The Shoogy-Shoo But, oh, those orbs-too wildly bright— No more eclipse thine own, And never shall I find the light Of days forever flown! 447 Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] "LANGSYNE, WHEN LIFE WAS BONNIE" LANGSYNE, when life was bonnie, An' a' the skies were blue, When ilka thocht took blossom, Langsyne, when life was bonnie, That comes to us in sang, The auld love-laden tune; Langsyne, when life was bonnie, The leaves were green wi' simmer, For autumn wasna there. But listen hoo they rustle, Wi' an eerie, weary soun', For noo, alas, 'tis winter That gangs a twalmonth roun'. Alexander Anderson [1845-1909] THE SHOOGY-SHOO I Do be thinking, lassie, of the old days now; For oh! your hair is tangled gold above your Irish brow; Sweet and slow, swinging low, eyes of Irish blue, When meadow-larks would singing be in old Glentair, shoo. Ah well, the world goes up and down, and some sweet day Its shoogy-shoo will swing us two where sighs will pass away; So nestle close your bonnie head, and close your eyes so true, And swing with me, and memory, upon the shoogy-shoo. Sweet and slow, swinging low, eyes of Irish blue, BABYLON "We shall meet again in Babylon." I'm going softly all my years in wisdom if in pain- The dancing feet in Babylon, of those who took my floor. I'm going silent all my years, but garnered in my brain Is that swift wit which used to flash and cut them like a sword And now I hear in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The foolish tongues in Babylon, of those who took my word. I'm going lonely all my days, who was the first to crave The second, fierce, unsteady voice, that struggled to speak free And now I watch in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The pallid loves in Babylon of men who once loved me. The Triumph of Forgotten Things 449 I'm sleeping early by a flame as one content and gray, moon, I breathe the breath of Babylon, of Babylon, of Babylon, The scent of silks in Babylon that floated to a tune. A band of years has flogged me out-an exile's fate is mine, To sit with mumbling crones and still a heart that cries with youth. But, oh, to walk in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The happy streets in Babylon, when once the dream was truth. Viola Taylor [18 THE ROAD OF REMEMBRANCE THE old wind stirs the hawthorn tree; Northward the road runs to the sea, And past the House of Spring. The folk go down it unafraid; Now, other children crowd the stair, Out in the quiet road we stand, The old wind blowing up the land, Lizelle Woodworth Reese [1856 THE TRIUMPH OF FORGOTTEN THINGS THERE is a pity in forgotten things, Banished the heart they can no longer fill, There is a patience, too, in things forgot; They wait they find the portal long unused; And knocking there, it shall refuse them not,~ Nor aught shall be refused! Ah, yes! though we, unheeding years on years, Some gleam on flower, or leaf, or beaded dew, When that which lured us once now lureth not, But the tired hands their garnered dross let fall, This is the triumph of the things forgot To hear the tired heart call! And they are with us at Life's farthest reach, Edith M. Thomas [1854 IN THE TWILIGHT MEN say the sullen instrument, That, from the Master's bow, Feels music's soul through every fibre sent, Whispers the ravished strings More than he knew or meant; Old summers in its memory glow; All it dreamed when it stood In the murmurous pine-wood I In the Twilight The magical moonlight then Steeped every bough and cone; The roar of the brook in the glen Came dim from the distance blown; With delight as it stood, O my life, have we not had seasons And we seemed to share in the flowing Of the inexhaustible years? Have we not from the earth drawn juices Too fine for earth's sordid uses? Have I heard, have I seen All I feel, all I know? Doth my heart overween? Long ago? Sometimes a breath floats by me, Of memories that stay not and go not, That cannot forget or reclaim it, A something too vague, could I name it, 451 |