Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 28, 5 August 1871, Page 18

Select Poetry.

SPIRIT OF ENGLAND, THOU WEKT NOT SLEEPING.

Spirit of England, thou wert not sleeping! Soul of my country, thou art not fled ! Thou hast aided the wounded and gladdened the weeping. Thou hast nourished the starving, who cheerless are reaping The bitter harvest which war has spread. Thou ait not sleeping: not unavailing Comes the widow's plaint, comes the orphan’s wailing; Thou hast dried the tears by thy sister shed ; For, ’midst the slaughter across the water, Thy ships have sought her with gold and bread. Her head was wounded, ’twas thou who bound it; Thou wert not sleeping, nor cold, nor dead. Weep! Thou did’st weep for her martial fervor. Pray! Thou did’st pray forher wrath to rein. But thy tears and thy pleadings were vain to serve her; What blame, then, to thee if she turned to nerve her ? Thro’ the blood of her bravest, new glory to gain, From the roar of the canon, the clash of the sabre. Thou turnedst with tears, not to sleep but to labor ; Through sorrow, and sighing, and ruin, ana pain, In silence unheeding thy passioned heart’s pleading, That thy voice interceding might whisper again Till the words hushed by scorning when uttered in warning Might be heard when the din and the fury should wane. Now with her laurels brown and faded, Her standard rent by the German sword, Her fields laid waste and her hearths invaded, Her spirit jaded, her glory faded, She bows her head at the victors word. What tho’ thine arm, ne’er sought to guard her! Tho’ thy heart ne’er trembled with warlike ardor, Was thy spirit within thee cold or hard ? When back from Heaven the war-cloud driven Bevealed her riven and worn and scarred, ’Twas thou who brought her the cup of water That “ shall not in any wise lose its reward.” M. A. M. DON’T WAKE THE BABY. Forget the chignon you should bring From town ; forget the bonnet, With dainty plume and twisted bow, And—little bill pinned on it; Tell Madame Basque to trim with folds Instead of fringe and laces, Tho pretty dress your wife will wear In triumph at the races ; Put up your boots on brocatel, Smoke parlor curtains yellow—’Twill only bring a mild reproof, Like this ; *' You bearish fellow, I never saw such careless ways ; No Fitz Adolphus, never !” But then a kiss or coaxing word Will right the wrong forever. Bring home a friend with you to dine When cook is out or going ; Leave little knots of ribbon blue Upon your dress coat showing; Forget the date of wedding-day ; Pronounce her pastor fusty ; Insinuate her poodle dog Is neither kind nor trusty ; For these you may atonement make, And hope to be forgiven— There might be trouble, I admit, About the knot of ribbon ; But with a show of penitence And compliments judicious, You might convince your wife at last You were not truly vicious— But don’t you wake the baby, friend ; With creaking boots advancing, Step on your tiptoes as you go, Like bear or monkey dancing ; For if you wake that baby, friend, That mother, sternly rising, Will then and there bestow rebuke With energy surprising. Ah, kisses then will be in vain, In vain your speeches tender, And baby will tear up the rose Your penitence may send her. So if you would be truly wise, And risk a lecture never, Don’t wake the baby up, my friend, And be beloved forever. Ethel Lynn.