SIR WALTER RALEIGH TO A
CAGED LINNET

THOU tiny solace of these prison days,
Too long already have I kept thee here;
With every week thou hast become more

dear

So dear that I will free thee: fly thy

CHARLES II. OF SPAIN TO
APPROACHING DEATH

MAKE way, my lords! for Death now once again

Waits on the palace stairs. He comes to lay His finger on my brow. Make way! make

way,

Ye whispering groups that scent an ending reign!

Death, if I make thee a grandee of Spain, And give thee half my subjects, wilt thou stay

Behind the door a little, while I play
With life a moment longer? I would fain.
Oh, who shall turn the fatal shadow back
On Ahaz' sundial now? Who'll cure the
king

When Death awaits him, motionless and black?

Upon the wall the inexorable thing
Creeps on and on, with horror in its track.
The king is dying. Bid the great bells ring.

SUNKEN GOLD

IN dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships; And gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell,

Lie nestled in the ocean-flower's bell With love's old gifts, once kissed by longdrowned lips;

And round some wrought gold cup the seagrass whips,

And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell,

Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell

And seek dim sunlight with their restless tips.

So lie the wasted gifts, the long-lost hopes Beneath the now hushed surface of myself, In lonelier depths than where the diver gropes;

They lie deep, deep; but I at times behold In doubtful glimpses, on some reefy shelf, The gleam of irrecoverable gold.

SEA-SHELL MURMURS

THE hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood

On dusty shelves, when held against the

ear

Proclaims its stormy parents; and we hear The faint far murmur of the breaking flood. We hear the sea. The sea? It is the blood

In our own veins, impetuous and near,
And pulses keeping pace with hope and
fear

And with our feelings' every shifting mood.
Lo, in my heart I hear, as in a shell,
The murmur of a world beyond the grave,
Distinct, distinct, though faint and far it be.
Thou fool; this echo is a cheat as well,
The hum of earthly instincts s; and we

crave

A world unreal as the shell-heard sea.

A FLIGHT FROM GLORY

ONCE, from the parapet of gems and glow, An Angel said, "O God, the heart grows cold

On these eternal battlements of gold, Where all is pure, but cold as virgin snow.

Dust and din through city skies,

Old men creeping with their shadows,
Children with their sunny eyes,-

Hurry along, sorrow and song,

All is vanity 'neath the sun; Velvet and rags, so the world wags, Until the river no more shall run.

Storm and sunshine, peace and strife,
Over the bridge they go;

Floating on in the tide of life,

Whither no man shall know. Who will miss them there to-morrow, Waifs that drift to the shade or sun? Gone away with their songs and sorrow; Only the river still flows on.

Hurry along, sorrow and song,
All is vanity 'neath the sun;
Velvet and rags, so the world wags,
Until the river no more shall run.

NANCY LEE

Of all the wives as e'er you know,
Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho!
There's none like Nancy Lee, I trow,
Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!

See there she stands an' waves her hands upon the quay,

And

ev'ry day when I'm away, she 'll watch for me,

An' whisper low, when tempests blow for Jack at Sea,

Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!

The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall

be,

Yeo-ho! we go across the sea;

The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be,

The sailor's wife his star shall be.

The harbor's past, the breezes blow:

Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho! 'Tis long ere we come back, I know ; Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!

But true an' bright from morn till night my home will be,

An' all so neat, an' snug, an' sweet, for Jack at sea,

An' Nancy's face to bless the place, an' welcome me ;

Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!