Part 21

Now falls the apple, bleeds the vine, And moved by some autumnal sign, I, who in spring was glad, repine, And ache without my anodyne. Oh things that were, oh things that are, Oh setting of my double star!

This day this way an Iris came, And brought a scroll, and showed a name. Now surely they who thus reclaim Acquaintance should relight a flame. So speed, gay steed, that I may see Dear Euphrasie, dear Eulalie.

Behind this ivy screen are they Whose girlhood flowered on me last May. The world is lord of all; I pray They be not courtly--who can say? Well, well, remembrance held in fee Is good, nay, best. I turn and flee.

L'OISEAU BLEU

Down with the oar, I toil no more. Trust to the boat; we rest, we float. Under the loosestrife and alder we roam To seek and search for the halcyon's home.

Blue bird, pause; thou hast no cause To grudge me the sight of fishbones white. Thine is the only nest now to find. Show it me, birdie; be calm, be kind.

Wander all day in quest of prey, Dart and gleam, and ruffle the stream; Then for the truth that the old folks sing, Comfort the twilight, and droop thy wing.

HOME, PUP!

Euphemia Seton of Urchinhope, The wife of the farmer of Tynnerandoon, Stands lifting her eyes to the whitening slope, And longs for her laddies at suppertime soon.

The laddies, the dog, and the witless sheep, Are bound to come home, for the snow will be deep. The mother is pickling a scornful word To throw at the head of the elder lad, Hugh; But talkative Jamie, as gay as a bird, Will have nothing beaten save snow from his shoe. He has fire in his eyes, he has curls on his head, And a silver brooch and a kerchief red.

Poor Hugh, trudging on with his collie pup Jess, Has kept his plain mind to himself all the way, Just quietly giving his dog the caress Which no one gave him for a year and a day. And luckily quadrupeds seldom despise Our lumbering wits and our lack-lustre eyes.

Deep down in the corrie, high up on the brae, Where Shinnel and Scar tumble down from the rock The wicked white ladies have been at their play, The wind has been pushing the leewardly flock. The white land should tell where the creatures are gone, But snow hides the snow that their hooves have been on.

Ah! down there in Urchinhope nobody knows How blinding the flakes, and the north wind how cruel. Euphemia's gudeman will come for his brose, But far up the hill is her darling, her jewel. She sees something crimson. "Oh, gudeman, look up! There's Jamie's cravat on the neck of the pup."

"Where, where have ye been, Jess, and where did ye leave him? Now just get a bite, pup, then show me my pet. Poor Jamie 'll be tired, and the sleep will deceive him; Oh, stir him, oh, guide him, before the sun set!" "Quick, Jock, bring a lantern! quick, Sandie, some wraps! Before ye win till him 'twill darken, perhaps."

Jess whimpered; the young moon was down in the west; A shelter-stone jutted from under the hill; Stiff hands beneath Jamie's blue bonnet were pressed, And over his beating heart one that was still. Bareheaded and coatless, to windward lay Hugh, And high on his back the snow gathered and grew.

"Now fold them in plaids, they'll be up with the sun; Their bed will be warm, and the blood is so strong. How wise to send Jessie; now cannily run. Poor pup, are ye tired? we'll be home before long." Jess licked a cold cheek, and the bonny boy spoke: "Where's Hugh?" The pup whimpered, but Hugh never woke.

A SOLDIER'S MIRACLE

'Twas when we learnt we could be beat; Our star misled us, and' we strayed. Elsewhere the host was in retreat; We were a guideless lost brigade.

We stumbled on a town in doubt, To halt and sup we were full fain, The man that held the chart cried out, "'Tis Vaucouleurs in old Lorraine."

In Vaucouleurs we will not doubt, For here, when need was sore, Saint Jane Arose, and girt herself to rout The foes that troubled her Lorraine.

So here we feast in faith to-night, To-morrow we'll rejoin the host Drink, drink! the wine is pure and bright, And Jane our maiden is the toast.

But I, that faced the window, caught A passing cloud, a foreign plume, A Prussian helmet; and the thought Of peril chilled the tavern room.

We rose, we glared through twilight panes, We muttered curses bosom-deep; A tell-tale gallop scared the lanes, We grudged to spoil our comrades' sleep.

Then louder than the Uhlan's hoof Fell storm from sky and flood on banks, September's passion smote the roof; We blest it, and to Jane gave thanks.

Betwixt us and that Uhlan's mates A bridgless river strongly flowed. A sign was shown that checked the fates, And on that storm our maiden rode.

A BALLAD FOR A BOY

When George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago, He ordered Captain Farmer to chase the foreign foe. "You're not afraid of shot," said he, "you're not afraid of wreck, So cruise about the west of France in the frigate called Quebec.

Quebec was once a Frenchman's town, but twenty years ago King George the Second sent a man called General Wolfe, you know, To clamber up a precipice and look into Quebec, As you'd look down a hatchway when standing on the deck.