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After Dilettante Concetti

(A big brother speaketh:)

"The refrain you've studied a meaning had, Sister Helen!

It gave strange force to a weird ballad.

But refrains have become a ridiculous 'fad,'
Little brother.

And Mother Carey, mother,

Has a bearing on nothing in earth or heaven.

"But the finical fashion has had its day,
Sister Helen.

And let's try in the style of a different lay
To bid it adieu in poetical way,

Little brother.

So, Mother Carey, mother!

Collect your chickens and go to-heaven."

(A pause. Then the big brother singeth, accompanying himself in a plaintive wise on the triangle.)

"Look in my face. My name is Used-to-was;
I am also called Played-out, and Done to Death,
And It-will-wash-no-more. Awakeneth
Slowly but sure awakening it has,

The common-sense of man; and I, alas!

The ballad-burden trick, now known too well, And turned to scorn, and grown contemptibleA too transparent artifice to pass.

"What a cheap dodge I am! The cats who dart
Tin-kettled through the streets in wild surprise
Assail judicious ears not otherwise;
And yet no critics praise the urchin's 'art,'
Who to the wretched creature's caudal part
Its foolish empty-jingling 'burden' ties."

475

H. D. Traill.

WHENCENESS OF THE WHICH

SOME DISTANCE AFTER TENNYSON

COME into the Whenceness Which,
For the fierce Because has flown:
Come into the Whenceness Which,

I am here by the Where alone;
And the Whereas odors are wafted abroad
Till I hold my nose and groan.

Queen Which of the Whichbud garden of What's
Come hither the jig is done.

In gloss of Isness and shimmer of Was,
Queen Thisness and Which in one;

Shine out, little Which, sunning over the bangs,
To the Nowness, and be its sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear

From the Is flower at the fence;

She is coming, my Which, my dear,

And as she Whistles a song of the Whence,
The Nowness cries, "She is near, she is near."
And the Thingness howls, "Alas!"

The Whoness murmurs, " Well, I should smile,"
And the Whatlet sobs, "I pass."

Unknown.

THE LITTLE STAR

SCINTILLATE, scintillate, globule orific,
Fain would I fathom thy nature's specific.
Loftily poised in ether capacious,
Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous.

When torrid Phoebus refuses his presence
And ceases to lamp with fierce incandescence,
Then you illumine the regions supernal,
Scintillate, scintillate, semper nocturnal.

Sainte Margérie

Then the victim of hospiceless peregrination
Gratefully hails your minute coruscation.
He could not determine his journey's direction
But for your bright scintillating protection.

477

Unknown.

THE ORIGINAL LAMB

О, Mary had a little lamb, regarding whose cuticular
The fluff exterior was white and kinked in each particular.
On each occasion when the lass was seen perambulating,
The little quadruped likewise was there a gallivating.

One day it did accompany her to the knowledge dispensary,
Which to every rule and precedent was recklessly contrary.
Immediately whereupon the pedagogue superior,
Exasperated, did eject the lamb from the interior.

Then Mary, on beholding such performance arbitrary, Suffused her eyes with saline drops from glands called lachrymary,

And all the pupils grew thereat tumultuously hilarious, And speculated on the case with wild conjectures various.

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" the scholars asked the teacher.

He paused a moment, then he tried to diagnose the creature. "Oh pecus amorem Mary habit omnia temporum." "Thanks, teacher dear," the scholars cried, and awe crept darkly o'er 'em.

SAINTE MARGÉRIE

SLIM feet than lilies tenderer,-
Margérie!

That scarce upbore the body of her,
Naked upon the stones they were;-
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

Unknown.

White as a shroud the silken gown,—

Margérie!

That flowed from shoulder to ankle down,
With clear blue shadows along it thrown;
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

On back and bosom withouten braid,—
Margérie!

In crispèd glory of darkling red,
Round creamy temples her hair was shed;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

Eyes, like a dim sea, viewed from far,-
Margérie!

Lips that no earthly love shall mar,
More sweet that lips of mortals are;-
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

The chamber walls are cracked and bare;-
Margérie!

Without the gossips stood astare
At men her bed away that bare;
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

Five pennies lay her hand within,—
Margérie!

So she her fair soul's weal might win,
Little she reck'd of dule or teen;-
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

Dank straw from dunghill gathered,—
Margérie!

Where fragrant swine have made their bed,
Thereon her body shall be laid;-

C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

Three pennies to the poor in dole,-
Margérie!

One to the clerk her knell shall toll,

And one to masses for her soul;-
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!

Unknown.

Robert Frost

ROBERT FROST

RELATES THE DEATH OF THE TIRED MAN

THERE were two of us left in the berry-patch;
Bryan O'Lin and Jack had gone to Norwich.—
They called him Jack a' Nory, half in fun
And half because it seemed to anger him.-
So there we stood and let the berries go,
Talking of men we knew and had forgotten.
A sprawling, humpbacked mountain frowned on us
And blotted out a smouldering sunset cloud
That broke in fiery ashes. "Well," he said,
"Old Adam Brown is dead and gone; you'll never
See him any more. He used to wear

A long, brown coat that buttoned down before.
That's all I ever knew of him; I guess that's all
That anyone remembers. Eh?" he said,

And then, without a pause to let me answer,
He went right on.

"How about Dr. Foster?"

"Well, how about him?" I managed to reply.
He glared at me for having interrupted.
And stopped to pick his words before he spoke;
Like one who turns all personal remarks

Into a general survey of the world.

Choosing his phrases with a finicky care

So they might fit some vague opinions,

Taken, third-hand, from last year's New York Times
And jumbled all together into a thing

He thought was his philosophy.

"Never mind;

There's more in Foster than you'd understand.
But," he continued, darkly as before,

"What do you make of Solomon Grundy's case?
You know the gossip when he first came here.
Folks said he'd gone to smash in Lunenburg,
And four years in the State Asylum here
Had almost finished him. It was Sanders' job
That put new life in him. A clear, cool day;
The second Monday in July it was.

479

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