Those of the critic trade Swear it is all as clear As if his tongue were made To fit an English ear.

Hear that Italian phrase!

Greek to your sense, 't is true; But shrug, expression, gaze-- Well, they are Grecian too.

But it is Art! G.o.d wot Its tongue to all is known.

Faith! he to whom 't were not Would better hold his own.

Shakespeare says act and word Must match together true.

From what you've seen and heard, How can you doubt they do?

Enchanting drama! Mark The crowd "from pit to dome", One box alone is dark-- The prompter stays at home.

Stupendous artist! You Are lord of joy and woe: We thrill if you say "Boo,"

And thrill if you say "Bo."

ANOTHER WAY.

I lay in silence, dead. A woman came And laid a rose upon my breast and said: "May G.o.d be merciful." She spoke my name, And added: "It is strange to think him dead.

"He loved me well enough, but 't was his way To speak it lightly." Then, beneath her breath: "Besides"--I knew what further she would say, But then a footfall broke my dream of death.

To-day the words are mine. I lay the rose Upon her breast, and speak her name and deem It strange indeed that she is dead. G.o.d knows I had more pleasure in the other dream.

ART.

For Gladstone's portrait five thousand pounds Were paid, 't is said, to Sir John Millais.

I cannot help thinking that such fine pay Transcended reason's uttermost bounds.

For it seems to me uncommonly queer That a painted British stateman's price Exceeds the established value thrice Of a living statesman over here.

AN ENEMY TO LAW AND ORDER.

A is defrauded of his land by B, Who's driven from the premises by C.

D buys the place with coin of plundered E.

"That A's an Anarchist!" says F to G.

TO ONE ACROSS THE WAY.

When at your window radiant you've stood I've sometimes thought--forgive me if I've erred-- That some slight thought of me perhaps has stirred Your heart to beat less gently than it should.

I know you beautiful; that you are good I hope--or fear--I cannot choose the word, Nor rightly suit it to the thought. I've heard Reason at love's dictation never could.

Blindly to this dilemma so I grope, As one whose every pathway has a snare: If you are minded in the saintly fashion Of your pure face my pa.s.sion's without hope; If not, alas! I equally despair, For what to me were hope without the pa.s.sion?

THE DEBTOR ABROAD.

Grief for an absent lover, husband, friend, Is barely felt before it comes to end: A score of early consolations serve To modify its mouth's dejected curve.

But woes of creditors when debtors flee Forever swell the separating sea.

When standing on an alien sh.o.r.e you mark The steady course of some intrepid bark, How sweet to think a tear for you abides, Not all unuseful, in the wave she rides!-- That sighs for you commingle in the gale Beneficently bellying her sail!

FORESIGHT.

An "actors' cemetery"! Sure The devil never tires Of planning places to procure The sticks to feed his fires.

A FAIR DIVISION.

Another Irish landlord gone to gra.s.s, Slain by the bullets of the tenant cla.s.s!

Pray, good agrarians, what wrong requires Such foul redress? Between you and the squires All Ireland's parted with an even hand-- For you have all the ire, they all the land.

GENESIS.

G.o.d said: "Let there be Man," and from the clay Adam came forth and, thoughtful, walked away.

The matrix whence his body was obtained, An empty, man-shaped cavity, remained All unregarded from that early time Till in a recent storm it filled with slime.

Now Satan, envying the Master's power To make the meat himself could but devour, Strolled to the place and, standing by the pool, Exerted all his will to make a fool.

A miracle!--from out that ancient hole Rose Morehouse, lacking nothing but a soul.

"To give him that I've not the power divine,"

Said Satan, sadly, "but I'll lend him mine."

He breathed it into him, a vapor black, And to this day has never got it back.