There stands an ancient tavern, The landlord with his helpers, Lucus a non lucendo Thus named might seem the inn, GORDON I CN through the Libyan sand Rolls ever, mile on mile, To Nebra, by the Unstrut, The world! 't is worn and weary - 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. George Francis Savage-Armstrong AUTUMN MEMORIES I sit and dream of the olden days. When chestnut-leaves lie yellow on ground, And folks are glad in house to be, THE MYSTERY YEAR after year The leaf and the shoot; The corpse on the bier- |