A canticle of love;

It has no doubt a most seductive cadence,
But we who look for argument by fact
We miss conciliation's artful aidance,
We note a want of tact.

Your words are redolent of pious unction;
Your deeds, your infamies, by sea and shore,
Go gaily on without the least compunction
Just as they went before.

We are not caught with olive-buds for baiting;
Something is needed just a shade less crude,
Something, for instance, faintly indicating
The penitential mood.

While still the stain is on your hands extended
We'll hold no commerce with your frigid spells,
Even though such a move were recommended
By Mr. H.G. WELLS.

Rather, without a break, like _Mr. Britling_
(Though the brave wooden sword his author drew
Seems to have undergone a certain whittling),
We mean to "see it through."

O.S.

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