New Collected Rhymes

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Run pleasant as an English brook
Through meadows floral in the sun,
And shadows fragrant of the dew.

And thus at ending of your span -
As all must end--the world shall say,
"His best he gave: he left us not
A line that saints could wish to blot,
For he was blameless, though a man,
And though the poet, he was gay!"

HOW THE MAID MARCHED FROM BLOIS

(Supposed to be narrated by James Power, or Polwarth, her Scottish banner-painter.)

The Maiden called for her great destrier,
But he lashed like a fiend when the Maid drew near:
"Lead him forth to the Cross!" she cried, and he stood
Like a steed of bronze by the Holy Rood!

Then I saw the Maiden mount and ride,
With a good steel sperthe that swung by her side,
And girt with the sword of the Heavenly Bride,
That is sained with crosses five for a sign,
The mystical sword of St. Catherine.
And the lily banner was blowing wide,
With the flowers of Fran