Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber,
This misty mid region of Weir—
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.'
Edgar Allan Poe

A DIRGE

NAIAD, hid beneath the bank
By the willowy river-side,
Where Narcissus gently sank,
Where unmarried Echo died,
Unto thy serene repose

Waft the stricken Anterôs.

Where the tranquil swan is borne,

Imaged in a watery glass,

Where the sprays of fresh pink thorn
Stoop to catch the boats that pass,
Where the earliest orchis grows,
Bury thou fair Anterôs.

Glide we by, with prow and oar:
Ripple shadows off the wave,
And reflected on the shore

Haply play about his grave.
Folds of summer-light enclose
All that once was Anterôs.

On a flickering wave we gaze,
Not upon his answering eyes:
Flower and bird we scarce can praise,
Having lost his sweet replies:
Cold and mute the river flows
With our tears for Anterôs.

W. Johnson-Cory

NORTON WOOD

(DORA'S BIRTHDAY)

IN Norton Wood the sun was bright
In Norton Wood the air was light
And meek anemonies,

Kissed by the April breeze,

Were trembling left and right.
Ah, vigorous year!

Ah, primrose dear

With smile so arch!
Ah, budding larch!
Ah, hyacinth so blue,

We also must make free with you!
Where are those cowslips hiding?
But we should not be chiding-
The ground is covered every inch-
What sayest, master finch?

I see you in the swaying bough!
And very neat you are, I vow!

And Dora says it is 'the happiest day!'

Her birthday, hers!

And there's a jay,

And from that clump of firs

Shoots a great pigeon, purple, blue and gray.

And, coming home,

Well-laden, as we clomb

Sweet Walton hill,

A cuckoo shouted with a will

'Cuckoo! cuckool' the first we've heard!

'Cuckoo! cuckoo!' God bless the bird!

Scarce time to take his breath,
And now 'Cuckoo !' he saith—

Cuckoo! cuckoo! three cheers!
And let the welkin ring!
He has not folded wing
Since last he saw Algiers.

T. E. Brown

RIDING TOGETHER

FOR many, many days together

The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
About the time of our Lady's Feast.

For many days we rode together,
Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
Steadily did the East wind blow.

We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,
Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together

With helms unlaced and bridles slack.

And often, as we rode together,

We, looking down the green-bank'd stream, Saw flowers in the sunny weather,

And saw the bubble-making bream.

And in the night lay down together,
And hung above our heads the rood,
Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,
The while the moon did watch the wood.

Our spears stood bright and thick together,
Straight out the banners stream'd behind,
As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
With faces turn'd towards the wind.

Down sank our threescore spears together,
As thick we saw the pagans ride;
His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
Shone out that last time by my side.