Grass of Parnassus | Page 8

not be,
The grave
is wide and deep,

That sunders you and me;
In bitter dreams we

reap
The sorrow we have sown,
And I would I were asleep,

Forgotten and alone!
We knew and did not know,
We saw and did not see,
The nets that
long ago
Fate wove for you and me;
The cruel nets that keep
The
birds that sob and moan,
And I would we were asleep,
Forgotten
and alone!
THE SINGING ROSE.
'La Rose qui chante et l'herbe qui egare.'
White Rose on the grey garden wall,
Where now no night-wind
whispereth,
Call to the far-off flowers, and call
With murmured
breath and musical
Till all the Roses hear, and all
Sing to my Love
what the White Rose saith.
White Rose on the grey garden wall
That long ago we sung!
Again
you come at Summer's call,--
Again beneath my windows all
With
trellised flowers is hung,
With clusters of the roses white
Like
fragrant stars in a green night.
Once more I hear the sister towers
Each unto each reply,
The bloom
is on those limes of ours,
The weak wind shakes the bloom in
showers,
Snow from a cloudless sky;
There is no change this happy
day
Within the College Gardens grey!
St. Mary's, Merton, Magdalen--still
Their sweet bells chime and
swing,
The old years answer them, and thrill
A wintry heart against
its will
With memories of the Spring--
That Spring we sought the
gardens through
For flowers which ne'er in gardens grew!
For we, beside our nurse's knee,
In fairy tales had heard
Of that
strange Rose which blossoms free
On boughs of an enchanted tree,

And sings like any bird!

And of the weed beside the way
That

leadeth lovers' steps astray!
In vain we sought the Singing Rose
Whereof old legends tell,
Alas,
we found it not mid those
Within the grey old College close,
That
budded, flowered, and fell,--
We found that herb called 'Wandering'

And meet no more, no more in Spring!
Yes, unawares the unhappy grass
That leadeth steps astray,
We trod,
and so it came to pass
That never more we twain, alas,
Shall walk
the self-same way.
And each must deem, though neither knows,

That NEITHER found the Singing Rose!
A REVIEW IN RHYME.
A little of Horace, a little of Prior,
A sketch of a Milkmaid, a lay of
the Squire--
These, these are 'on draught' 'At the Sign of the Lyre!'
A child in Blue Ribbons that sings to herself,
A talk of the Books on
the Sheraton shelf,
A sword of the Stuarts, a wig of the Guelph,
A lai, a pantoum, a ballade, a rondeau,
A pastel by Greuze, and a
sketch by Moreau,
And the chimes of the rhymes that sing sweet as
they go,
A fan, and a folio, a ringlet, a glove,
'Neath a dance by Laguerre on
the ceiling above,
And a dream of the days when the bard was in
love,
A scent of dead roses, a glance at a pun,
A toss of old powder, a glint
of the sun,
They meet in the volume that Dobson has done!
If there's more that the heart of a man can desire,
He may search, in
his Swinburne, for fury and fire;
If he's wise--he'll alight 'At the Sign
of the Lyre!'
COLINETTE.

For a sketch by Mr. G. Leslie, R.A.
France your country, as we know;
Room enough for guessing yet,

What lips now or long ago,
Kissed and named you--Colinette.
In
what fields from sea to sea,
By what stream your home was set,

Loire or Seine was glad of thee,
Marne or Rhone, O Colinette?
Did you stand with maidens ten,
Fairer maids were never seen,

When the young king and his men
Passed among the orchards green?

Nay, old ballads have a note
Mournful, we would fain forget;
No
such sad old air should float
Round your young brows, Colinette.
Say, did Ronsard sing to you,
Shepherdess, to lull his pain,
When
the court went wandering through
Rose pleasances of Touraine?

Ronsard and his famous Rose
Long are dust the breezes fret;
You,
within the garden close,
You are blooming, Colinette.
Have I seen you proud and gay,
With a patched and perfumed beau,

Dancing through the summer day,
Misty summer of Watteau?

Nay, so sweet a maid as you
Never walked a minuet
With the
splendid courtly crew;
Nay, forgive me, Colinette.
Not from Greuze's canvases
Do you cast a glance, a smile;
You are
not as one of these,
Yours is beauty without guile.
Round your
maiden brows and hair
Maidenhood and Childhood met
Crown and
kiss you, sweet and fair,
New art's blossom, Colinette.
A SUNSET OF WATTEAU.
LUI.
The silk sail fills, the soft winds wake,
Arise and tempt the seas;

Our ocean is the Palace lake,
Our waves the ripples that we make

Among the mirrored trees.

ELLE.
Nay, sweet the shore, and sweet the song,
And dear the languid
dream;
The music mingled all day long
With paces of the dancing
throng,
And murmur of the stream.
An hour ago, an hour ago,
We rested in the shade;
And now, why
should we seek to know
What way the wilful waters flow?
There is
no fairer glade.
LUI.
Nay, pleasure flits, and we must sail,
And seek him everywhere;

Perchance in sunset's golden pale
He listens to the nightingale,

Amid the perfumed air.
Come, he has fled; you are not you,
And I no more am