Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean,

And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war.

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves

Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw;

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 't would win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON

FOR A COPY OF THEOCRITUS

O SINGER of the field and fold

THEOCRITUS! Pan's pipe was thine,

Thine was the happier Age of Gold.

For thee the scent of new-turned mould,

The bee-hives, and the murmuring pine,

O singer of the field and fold!

Thou sang'st the simple feasts of old,

The beechen bowl made glad with wine.

Thine was the happier Age of Gold!

Thou bad'st the rustic loves be told,

Thou bad'st the tuneful reeds combine,

O singer of the field and fold!

And round thee, ever laughing, rolled
The blithe and blue Sicilian brine
Thine was the happier Age of Gold.

Alas for us! our songs are cold:

Our northern suns too sadly shine:

O singer of the field and fold,
Thine was the happier Age of Gold.

...

"GOOD NIGHT, BABETTE !”

"Si vieillesse pouvait!—"

A small, neat Room. In a high Voltaire Chair sits a white-haired old Gentleman.

MONSIEUR VIEUXBOIS. BABETTE.

M. VIEUXBOIS (turning querulously).
Day of my life! Where can she get?
Babette! I say! Babette! - Babette!!

BABETTE (entering hurriedly).

Coming, M'sieu'! If M'sieu' speaks
So loud he won't be well for weeks!

M. VIEUXBOIS.

Where have you been?

BABETTE.

Why, M'sieu' knows:

April!... Ville-d'Avray! ... Ma'am'selle Rose!

But of a greenness! - yes, M'sieu'!

And then the sky so blue! - so blue!

*

And when I dropped my immortelle,

How the birds sang!

(Lifting her apron to her eyes.)

This poor Ma'am'selle!

M. VIEUXBOIS.

You're a good girl, Babette, but she,

She was an Angel, verily.

Sometimes I think I see her yet

Stand smiling by the cabinet;

And once, I know, she peeped and laughed

(She gives him a cup.)

Now I shall sleep, I think, Babette;-
Sing me your Norman chansonnette.

BABETTE (sings).

"Once at the Angelus

(Ere I was dead),

Angels all glorious

Came to my Bed; ·

Angels in blue and white

Crowned on the Head."

M. VIEUXBOIS (drowsily).

"She was an Angel" ... "Once she laughed".

What, was I dreaming?

Where's the draught?

BABETTE (showing the empty cup).

The draught, M'sieu'?

M. VIEUXBOIS (murmuring).

Ah, Paul! . . . old Paul! . . . Eulalie too!