But give to me the old road that winds through town and shire

Across the bar of the Severn Sea to the land of my desire.

And some men sing of a cloudless sky
And the blue of a Southern day,

But-oh-for me the wind's cry

At night by a lonely bay,

With wreathing mists on the high hills that laugh above the rain

Away in the land of the golden heart that I must see again.

Oh, some men go to the ends of earth

For a heritage proud and fine,

But give to me the deep mirth

Of the songs that flow like wine,

The old, thatched farm and the peat-fires that glimmer through the night

In the land of the little fairy-folk, the land of my delight.

And there shall I find harping strings
And silver rhymes and old,

And precious, half-forgotten things,

And hearts which grow not cold,

And the healing peace of the mountains, and the gleam of the lowland corn,

And the voices out of the twilight-in the land where

I was born.

77

A. G. PRYS-JONES

AUTUMN DAYS

The dizzy wind of ambient autumn days
Blows o'er the hills. It seeks me in byways
And lanes, and rushes on me unaware.

It sets the whirlwind dancing with bright leaves,
And sends the robin headlong through the purple air.

It calls to the heart in cheery tones.
It shouts with a rollicking glee.
Then it pauses to whisper of fairer zones
That lie o'er a fairer sea,

Charming the bird from its withered nest
With a wondrous melody.

It paints a red on the sumach's vest,
And gives to the fields a golden crest
To tempt the laggard bee.

Heigho!

The circle of the year is almost done.

The days have been too gladding swift to run
From springtime back to autumn, too quick to crown
The sower's faith with harvest. Come, a dance,

A giddy, whirling dance, before the frost steals down.
Underneath the maple trees,
Underneath the oak,

Breaking through the brambles
Into dells that cloak

The haw and ripened hazel-nut
And milk-weed's feathery smoke.

Up a bank and o'er a ditch

And down a winding way

To come upon a flock of crows

When each would have his say,

To chase a squirrel through the fence
And fright a chattering jay.

So past a field, across a brook,

And up a little hill.

Then for a moment pause for breath,
But not for want of will.

Heigho!

For I am drunk with joy of life and limb.
The summer's store is garnered to the brim.
The yesterdays of toil are past, and give
A respite brief. Another draft! Drink deep
While autumn pours its wine, so rare, so fugitive!
Drink deep!

CARY F. JACOB

78

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,

Would not we shatter it to bits-and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:

How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me-in vain.

And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one-turn down an empty Glass!
Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

79

Behold, a king shall reign in righteousness, and princes shall rule in judgment.

And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.

Isaiah, xxxii

80

But where shall wisdom be found? and where is the place of understanding?

Man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is it found in the land of the living.

The depth saith, It is not in me: and the sea saith, It is not with me.

It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof.

It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the precious onyx, or the sapphire.

The gold and the crystal cannot equal it: and the exchange of it shall not be for jewels of fine gold.

No mention shall be made of coral, or of pearls: for the price of wisdom is above rubies.

The topaz of Ethiopia shall not equal it, neither shall it be valued with pure gold.

Whence then cometh wisdom? and where is the place of understanding?

Seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, and kept close from the fowls of the air.

Destruction and death say, We have heard the fame thereof with our ears.

God understandeth the way thereof, and he knoweth the place thereof.

For he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the whole heaven;

To make the weight for the winds; and he weigheth the waters by measure.

When he made a decree for the rain, and a way for the lightning of the thunder:

Then did he see it, and declare it; he prepared it, yea, and searched it out.

And unto man he said, Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil is understanding.

Job, xxviii

81

A thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.

82

Psalm XC

And Ahimaaz called, and said unto the king, All is well. And he fell down to the earth upon his face before the king, and said, Blessed be the Lord thy God, which hath delivered up the men that lifted up their hand against my lord the king.

And the king said, Is the young man Absalom safe? And

Ahimaaz answered, When Joab sent the king's servant, and me thy servant, I saw a great tumult, but I knew not what it was. And the king said unto him, Turn aside, and stand here. And he turned aside, and stood still.

And behold, Cushi came; and Cushi said, Tidings my lord the king for the Lord hath avenged thee this day of all them that rose up against thee.

And the king said unto Cushi, Is the young man Absalom safe? And Cushi answered, The enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is.

And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son, Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!

II Samuel, xviii

83

On, on, on, over the countless miles of angry space roll the long heaving billows. Mountains and caves are here, and yet are not; for what is now the one, is now the other; then all is but a boiling heap of rushing water. Pursuit, and flight, and mad return of wave on wave, and savage struggle, ending in a spouting-up of foam that whitens the black night; incessant change of place, and form, and hue; constancy in nothing, but eternal strife; on, on, on, they roll, and darker grows the night, and louder howls the wind, and more clamorous and fierce become the million voices in the sea, when the wild cry goes forth upon the storm, "A ship!"

Onward she comes, in gallant combat with the elements, her tall masts trembling, and her timbers starting from the strain; onward she comes, now high upon the curling billows, now low down in the hollows of the sea, as hiding for the moment from its fury; and every storm-voice in the air and water cries more loudly yet, "A ship."

84

DICKENS, Martin Chuzzlewit

Yet day by day Tristan's sorrow grew heavier; he desired but one Iseult, Iseult of Ireland; and Iseult of the white hand, she