shiver,
Low lids that cling to the last of love:
We left the levels, we left the river,
And turned us and toiled to the air above.

To fetch a paile of water,
By the sad sweet springs that have salved our sorrow,
The fates that haunt us, the grief that grips--
Where we walk not to-day nor shall walk not tomorrow
The wells of Lethe for wearied lips.
With souls nor shaken with tears nor laughter,
With limp knees loosed as of priests that pray,
We bowed us and bent to the white well-water,
We dipped and we drank it and bore away.

Jack felle downe
The low light trembled on languid lashes,
The haze of your hair on my mouth was blown,
Our love flashed fierce from its fading ashes,
As night's dim net on the day was thrown.
What was it meant for, or made for, that minute,
But that our lives in delight should be dipt?
Was it yours, or my fault, or fate's, that in it
Our frail feet faltered, our steep steps slipt.

And brake his crowne, and Jille came tumblynge after.
Our linked hands loosened and lapsed in sunder,
Love from our limbs as a shift was shed,
But paused a moment, to watch with wonder
The pale pained body, the bursten head.
While our sad souls still with regrets are riven,
While the blood burns bright on our bruised brows,
I have set you free, and I stand forgiven--
And now I had better go call my cows.

_Unknown._

EXTRACTS FKOM THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR CAYENNE

Wake! for the Hack can scatter into flight
Shakespeare and Dante in a single Night!
The Penny-a-Liner is Abroad, and strikes
Our Modern Literature with blithering Blight.

Before Historical Romances died,
Methought a Voice from Art's Olympus cried,
"When all Dumas and Scott is still for Sale,
Why nod o'er drowsy Tales, by Tyros tried?"

A Book of Limericks--Nonsense, anyhow--
Alice in Wonderland, the Purple Cow
Beside me singing on Fifth Avenue--
Ah, this were Modern Literature enow!

Ah, my Beloved, write the Book that clears
|To-Day| of dreary Debt and sad Arrears;
To-morrow!--Why, To-Morrow I may see
My Nonsense popular as Edward Lear's.

And we, that now within the Editor's Room
Make merry while we have our little Boom,
Ourselves must we give way to next month's Set--
Girls with Three Names, who know not Who from Whom!

As then the Poet for his