BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 2, Issue 592, 21 August 1909, Page 9

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

VERSES OLD AND NEW. N OUTLAID BOKN. So you havo been to London Town, And what saw jou the while? "A mazo of Minding citj ivajs And houses mile by mile, i ■ Where throbs tlio pulse of half theiuorld In that groy Northern isle " , Nay, heard ye not ye nought? And is there nothing lien' Are London streets still paved Tilth gold? Is that old storv tru'o? / \ Oh you have heard tho Bow Bells ring, 1 And what said they to you? Nay, nmko not of my ignoranceA traveller's sorrj jest, Did ye not sec the "Golden Hind" • On Thames' broad mother breast? Did je not mark her whito sail stir i With longing for tho West 1 Naj, what's th« price of England's pride? And what the news from Snin? ' Hnd to no gl mpse in fair Whitehall Of Nell o' Drury Lane? Are there no, ghosts-in Lohdoa Town , To wake tho past again? Have ye not ridden , knee to knee , With Brummeirin the Row P v What jests at Watier's, and what toasts? v, What names tossed to and Hnve ye no news from London Town For one ; who thirsts to know? Saw ye no glimpse thro' darkened streets Of Nellie's childish grace? Nor at your elbow turned to find Quilp'i" sharp, malignant face? Nor dark to dawn, with Headstone fared In his ghonl-ndden race? Hath London not one cene hour Befoio the day is born, When twinkling-footed ro-volrios Affront the pallid morn, , When ghostly beauties flit and fado By ghostly chairmen borne? 1 Does London stretch no kindred hand? Hath sho no voice for jou? No message to ■von, blood and bone Of that whercfiom wo grew?— , Oh saw ye> l.ot the Guaids go out That fonght at Waterloo' Can ye not heir tne hollow hoof, Not mark tho nodding cre«t?— Oh London Town' Oil London Town , Tonr very stones attest— And through the dnwn those solemn ghosts Itido sloivly/four abreast , I see the dnneing Inrbour lights, I breathe' *ho garden smells, Biit fairy fdint I >-eem to hear ' The chime of Abbey bells. And faintly far, but visioned. clear, The dome o'er London sivells i Oh you a're back from London Town, , Where I niav uever go, * And all these things ivaie yours to see— And I shall never know' . . Through ranks of flaming coral trees The &ea-wind singeth low. t Ella M'Fadyen (of Sydney), in "The Spectator " DEATH. Tho shadowy wajs, nro deep That girt tho narrow path Wheiem man's feet aie set, ' Wherein alono is light, The little light he hath To lead him to the sleep When he shall all forget, Or all things &ee aright From out the shadowy ways forever comes tho noiso Of Death's wings beating slow. Man hears, and asks in vain If \Death at length , destioys, Or leads to golden days, Or shall he ever know Who husbandeth the grain. The shadowy wavs hold last The thing his heart would hold, / foreknoTvledge of his fate The little light is weak ' The secret to unfold, _. . I He crieb.iuntil-^Kst'"""-' , '-"- 1, ' -~*~' I The sh-idows shall abate , Their mute disdain, and speak. 1 —John DimLw&ter, in "The Nation "