Niver try to mak a fooil ov onybody this month; ther's fooils enuff i'th world already. It's oft struck me what a varry slight difference ther is between a wise man and a fooil; one aims at summat an' hits it - tother aims at summat an' misses it; an' aw have known th' time when th' chap 'at's missed has been worth a dozen sich like as him 'at's hit. But th' world generally sets 'em daan to be wise men 'at happen to be lucky men, an' get hold o' lots o' brass. An' ha monny brains a chap has, if he can't spooart a pair o' kid gloves an' a daycent hat, he mun niver hope for owt better nor to tak his place amang th' fooils. Aw've monny a time thowt when aw've heared fowk settin a chap daan as a fooil; - talk prattley - may be if he wor weighed up he's a better man nor yo this minit; yo connot tell all 'at he may have had to struggle wi' -

(1860.)


When ocean-clouds over inland hills
Sweep storming in late autumn brown,
And horror the sodden valley fills,
And the spire falls crashing in the town,
I muse upon my country's ills -
The tempest bursting from the waste of Time
On the world's fairest hope linked with man's foulest crime.

Nature's dark side is heeded now -
(Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown) -
A child may read the moody brow
Of yon black mountain lone.
With shouts the torrents down the gorges go,
And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:
The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.

We welcome thy coming, bright, sunny Spring,
    To this snow-clad land of ours,
For sunshine and music surround thy steps,
    Thy pathway is strewn with flowers;
And vainly stern Winter, with brow of gloom,
    Attempted for awhile
To check thy coming - he had to bow
    To the might of thy sunny smile.

A touch of thy wand, and our streams and lakes
    Are freed from his tyrant sway,
And their clear blue depths in ripples of gold
    Reflect back the sun's bright ray;
Whilst e'en the rude rocks that their waters fret
    Put on mosses green and bright,
And silent, deep homage render up now,
    Sweet Spring, to thy magic might.

And what words could tell half the wond'rous change
    Thou mak'st in our forest bowers,
Replacing the snow ...

How smartly the quarters of the hour march by
That the jack-o'-clock never forgets;
Ding-dong; and before I have traced a cusp's eye,
Or got the true twist of the ogee over,
A double ding-dong ricochetts.

Just so did he clang here before I came,
And so will he clang when I'm gone
Through the Minster's cavernous hollows - the same
Tale of hours never more to be will he deliver
To the speechless midnight and dawn!

I grow to conceive it a call to ghosts,
Whose mould lies below and around.
Yes; the next "Come, come," draws them out from their posts,
And they gather, and one shade appears, and another,
As the eve-damps creep from the ground.

See - a Courtenay stands by his quatre-foiled tomb,
And a Duke and his Duchess near;
And one Sir Edmun...

Come, dear old friend, and with us twain
To calm Digentian groves repair;
The turtle coos his sweet refrain
And posies are a-blooming there;
And there the romping Sabine girls
Bind myrtle in their lustrous curls.

I know a certain ilex-tree
Whence leaps a fountain cool and clear.
Its voices summon you and me;
Come, let us haste to share its cheer!
Methinks the rapturous song it sings
Should woo our thoughts from mortal things.

But, good old friend, I charge thee well,
Watch thou my brother all the while,
Lest some fair Lydia cast her spell
Round him unschooled in female guile.
Those damsels have no charms for me;
Guard thou that brother,--I'll guard thee!

And, lo, sweet friend! behold this cup,
Round which the garlands intertwin...

O that I were
Where breaks the pure cold light
On English hills,
And peewits rising cry,
And gray is all the sky.

Or at evening there
When the faint slow light stays,
And far below
Sleeps the last lingering sound,
And night leans all round.

O then, O there
'Tis English haunted ground.
The diligent stars
Creep out, watch, and smile;
The wise moon lingers awhile.

For surely there
Heroic shapes are moving,
Visible thoughts,
Passions, things divine,
Clear beneath clear star-shine.

O that I were
Again on English hills,
Seeing between
Laborious villages
Her cool dark loveliness.

When all the world would keep a matter hid,
Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd,
Men write in fable, as old Aesop did,
Jesting at that which none will name aloud.
And this they needs must do, or it will fall
Unless they please they are not heard at all.

When desperate Folly daily laboureth
To work confusion upon all we have,
When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom's death,
And banded Fear commandeth Honour's grave,
Even in that certain hour before the fall,
Unless men please they are not heard at all.

Needs must all please, yet some not all for need,
Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain,
But that men taking pleasure may take heed.
Whom present toil shall snatch from later pain.
Thus some have toiled, but their reward was small
Si...

Love gives every gift whereby we long to live
"Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give."

Love unlocks the lips that else were ever dumb:
"Love locks up the lips whence all things good might come."

Love makes clear the eyes that else would never see:
"Love makes blind the eyes to all but me and thee."

Love turns life to joy till nought is left to gain:
"Love turns life to woe till hope is nought and vain."

Love, who changest all, change me nevermore!
"Love, who changest all, change my sorrow sore!"

Love burns up the world to changeless heaven and blest,
"Love burns up the world to a void of all unrest."

And there we twain are left, and no more work we need:
"And I am left alone, and who my work shall heed?"

Ah!    I pra...

HOLY CROSS: MAY, 1917

(For Major Joseph W. O'Connor, '03)


Birds are merry and the buds
Come along with May:
Lonely is the linden land
For lads that went today.

What calls the May of song
But the fair young spring?
Heard our boys another tune
Sterner voices sing.

Bugles blew by land and sea,
And the tocsin drum;
See, brave hearts go down the hill,
Shouting, "Hail, we come."

From the towers that show the Cross,
Staunch the Flag waved out,
And the royal Purple shook
Joyous with the shout.

Heigh-ho! And a lusty cheer,
Down the linden lane:
The pine grove looked but cannot tell
If they'll come home again.

Few may take the homeward road
When the war is done:
Where they fall or wh...

I gazed at the azure-hued mantle of heaven,
    The measureless depths of ethereal space;
I gazed at the clouds, so invisibly driven,
    And an eagle, which wheeled with symmetrical grace.

I gazed at that eagle, majestically wheeling,
    With dignity, born of the free mountain air;
I envied that bird, with an envious feeling
    Which springs from a heart that is shackled with care.

I envied that eagle, which bowed to no master,
    But soared at his will, through the ambient skies,
Defiant of danger, and scorning disaster,
    He screamed at the cliffs, which re-echoed his cries.

I envied that bird, on that fair summer morning,
    When nature lay decked with spontaneous art,
As he circled, with aspect defiant and scorning,
    And perched on a...

To me 'twas given to die; to thee 'tis given
To live: alas! one moment sets us even.
Mark! how impartial is the will of Heaven!

("L'aurore s'allume.")

[XX. a, December, 1834.]


Morning glances hither,
Now the shade is past;
Dream and fog fly thither
Where Night goes at last;
Open eyes and roses
As the darkness closes;
And the sound that grows is
Nature walking fast.

Murmuring all and singing,
Hark! the news is stirred,
Roof and creepers clinging,
Smoke and nest of bird;
Winds to oak-trees bear it,
Streams and fountains hear it,
Every breath and spirit
As a voice is heard.

All takes up its story,
Child resumes his play,
Hearth its ruddy glory,
Lute its lifted lay.
Wild or out of senses,
Through the world immense is
Sound as each commences
Schemes of yesterday.

W.M. HARDINGE.

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

In Collins-street standeth a statue tall,*
A statue tall on a pillar of stone,
Telling its story, to great and small,
Of the dust reclaimed from the sand waste lone.
Weary and wasted, and worn and wan,
Feeble and faint, and languid and low,
He lay on the desert a dying man,
Who has gone, my friends, where we all must go.

There are perils by land, and perils by water,
Short, I ween, are the obsequies
Of the landsman lost, but they may be shorter
With the mariner lost in the trackless seas;
And well for him when the timbers start,
And the stout ship reels and settles below,
Who goes to his doom with as bold a heart
As that dead man gone where we all must go.

Man is stubborn his rights to yield,
And redder than dews at eventide
Are the dews ...

Whatever is a cruel wrong,
    Whatever is unjust,
The honest years that speed along
    Will trample in the dust.
In restless youth I railed at fate
    With all my puny might,
But now I know if I but wait
    It all will come out right.

Though Vice may don the judge's gown
    And play the censor's part,
And Fact be cowed by Falsehood's frown
    And Nature ruled by art;
Though Labour toils through blinding tears
    And idle Wealth is might,
I know the honest, earnest years
    Will bring it all out right.

Though poor and loveless creeds may pass
    For pure religion's gold;
Though ignorance may rule the mass
    While truth meets glances cold,
I know a law complete, sublime,
    Controls us with its might,
And in ...

How glad it makes me feel at night,
    When sitting on my mother's knee,
To hear her whisper "You've done right,
    And tried my gentle child to be."

But then I feel ashamed and sad
    If I've been cross and disobeyed,
Or if my selfish way I've had
    When I with other children played.

So if at night I'd call to mind
    A day of undisturbed delight,
The only way that I can find
    Is to be loving and do right.

The short hour's halt is ended,
The red gone from the west,
The broken wheel is mended,
And the dead men laid to rest.
Three days have we retreated
The brave old Curse-and-Grin,
Outnumbered and defeated,
Fall in, my men, fall in.

Poor weary, hungry sinners,
Past caring and past fear,
The camp-fires of the winners
Are gleaming in the rear.
Each day their front advances,
Each day the same old din,
But freedom holds the chances,
Fall in, my men, fall in.

Despair's cold fingers searches
The sky is black ahead,
We leave in barns and churches
Our wounded and our dead.
Through cold and rain and darkness
And mire that clogs like sin,
In failure in its starkness,
Fall in, my men, fall in.

We go and know not whit...

Our souls should be vessels receiving
The waters of love for relieving
    The sorrows of men.

For here lies the pleasure of living:
In taking God's bounties, and giving
    The gifts back again.