ute
To higher, lordlier show,
Who art in sooth that lovely Truth
The careless angels know!

_Thy face is far from this our war,
Our call and counter-cry,
I may not find Thee quick and kind,
Nor meet Thee till I die._

_Yet may I look with heart unshook
On blow brought home or missed--
Yet may I hear with equal ear
The clarions down the list;
Yet set my lance above mischance
And ride the barriere--
Oh, hit or miss, how little 'tis,
My Lady is not there!_

THE FLOWERS.

"To our private taste, there is always something a little exotic,
almost artificial, in songs which, under an English aspect and
dress, are yet so manifestly the product of other skies. They affect
us like translations; the very fauna and flora are alien, remote;
the dog's-tooth violet is but an ill substitute for the rathe
primrose, nor can we ever believe that the wood-robin sings as
sweetly in April as the English thrush."--_The Athenaeum._

_Buy my English posies--
Kent and Surrey may,
Violets of the Undercliff
Wet with Channel spray;
Cowslips from a Devon combe
Midland furze afire--
Buy my English posies,
And I'll sell your hearts' desire!_

Buy my English posies!--
You that scorn the may
Won't you greet a friend from home
Half the world away?
Green against the draggled drift,
Faint and frail and first--
Buy my Northern blood-root
And I'll know where you were nursed!
Robin down the logging-road whistles, "Come to me,"
Spring has found the maple-grove, the sap is running free;
All the winds o' Canada call the ploughing-rain.
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

Buy my English posies!--
Here's to match your need.
Buy a tuft of royal heath,
Buy a bunch of weed
White as sand of Muysenberg
Spun before the gale--
Buy my heath and lilies
And I'll tell you whence you hail!
Under hot Constantia broad the vineyards lie--
Throned and thorned the aching berg props the speckless sky--
Slow below the Wynberg firs trails the tilted wain--
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

Buy m