THE FLOWERS To our private taste, there is always something a little exotic, almost artificial, in songs which, under an English aspect and dress, are yet so manifestly the product of other skies. They affect us like translations; the very fauna and flora are alien, remote; the dog's-tooth violet is but an ill substitute for the rathe primrose, nor can we ever believe that the wood-robin sings as sweetly in April as the English thrush.-THE ATHENEUM. Buy my English posies! Wet with Channel spray; Buy my English posies And I'll sell your heart's desire! Buy my English posies! You that scorn the May, Won't you greet a friend from home Half the world away? Green against the draggled drift, Faint and frail and first Buy my Northern blood-root And I'll know where you were nursed: Robin down the logging-road whistles, "Come to me!" Spring has found the maple-grove, the sap is running free; All the winds of Canada call the ploughing-rain. Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! Here's to match your need Buy a tuft of royal heath, Spun before the gale— And I'll tell you whence you hail! Under hot Constantia broad the vineyards lieThroned and thorned the aching berg props the speckless sky Slow below the Wynberg firs trails the tilted wainTake the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! You that will not turn- Gathered where the Erskine leaps Down the road to Lorne Buy my Christmas creeper And I'll say where you were born! West away from Melbourne dust holidays beginThey that mock at Paradise woo at Cora Lynn— Through the great South Otway gums sings the great South Main Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! Here's your choice unsold! Sign that spring is come Buy my clinging myrtle And I'll give you back your home! Broom behind the windy town; pollen o' the pineBell-bird in the leafy deep where the ratas twineFern above the saddle-bow, flax upon the plainTake the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! Ye that have your own Weed ye trample underfoot Floods his heart abrim- Oh, she calls his dead to him! Far and far our homes are set round the Seven Seas; Masters of the Seven Seas, oh, love and understand. THE LAST RHYME OF TRUE THOMAS THE King has called for priest and cup, To dub True Thomas a belted knight, And all for the sake o' the songs he made. They have sought him high, they have sought him low, 'Twas bent beneath and blue above, Their eyes were held that they might not see "Now cease your song," the King he said, "Oh, cease your song and get you dight To vow your vow and watch your arms, For I will dub you a belted knight. "For I will give you a horse o' pride, Wi' blazon and spur and page and squire; |