BABETTE (sings).

"One was the Friend I left
Stark in the snow;

One was the Wife that died

Long, long ago;

One was the Love I lost...
How could she know?"

M. VIEUXBOIS (murmuring).

Ah, Paul!... old Paul! . . . Eulalie too!
And Rose... and O! "the sky so blue!"

BABETTE (sings).

"One had my Mother's eyes,

Wistful and mild;

One had my Father's face;

One was a child:

All of them bent to me—

Bent down and smiled!"

(He is asleep!)

M. VIEUXBOIS (almost inaudibly).

"How I forget!"

"I am so old!"... "Good-night, Babette!"

TO LORD DE TABLEY

Still may the Muses foster thee, O Friend,
Who, while the vacant quidnuncs stand at gaze,
Wond'ring what Prophet next the Fates may send,
Still tread'st the ancient ways;

Still climb'st the clear-cold attitudes of Song,

Or ling'ring "by the shore of Old Romance," Heed'st not the vogue, how little or how long, Of marvels made in France.

Still to the summits may thy face be set,

And long may we, that heard thy morning rhyme, Hang on thy noon-day music, nor forget

In the hushed even-time?

"IN AFTER DAYS"

In after days when grasses high
O'er-top the stone where I shall lie,
Though ill or well the world adjust
My slender claim to honoured dust,
I shall not question nor reply.

I shall not see the morning sky;
I shall not hear the night-wind sigh ;
I shall be mute, as all men must,
In after days!

But yet, now living, fain were I
That some one then should testify,
Saying, "He held his pen in trust
To Art, not serving shame or lust."
Will none? Then let my memory die
In after days!

DR. RICHARD GARNETT.

THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT

The stream was smooth as glass, we said: Arise, and

let's away;

The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay, And spread the sail, and strong the oar, we gaily took

our way.

When shall the sandy bar be cross'd?

find the bay?

When shall we

The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle-dotted

plains ;

The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy

rains ;

The labourer looks up to see our shallop speed away. When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? When shall we find the bay?

Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun superbly

large,

Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke sinks flaming at their marge;

The waves are bright with mirror'd light as jacinths on

our way.

When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? When shall we find the way?

The moon is high up in the sky, and now no more we

see

The spreading river's either bank, and surging distantly There booms a sullen thunder as of breakers far away, Now shall the sandy bar be cross'd, now shall we find the bay.

The sea-gull shrieks high overhead, and dimly to our sight

The moonlit crests of foaming waves gleam towering through the night.

We'll steal upon the mermaid soon, and start her from her lay,

When once the sandy bar is cross'd, and we are in the bay.

What rises white and awful, as a shroud-enfolded ghost? What roar of rampant tumult bursts in clangour on the coast?

Pull back! pull back! The raging flood sweeps every

oar away.

O stream, is this thy bar of sand? O boat, is this the

bay?

WILLIAM ALEXANDER, D.D., Primate of all Ireland

OXFORD AND HER CHANCELLOR

Fair as that woman whom the prophet old
In Ardath met, lamenting for her dead,
With sackcloth cast above the tiar of gold,
And ashes on her head.

Methought I met a lady yestereven;

A passionless grief, that had nor tear nor wail,
Sat on her pure proud face, that gleam'd to Heaven,
White as a moon-lit sail.

She spake: "On this pale brow are looks of youth,
Yet angels listening on the Argent floor
Know that these lips have been proclaiming truth

Nine hundred years and more.

And Isis knows what time-grey towers reared up,
Gardens and groves, and cloister'd halls are mine,
Where quaff my sons from many a myrrhine cup
Draughts of ambrosial wine.

He knows how night by night my lamps are lit,
How day by day my bells are ringing clear,
Mother of ancient lore and Attic wit,

And discipline severe.

It may be long ago my dizzied brain
Enchanted swam beneath Rome's master spell,
Till, like light tinctured by the painted pane,
Thought in her colours fell.