London for their muse. If you'll promise not to cry
again, I'll recall some lines by a friend of mine which were written
for town-tastes like ours. But perhaps you know them?"

It will gratify my friend to learn that Rosalind had the verses I refer
to by heart, and started off humming,--

"Ah, London, London, our delight,
Great flower that opens but at night,
Great city of the midnight sun,
Whose day begins when day is done...
Like dragon-flies the hansoms hover
With jewelled eyes to catch the lover;"

and so on, with a gusto of appreciation that must have been very
gratifying to the author had he been present.

Thus perceiving a taste for a certain modern style of poetry in my
companion, I bethought me of a poem which I had written on the roadside
a few days before, and which, I confess, I was eager to confide to some
sympathetic ear. I was diffident of quoting it after such lines as
Rosalind had recalled, but by the time we had reached our coffee, I
plucked up courage to mention it. I had, however, the less diffidence
in that it would have a technical interest for her, being indeed no
other than a song of cycling a deux which had been suggested by one of
those alarmist danger-posts always placed at the top of the pleasantest
hills, sternly warning the cyclist that "this hill is dangerous,"--just
as in life there is always some minatory notice-board frowning upon us
in the direction we most desire to take.

But I omit further preface and produce the poem:--

"This hill is dangerous," I said,
As we rode on together
Through sunny miles and sunny miles
Of Surrey heather;
"This hill is dangerous--don't you think
We'd better walk it?"
"Or sit it out--more danger still!"
She smiled--"and talk it?"

"Are you afraid?" she turned and cried
So very brave and sweetly,--
Oh that brave smile that takes the heart
Captive completely!

"Afraid?" I said, deep in her eyes
Recklessly gazing;
"For you I'd ride into the sun
And die all blazing!"

"I never yet saw hill," I said,
"And was afraid to take it;
I never saw a foolish law,
And feared to break it.
Who fears a hill or fears a law
With you beside him?
Who fears, dear star, the wildest sea
With you to guide him?"

Then came the hill--a cataract,
A dusty swirl, before us;
The world stood round--a village world--