XXI

ROMANCE

'TALK of pluck!' pursued the Sailor,
Set at euchre on his elbow,

'I was on the wharf at Charleston,
Just ashore from off the runner.

'It was grey and dirty weather,
And I heard a drum go rolling,
Rub-a-dubbing in the distance,
Awful dour-like and defiant.

'In and out among the cotton,

Mud, and chains, and stores, and anchors,
Tramped a squad of battered scarecrows―
Poor old Dixie's bottom dollar!

'Some had shoes, but all had rifles,

Them that wasn't bald was beardless,

And the drum was rolling Dixie,
And they stepped to it like men, sir!

Rags and tatters, belts and bayonets,

On they swung, the drum a-rolling,
Mum and sour. It looked like fighting,
And they meant it too, by thunder !'

XXII

PASTORAL

It's the Spring.

Earth has conceived, and her bosom,

Teeming with summer, is glad.

Vistas of change and adventure,

Thro' the green land

The grey roads go beckoning and winding,
Peopled with wains, and melodious

With harness-bells jangling:

Jangling and twangling rough rhythms

To the slow march of the stately, great horses

Whistled and shouted along.

White fleets of cloud,

Argosies heavy with fruitfulness,

Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds Sway the tall poplars.

Pageants of colour and fragrance,

Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless
Walks the mild spirit of May,
Visibly blessing the world.

O, the brilliance of blossoming orchards !
O, the savour and thrill of the woods,
When their leafage is stirred

By the flight of the Angel of Rain!
Loud lows the steer; in the fallows

Rooks are alert; and the brooks

Gurgle and tinkle and trill. Thro' the gloamings, Under the rare, shy stars,

Boy and girl wander,

Dreaming in darkness and dew.

It's the Spring.

A sprightliness feeble and squalid
Wakes in the ward, and I sicken,
Impotent, winter at heart.

XXIII

MUSIC

Down the quiet eve,

Thro' my window with the sunset
Pipes to me a distant organ
Foolish ditties;

And, as when you change

Pictures in a magic lantern,

Books, beds, bottles, floor, and ceiling Fade and vanish,

August flares adust and torrid,
But my heart is full of April
Sap and sweetness.

In the quiet eve

I am loitering, longing, dreaming.
Dreaming, and a distant organ
Pipes me ditties.