You think her old ribs have come all crashing through,
  If a whisk of Fate’s broom snap your cobweb asunder;
But her rivets were clinched by a wiser than you. 
  And our sins cannot push the Lord’s right hand from under. 
Better one honest man who can wait for God’s mind
  In our poor shifting scene here though heroes were plenty! 
Better one bite, at forty, of Truth’s bitter rind,
  Than the hot wine that gushed from the vintage of twenty!

I see it all now:  when I wanted a king,
  ’Twas the kingship that failed in myself I was seeking,—­ 90
’Tis so much less easy to do than to sing,
  So much simpler to reign by a proxy than be king! 
Yes, I think I do see; after all’s said and sung,
  Take this one rule of life and you never will rue it,—­
’Tis but do your own duty and hold your own tongue
  And Blondel were royal himself, if he knew it!

MEMORIAE POSITUM

R.G.  SHAW

I

    Beneath the trees,
  My lifelong friends in this dear spot,
  Sad now for eyes that see them not,
    I hear the autumnal breeze
Wake the dry leaves to sigh for gladness gone,
Whispering vague omens of oblivion,
    Hear, restless as the seas,
Time’s grim feet rustling through the withered grace
Of many a spreading realm and strong-stemmed race,
    Even as my own through these. 10

    Why make we moan
  For loss that doth enrich us yet
  With upward yearning of regret? 
    Bleaker than unmossed stone
Our lives were but for this immortal gain
Of unstilled longing and inspiring pain! 
    As thrills of long-hushed tone
Live in the viol, so our souls grow fine
With keen vibrations from the touch divine
    Of noble natures gone. 20

    ’Twere indiscreet
  To vex the shy and sacred grief
  With harsh obtrusions of relief;
    Yet, Verse, with noiseless feet,
Go whisper:  ’This death hath far choicer ends
Than slowly to impearl to hearts of friends;
    These obsequies ’tis meet
Not to seclude in closets of the heart, But, church-like, with wide doorways, to impart
    Even to the heedless street.’ 30

II

    Brave, good, and true,
  I see him stand before me now. 
  And read again on that young brow,
    Where every hope was new,
How sweet were life! Yet, by the mouth firm-set, And look made up for Duty’s utmost debt,
    I could divine he knew
That death within the sulphurous hostile lines, In the mere wreck of nobly pitched designs,
    Plucks heart’s-ease, and not rue. 40