VERSES OLD AND NEW.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1461, 8 June 1912, Page 9

VERSES OLD AND NEW.

LONG DAYS OP LIFE BEGIN. _, (Tlio.Titanic Wreck.) Oh, not in total darkness, nor Unmarked they drifted to their doom For Ono walked on the ocean floor As in a lighted room. One, with a lantern and a crook, Gathered His sheep from bitter seas: ■ By perilous ways tho weary tlock Went homo and found great ease. :. Not in the- deepest ocean shade, Whero forests' of the coral be, They lie, whose darling heads were laic Once on a woman's knee. Not tossed at mercy of tho wave— Ah, no! nor drifted by tho tide, Shrouded and coffined in the grave Of tho leviathan's side. Not there. Oh, broken hearts, lift up! Beyond the dreadful death Love lies. They wait in pationco and in hope, In peace of Paradise. .. By pastures green where rivers gleam The weary souls aro gathered in: Now with tho drowning as a dream Long days of lifo begin. : — Katharino Tynan. 1 DE PKOPUNDIS. (The Titanic Wreck.) . Upon the tinkling splintery battlements, •'. Which swing and tumble, south in ghostly white, ' Behemoth rushes blindly from the night, Behemoth whom wo have praised on instruments Dulcet and shrill and impudent w;itk vents, ' Behemoth*;* whoso huge body was our delight . 'And miracle, wallows where there is no light, . Shattered and crumpled and stabbed with ■ pitiful rents. 0, towers of steel and masts that gored tho moon, On you wo blazoned our pomp and lust and pelf, And we have died like excellent proud kings '■ Who take death nobly if it come lato or soon; For our high souls aro mirrors of Himself, Though our great wonders are His littlest tilings. T. W. H. Crosland. THE PECKENHAM MEN. (A True ltccord.) , Tho jolly men at peckenham Don't count their goods as common men, Their heads are full of silly dreams "from half-past ten to half-past ten; They'll, tell you why. the stars aro bright, • And. some sheep biack ■ and some sheep ; white. The jolly men at' Pcckchham Draw wages of the sun and rain, • And count as good as golden coin The blossoms on the window-pane; And, Lord! they love a sinewy tale Told over pots of foaming ale. Now here's a tale of Peckenham,. Told to me by a Peckenham man, . .Who being only eighty' years Ran alwny.-j when tho red fox ran, And looked upon tho earth with eyes As quiet as unclouded skies. These jolly men of Peckenham One day when summer strode in power Went' duw.il, it seems, among their lauds, And saw their beanficlds.all in flower— ."Wheat ricks,"'they«iid, "bo good to see, What would a rick of blossoms bo?" So straight they'brought the sickles out, And worked all day till day was done, And builded them a good square rick Of scented bloom beneath ■ tho sunAmi was not this I tell to you • A fierv-heartcd thing to do? —John Drinkwater. TIME SHALL NOT DIE. Hnw'shall'he die who walked the sky Ere the fir.-;t wild sun uprose? How shall he pass who trod the grass 1 When the'first bud did. unclose? :_ ,Who was long ere tho moon, grew fair A.lord of many lands, Shall ho not reign o'er hill and 'plain When Earth hath folded her hands? How shall ho be a memory hi tho wine of a later feast, . ■■ Or a. grief outgrown that stirs atdawu From tho gate of a wider East? How shall he rest a shrine unblest, A' changeful heart's decoy, .When tho laughing page of a far-off age , Shall cast a moment's joy? Likelier when all tho clarions call Adown tho lists of death ■ And every knight comes riding light i Helm'd in a cypress wreath, .When all the hosts aro mantled ghosts And all tho kings are gone. Still shall there one outlivo tho sun, And watch tho pageant on. No phanton he of ecstasy, Perfume on soino old glove, No whisper'd song that once rang strong Prom the lips of- Minstrel Love.; No scratching mouse in a ruin'd house, ■No raindrop down tho wall, But a king of fear with a sable spear, A monarch wise and tall. 'And when 'the old-pale creeds are cold, And all their gods are dust, ■ 'And Hfe far on chanting is gone To seek another lust, : Time shall bo left, a lord bereft I Of lands but not of life, Tn tell his wars to silent star 3 . , . That aro full tir'd of strife. Wraith-roses white shall bloom by fright In avenues of .gloom, And small fire-flics, with spectral eyes Shall light the dead earth's tomb, When tho book is read and the lesson said, And the song is sungen out; And Time alone shall guard his throne, 1 . Lord of tho silent rout. * . -K. T. Chandler. THE "RETURN TO THE TRAGEDIES. I close the pastoral page. • Here end the hours of woodland idleness; Here ends tho pleasanco of some happier '•• "ge Where Music walked with Summer as of ' old, ' ■ And Love was not denied; and that distress ■:'.'■'" Which vexes earthlier lovers slept untold. Here rnds the idyl of the earlier page; Here cuds tho Ago of "Gold. ' Tn cKitw things I ..turn. ■ Unto the failure of emprise, the -fate Mortality so tardily must learn. The fallen crown,. the goal achieved too ■ late, - ■ The uncertain shadows wherein to and fro There stalks a veiled ghost that will not rest, . The s'.ir-crossed passions, and tho thrusts of hate, ' The old immedicable human who Touched into peace, the pain that is not pain, The purpose' wider than the paths wc prest, The sorrow Ti'sinp- out of sorrow slain— \ Yea, Tragedy seems be.4! ]■ —Arthur Stringer.