BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1599, 16 November 1912, Page 9

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

VERSES OLD AND NEW. IRISH COUNTRY SONG. .'■ Sly young love 6aid to me,."My parents won't mind, !And >my brothers won't slight you for '. your lack of kind." Then she stept away from me, and this she did say, : .' , -'It will not be long, love, till our mar-; • xiage day. , ... . •:i ■ She went away froni .'me,, and;-, she moved'; : through 'the fair,"' .•> •-.- And fondly I-watched her', go' here and go": ■ there:. . -~... . Then she.', went ; hor - way' homeward,-: with!/ one star..aTOk<i,o!:.i,;-,;'' v ,:'.-• As the swan; in tfie.'evening.:movps over ,-. i the,--lakd; !.'■ - v. ; The people-were""Saying' no two were/e'er 1,:,.' wed; : - -j-'-But one> had a sorrow, that never was said: (. And I smiled as! she passed with her goods '. ' and her gear, . "And that was the last that I saw of my dear. I dreampt it last night that my young love came in, •So .softly she entered .her .feet : made ho •din.. ; She came close beside me, , and this 6he did say, • *1t will not bo long, - love, till our mar- ... riage day," .' . . —Padraic Colum. SCYTHE SONG. - Stalwart mowers, brown- and lithe, . | Over'summer meads abloom, .... Wielding fast tho whispering Scythe, ' Where is all the old perfume? .. Breathes it yet in tender gloom, Soft through Hades' twilight air? i, ». .Where hath Summer : tide her tomb? . Hush! the Scythe, says, where, all I where? Comes the long, blade,- gleaming c01d,.. K Where the garden-ground is spread—> Eaj's of-pearl on crowns of gold, , r Dainty daisies, whito and red! •?. I'-'VjDames that'o'er them once would'tread, . Damsels blithe and debonair, - •-... 'iWhere is all your sweetness fled? . .'•Husht'vthe Scythe says, ">whefe, ah . where? . . Time! who takWahd? : giv'st.again i All. things bitter, some things, sweet, I Must,we follow, all iii-Thin ! Follow still those fahtom .feet? : / Is there not some • grass-grown street,' (Some old, yew-begirt, parterre, "Where our Dream's and we may meet? . JHush.' the Scythe says,' where,, ah where? . , i . —Eosamurid Marriott Watson, t i . ' .: '.-ALL SOULS' DAY. ~ To-diy"is theirs—the unforgotten dead— •./"iFdr ..strange and sweet communion set - s. . apart, When the strong, living heart Beats in the dissolute dust, the darkened bed, " Eebuilds; tho 'form beloved, the vanished ' face, J '■ 1 ■' ■ Eelights-the blown-out lamps o' the faded ' '.eves,'- ■ v- '■ j * Touches tbe clay-bbund lips ,to tenderest speech, VS. ' Saying,. ."Awaie—arise!" J - To-day tie warm hands of the living reach To chafe' tho cold hands of 'the long-loved dead:. . . <}. '■ '■■■ . ! Once more the lqnely.:i?ad . ; .v::'. leans on a living , breasj:,-: and feels the .. rain..".' v ' ■,'■ ~" Of 'fallins tears, and listens.yet'again . To the dear voice—the-. voice that never in vain . Could sound the old behest. ' Each seeks his' own to-day,;—but, ah, : not I—l enter not V' That sacred "shrine beneath '-the solemn . sky; ..... • -.- ;. I claim no commerce with, th^unforgot. My thoughts and praj'ers must, bo l? ; Even wh^g^in^Spjrnj^ty'citihereafter'. With that great. company .v : . ■; Tor whom .no wandering breeze of memory ;. sighs : '-'i Through, the dim prisons 'or , imperial . Death: They in the' black, unfath'omed oubliette Forever and ever set-T-,- i' . They,, the poor dead.,whom none rememterefh. ,' ■' . ; . —Eosamund Marriott Watson; ! • : V' .POETEY. ; ' It is a .'little islo amid bleak seas— 'An isolate realm of; garden, circled round By-importunity of stress,and sound, . ' Devoid to mastOTMhese. , . At:most,--the memory of;ite'.streams and ■ • .bees,. ■' ' • - BoVae to the toiling ' mariner- outward--bound, . ."-■ .■ • Becalls his.soul to that delightful ground; . But seires. no - beacon'towarcls-'his destinies. '-- -. , It, is .1 Tefugo from the stemy days, .; Breathiiig tho peaco of a. remoter world Where. beauty, like the musing dusk of ; ■ even, Enfolds the spirit in its silver haze; While far away, with glittering 'banners furled, •The-west lights fade, and stars come out ■~ in.heaven. . s It is a sea-gate, trembling with; the blast Of powers that from the'infinite sea-plain roll, 'A whelming tide., Upon .the waiting soul As on a fronting rock,, thunders the vast OToimdswell; its spray bursts heavenward, and drives past , ... In fume and sound -articulate of the whole ', Of ocean's'heart, else voiceless; on the shoal \ Silent; -upon the headland clear at last.. . ~ From darkened sea-coasts without stars _ or sun, ' - . ■ Like trumpet-voices in a holy: war, Utter the heralds tidings,of the. deep. ' And where men . slumber", weiiry and un- ■' done,-. -. -■ -' : ' Visions shall-.cbme, incredible hopes' from far,—.... ' 1 ' . iind. with'.high passion gbattcr the bonds of sleep.- . •' ■ . ' : —Arthur Davison Ficke.