When asked to rhyme the jubilee!

He therefore turns, the Poet wary,
And Thumbs his Carmen Seculare,
To PHOEBUS and to DIAN prays,
Who tune Men's Lyres of Holidays,
He reads of the Sibylline Shades,
Of Stainless Boys and chosen Maids.
He turns, and reads the other Page,
Of docile Youth, and placid Age,
Then Sings how, in this golden Year
Fides Pudorque reappear, -
And if they don't appear, you know it
Were quite unjust to blame the Poet!



ON ANY BEACH--BY M. A.



Yes, in the stream and stress of things,
That breaks around us like the sea,
There comes to Peasants and to Kings,
The solemn Hour of Jubilee.
If they, till strenuous Nature give
Some fifty harvests, chance to live!

Ah, Fifty harvests! But the corn
Is grown beside the barren main,