Volume Iv Part 34 (1/2)

Deftly hiding reproof in praise, She cries: ”'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!”

But brief her unworthy triumph when The lofty one from the home of Penn,

With the consciousness of two grandpapas, Exclaims: ”It is quite a lovely vahs!”

And glances round with an anxious thrill, Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.

But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee, And gently murmurs: ”Oh pardon me!

”I did not catch your remark, because I was so entranced with that charming vaws!”

Dies erit praegelida Sinistra quum Bostonia.

James Jeffrey Roche [1847-1908]

HEM AND HAW

Hem and Haw were the sons of sin, Created to shally and s.h.i.+rk; Hem lay 'round and Haw looked on While G.o.d did all the work.

Hem was a fogy, and Haw was a prig, For both had the dull, dull mind; And whenever they found a thing to do, They yammered and went it blind.

Hem was the father of bigots and bores; As the sands of the sea were they.

And Haw was the father of all the tribe Who criticise to-day.

But G.o.d was an artist from the first, And knew what he was about; While over his shoulder sneered these two, And advised him to rub it out.

They prophesied ruin ere man was made: ”Such folly must surely fail!”

And when he was done, ”Do you think, my Lord, He's better without a tail?”

And still in the honest working world, With posture and hint and smirk, These sons of the devil are standing by While Man does all the work.

They balk endeavor and baffle reform, In the sacred name of law; And over the quavering voice of Hem, Is the droning voice of Haw.

Bliss Carman [1861-1929]

MINIVER CHEEVY

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn, Grew lean while he a.s.sailed the seasons; He wept that he was ever born, And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old When swords were bright and steeds were prancing; The vision of a warrior bold Would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not, And dreamed, and rested from his labors; He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot, And Priam's neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown That made so many a name so fragrant; He mourned Romance, now on the town, And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici, Albeit he had never seen one; He would have sinned incessantly Could he have been one.