who will fetch from garden-closes Some new garlands while I speak, That the forehead, crowned with roses, May strike scarlet down the cheek?