Searching and strange in its sweetness, it steals like a perfume enchanted Under the arch of the forest, and all who perceive it are haunted,

Seeking and seeking forever, till sight of the lily is granted.

Who can describe how it grows, with its chalice of lazuli leaning

Over a crystalline spring, where the ferus and the mosses are greening? Who can imagine its beauty, or utter the depth of its meaning?

Calm of the journeying stars, and repose of the mountains olden, Joy of the swift-running rivers, and glory of sunsets golden,

Secrets that cannot be told in the heart of the flower are holden.

the lily of Yorrow:

He has discovered it first, and perhaps I shall find it to-morrow.

TENNYSON

IN LUCEM TRANSITUS, OCTOBER, 1892 FROM the misty shores of midnight, touched with splendors of the moon, To the singing tides of heaven, and the light more clear than noon, Passed a soul that grew to music till it was with God in tune.

"Wherever fighting 's the game, Or a spice of danger in grown mau's work," Said Kelly, "you'll find my name." "And do we fall short," said Burke, getting mad,

"When it's touch and go for life?" Said Shea, "It 's thirty-odd years, bedad, Since I charged to drum and fife Up Marye's Heights, and my old canteen Stopped a rebel ball on its way. There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green

Kelly and Burke and Shea And the dead didn't brag."

to the flag!

64

Well, here's

Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

"I wish 't was in Ireland, for there's the place,"

Said Burke," that we'd die by right,
In the cradle of our soldier race,

After one good stand-up fight.
My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill,
And fighting was not his trade;
But his rusty pike's in the cabin still,

With Hessian blood on the blade." "Aye, aye," said Kelly, "the pikes were

And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy,
Said, "We were at Ramillies;
We left our bones at Fontenoy

And up in the Pyrenees;
Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain,
Cremona, Lille, and Ghent,
We're all over Austria, France, and
Spain,

Wherever they pitched a teut. We've died for England from Waterloo To Egypt and Dargai;

And still there's enough for a corps or

crew, •

Kelly and Burke and Shea." "Well, here is to good honest fighting blood!"

Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

"Oh, the fighting races don't die out, If they seldom die in bed,

For love is first in their hearts, no doubt," Said Burke; then Kelly said: "When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands,

The angel with the sword,

And the battle-dead from a hundred lands

Are ranged in one big horde, Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits, Will stretch three deep that day, From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates — Kelly and Burke and Shea."

"Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod!"

Said Kelly and Burke and Shea. 1898

Each grace is a jewel

Would ransom the town;
Her speech has no cruel,
Her praise is renown;
"T is in her as though Beauty,
Resigning to Duty

The sceptre, had still kept the purple and

crown.

THE WISTFUL DAYS

WHAT is there wanting in the Spring?
The air is soft as yesteryear;
The happy-nested green is here,
And half the world is on the wing.

The morning beckons, and like balm Aro westward waters blue and calin. Yet something's wanting in the Spring.

What is it wanting in the Spring?

O April, lover to us all,

What is so poignant in thy thrall When children's merry voices ring? What haunts us in the cooing dove

More subtle than the speech of Love, What nameless lack or loss of Spring?