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There stands an ancient tavern,
It is the "Inn of Care."
To all the world 't is open;
It sets a goodly fare;
And every soul is welcome
That deigns to sojourn there.

The landlord with his helpers,
(He is a stalwart host),
To please his guest still labors
With "bouilli" and with "roast;"
And ho! he laughs so roundly,
He laughs, and loves to boast
That he who bears the beaker
May live to share the "toast."

Lucus a non lucendo

Thus named might seem the inn,
So careless is its laughter,
So loud its merry din;
Yet ere to doubt its title
You do, in sooth, begin,
Go, watch the pallid faces
Approach and pass within.

GORDON

I

CN through the Libyan sand

Rolls ever, mile on mile,

To Nebra, by the Unstrut,
May all the world repair,
And meet a hearty welcome,
And share a goodly fare;

The world! 't is worn and weary -
'Tis tir'd of gilt and glare;
The inn! 't is nam'd full wisely,
It is the "Inn of Care."

SOUL AND BODY

WHERE wert thou, Soul, ere yet my body born

Became thy dwelling-place? Didst thou on earth,

Or in the clouds, await this body's birth? Or by what chance upon that winter's morn Didst thou this body find, a babe forlorn ? Didst thou in sorrow enter, or in mirth? Or for a jest, perchance, to try its worth Thou tookest flesh, ne'er from it to be torn? Nay, Soul, I will not mock thee; well I know

Thou wert not on the earth, nor in the sky; For with my body's growth thou too didst

grow;

But with that body's death wilt thou too die? I know not, and thou canst not tell me, so In doubt we'll go together, thou and I.

Ernest Mpers

League on long league, cleaving the rain

less land,

Fed by no friendly wave, the immemorial

Nile.

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George Francis Savage-Armstrong

AUTUMN MEMORIES
WHEN russet beech-leaves drift in air,
And withering bracken gilds the ling,
And red haws brighten hedgerows bare,
And only plaintive robins sing;
When autumn whirlwinds curl the sea,
And mountain-tops are cold with haze,
Then saddest thoughts revisit me,

I sit and dream of the olden days.

When chestnut-leaves lie yellow on ground,
And brown nuts break the prickled husk,
And nests on naked boughs are found,
And swallows shrill no more at dusk,

And folks are glad in house to be,
And up the flue the faggots blaze,
Then climb my little boys my knee
To hear me tell of the olden days.

THE MYSTERY

YEAR after year

The leaf and the shoot;
The babe and the nestling,
The worm at the root;
The bride at the altar,

The corpse on the bier-
The Earth and its story,
Year after year.

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