I

THE FAIRIES' SIEGE

HAVE been given my charge to keep

Well have I kept the same!

Playing with strife for the most of my life,
But this is a different game.

I'll not fight against swords unseen,

Or spears that I cannot view

Hand him the keys of the place on your knees-'Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true!

Ask for his terms and accept them at once,
Quick, ere we anger him, go!

Never before have I flinched from the guns,
But this is a different show.

I'll not fight with the Herald of God
(I know what his Master can do!)
Open the gate, he must enter in state,

'Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true!

I'd not give way for an Emperor,
I'd hold my road for a King—

To the Triple Crown I would not bow down-
But this is a different thing.

I'll not fight with the Powers of Air,

Sentry, pass him through!

Drawbridge let fall, it's the Lord of us all,

The Dreamer whose dreams come true!

A SONG TO MITHRAS

(Hymn of the 30th Legion: circa A. D. 350)

ITHRAS, God of the Morning, our trumpets waken the Wall!

MTM

'Rome is above the Nations, but Thou art over all!' Now as the names are answered, and the guards are marched away,

Mithras, also a soldier, give us strength for the day!

Mithras, God of the Noontide, the heather swims in the heat.

Our helmets scorch our foreheads, our sandals burn our feet.

Now in the ungirt hour-now ere we blink and drowse, Mithras, also a soldier, keep us true to our vows!

Mithras, God of the Sunset, low on the Western mainThou descending immortal, immortal to rise again! Now when the watch is ended, now when the wine is drawn! Mithras, also a soldier, keep us pure till the dawn!

Mithras, God of the Midnight, here where the great bull dies,

Look on thy children in darkness. Oh take our sacrifice! Many roads thou hast fashioned-all of them lead to

the Light:

Mithras, also a soldier, teach us to die aright!

THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD

WH

HO gives him the Bath?
'I,' said the wet,
Rank Jungle-sweat,

'I'll give him the Bath!'

Who'll sing the psalms?

'We,' said the Palms. 'Ere the hot wind becalms, We'll sing the psalms.'

Who lays on the sword?
'I,' said the Sun,
'Before he has done,
I'll lay on the sword.'

Who fastens his belt?

'I,' said Short-Rations, 'I know all the fashions Of tightening a belt!'

Who gives him his spur? 'I,' said his Chief, Exacting and brief,

'I'll give him the spur.'

THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD

Who'll shake his hand?

'I,' said the Fever,

'And I'm no deceiver, I'll shake his hand.'

Who brings him the wine?
'I,' said Quinine,

'It's a habit of mine.
I'll come with the wine.'

Who'll put him to proof?
'I,' said All Earth,
'Whatever he's worth,

I'll put to the proof.'

Who'll choose him for Knight?

'I,' said his Mother,

'Before any other,

My very own Knight.'

And after this fashion, adventure to seek,

Was Sir Galahad made-as it might be last week!

HARP SONG OF THE DANE WOMEN

W1

HAT is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old gray Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in-
But one chill bed for all to rest in,

That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you-
Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken-

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables-
To pitch her sides and go over her cables.