Part 8

One brought a cluster of some strange date, With a subtle and searching tang That seemed, as you tasted, to penetrate The heart like a serpent's fang; And back you fell for a spell entranced, As cold as a corpse of stone, And heard your brains, as they laughed and danced And talked in an undertone.

One brought a bird that could whistle a tune So piercingly pure and sweet, That tears would fall from the eyes of the moon In dewdrops at its feet; And the winds would sigh at the sweet refrain, Till they swooned in an ecstacy, To waken again in a hurricane Of riot and jubilee.

One brought a lute that was wrought of a shell Luminous as the shine Of a new-born star in a dewy dell,-- And its strings were strands of wine That sprayed at the Fancy's touch and fused, As your listening spirit leant Drunken through with the airs that oozed From the o'ersweet instrument.

One brought a tablet of ivory Whereon no thing was writ,-- But, at night--and the dazzled eyes would see Flickering lines o'er it,-- And each, as you read from the magic tome, Lightened and died in flame, And the memory held but a golden poem Too beautiful to name.

Till it seemed all marvels that ever were known Or dreamed of under the sun Were brought and displayed at the royal throne, And put by, one by one Till a graybeard monster came to the King-- Haggard and wrinkled and old-- And spread to his gaze this wondrous thing,-- A gossamer veil of gold.--

Strangely marvelous--mocking the gaze Like a tangle of bright sunshine, Dipping a million glittering rays In a baptism divine: And a maiden, sheened in this gauze attire-- Sifting a glance of her eye-- Dazzled men's souls with a fierce desire To kiss and caress her and--die.

And the grim King swore by his royal beard That the veil had won the prize, While the gray old monster blinked and leered With his lashless, red-rimmed eyes, As the fainting form of the princess fell, And the mother's heart went wild, Throbbing and swelling a muffled knell For the dead hopes of her child.

But her clouded face with a faint smile shone, As suddenly, through the throng, Pushing his way to the royal throne, A fair youth strode along, While a strange smile hovered about his eyes, As he said to the grim old King:-- "The veil of gold must lose the prize; For I have a stranger thing."

He bent and whispered a sentence brief; But the monarch shook his head, With a look expressive of unbelief-- "It can't be so," he said; "Or give me proof; and I, the King, Give you my daughter's hand,-- For certes THAT IS a stranger thing-- THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND!"

Then the fair youth, turning, caught the Queen In a rapturous caress, While his lithe form towered in lordly mien, As he said in a brief address:-- "My fair bride's mother is this; and, lo, As you stare in your royal awe, By this pure kiss do I proudly show A LOVE FOR A MOTHER-IN-LAW!"

Then a thaw set in the old King's mood, And a sweet Spring freshet came Into his eyes, and his heart renewed Its love for the favored dame: But often he has been heard to declare That "he never could clearly see How, in the deuce, such a strange affair Could have ended so happily!"

JOB WORK

"Write me a rhyme of the present time". And the poet took his pen And wrote such lines as the miser minds Hide in the hearts of men.

He grew enthused, as the poets used When their fingers kissed the strings Of some sweet lyre, and caught the fire True inspiration brings,

And sang the song of a nation's wrong-- Of the patriot's galling chain, And the glad release that the angel, Peace, Has given him again.

He sang the lay of religion's sway, Where a hundred creeds clasp hands And shout in glee such a symphony That the whole world understands.

He struck the key of monopoly, And sang of her swift decay, And traveled the track of the railway back With a blithesome roundelay--

Of the tranquil bliss of a true love kiss; And painted the picture, too, Of the wedded life, and the patient wife, And the husband fond and true;

And sang the joy that a noble boy Brings to a father's soul, Who lets the wine as a mocker shine Stagnated in the bowl.

And he stabbed his pen in the ink again, And wrote with a writhing frown, "This is the end." "And now, my friend, You may print it--upside down!"

PRIVATE THEATRICALS

A quite convincing axiom Is, "Life is like a play"; For, turning back its pages some Few dog-eared years away, I find where I Committed my Love-tale--with brackets where to sigh.

I feel an idle interest To read again the page; I enter, as a lover dressed, At twenty years of age, And play the part With throbbing heart, And all an actor's glowing art.

And she who plays my Lady-love Excels!--Her loving glance Has power her audience to move-- I am her audience.-- Her acting tact, To tell the fact, "Brings down the house" in every act.

And often we defy the curse Of storms and thunder-showers, To meet together and rehearse This little play of ours-- I think, when she "Makes love" to me, She kisses very naturally!

. . . . . .

Yes; it's convincing--rather-- That "Life is like a play": I am playing "Heavy Father" In a "Screaming Farce" to-day, That so "brings down The house," I frown, And fain would "ring the curtain down."

PLAIN SERMONS