THE PRODIGALS

(Dedicated to Mr. Chaplin, M. P., and Mr. Richard Power, M. P., and 223 who followed them)

Ministers! you, most serious,

Critics and statesmen of all degrees,
Hearken awhile to the motion of us-
Senators keen for the Epsom breeze!
Nothing we ask of posts or fees;
Worry us not with objections, pray!
Lo, for the speaker's wig we seize-
Give us, ah! give us the Derby Day.

Scots most prudent, penurious!
Irishmen busy as bumblebees!
Hearken awhile to the motion of us-
Senators keen for the Epsom breeze!
For Sir Joseph's sake, and his owner's, please!
(Solomon raced like fun, they say.)

Lo, for we beg on our bended knees-
Give us, ah! give us the Derby Day.

Campbell-Asheton be generous!

(But they voted such things were not the cheese.) Sullivan, hear us, magnanimous!

(But Sullivan thought with their enemies.) And shortly they got both of help and ease, For a mad majority crowded to say

"Debate we've drunk to the dregs and lees: Give us, ah! give us the Derby Day."

ENVOI

Prince, most just was the motion of these,
And many were seen by the dusty way,
Shouting glad to the Epsom breeze
Give us, ah! give us the Derby Day.
Anonymous

* From

AUSTIN DOBSON

Recites a Ballade by Way of Retort *

("Anna's the name of names for me.")
—W. E. Henley.

"Anna"! Insipid and weak as gruel-
"Anna"! As flat as last night's beer-
Plain as a bed-post and stiff as a newel,
Surely there's nothing of glamour here!
Names by the hundred enchant the ear,
Stirring the heart with melodious claims;
Arrogant, timid, impulsive, and dear-
Rose, after all, is the name of names.

Sally gleams like a laughing jewel,
Bella's jovial, Maud's austere;
Rachel's complacent, Lydia's cruel,
Laura is classical, Fanny is queer.
Peggy reminds one of rustic cheer,
Lucy of lilies and lofty aims,

Lola of fancies that shift and veer-
Rose, after all, is the name of names.

Sara's a fire for all men's fuel,

Mary's a comfort for all men's fear,
Helen's the smile that invites the duel,
Chloe's the breath of a yesteryear,
Margaret somehow invokes the tear,
Lilith the thought of a thousand shames;
Clara is cool as a lake and clear-
Rose, after all, is the name of names.

and Other Poets, by Louis Untermeyer. Copyright 1916, Henry Holt and Company, Publishers.

ENVOY

Hannah's for home and the 'woman's sphere';
Vivian's all for dances and games;

Julia's imperious, Kate is sincere

Rose (after all) is the Name of Names!
Louis Untermeyer

CONTRIBUTED BY MR. ANDREW LANG

Unhappy is Bo-Peep,

Her tears profusely flow,
Because her precious sheep
Have wandered to and fro,
Have chosen far to go,
For 'pastures new' inclined,
(See Lycidas)-and lo!
Their tails are still behind!

How catch them while asleep?
(I think Gaboriau

For machinations deep

Beats Conan Doyle and Co.)

But none a hint bestow

Save this, on how to find

The flock she misses so-
"Their tails are still behind!"

This simple faith to keep

Will mitigate her woe,

She is not Joan, to leap
To arms against the foe
Or conjugate τύπτω ;

Nay, peacefully resigned

She waits till time shall show

Their tails are still behind!

Bo-Peep, rejoice! Although
Your sheep appear unkind,
Rejoice at least to know

Their tails are still behind!

Anthony C. Deane

TRIOLET AND BALLADE FROM "THE HEAVEN ABOVE STORYSENDE”

Then up spoke the last and youngest leader of them, sweeping a viola d'amore that had but one string. His face was smooth and more asexual than an angel's and his thick hair shone like a tossing golden flame. Sang this one:

...

"Goodness and beauty and truth . . . Where? Well, but only in song? . . . Honor, Nobility, Youth, Goodness and Beauty and Truth-shrink from man's clutches. In sooth, no man can hold them for long. . . . Goodness and Beauty and Truth wear well. But only in song!"

"A skeptical though neatly-joined triolet," smiled Ortnitz. "But you talk in riddles, my fine young poet, for all your cynically smooth generalities. Yet why should I desist? And for what, more specifically would you have me abandon my quest for truth, justice and those ultimates which are the pavement and the pillars of heaven?"

Thus answered the minstrel:

"I offer you more than earthly riches in coin that none but the poet pays:-Freedom from all the stings and itches. of every trivial splutter and blaze; a cup of healing; a stirrup of praise; a mood to meet the challenge of pleasure; a lilt to the feet of dragging days—all in the heart of a minstrel's measure."

Said Ortnitz: "That is much indeed to promise."

But the youth continued:

"I offer you more. I offer you riches where a sour world's grumbling never strays; where ripples a mirthful music which is an echo of man's first laughter that plays in various keys and secret ways. There still is a land of Light and Leisure (if you will pardon so mouldy a phrase) all in the heart of a minstrel's measure."

Said Ortnitz: "A great deal, to be sure. At the same

time" His interjection was interrupted by the poet who pursued his rhapsody, crying:

"I offer all that ever bewitches the mind of man from

its yeas and nays. To the poet, immortal hemistiches; to the soldier, conquest crowned with bays; to the lover, the breath of a thousand Mays; to the boy, a jingle of buried treasure; to the cheated and broken, a merciful haze. All in the heart of a minstrel's measure.

"Master, I offer what never decays though all else wither. Master, what says your will to the magics that quicken and raise all in the heart of a minstrel's measure?"

Louis Untermeyer

BALLADE OF INCIPIENT LUNACY *

Scene. A Battalion "Orderly" Room in France during a period of "Rest." Runners arrive breathlessly from all directions bearing illegible chits, and tear off in the same directions with illegible answers or no answers at all. Motor-bicycles snort up to the door, and arrogant dispatch-riders enter with enormous envelopes containing leagues of correspondence, orders, minutes, circulars, maps, signals, lists, schedules, summaries, and all sorts. The tables are stacked with papers; the floor is littered with papers; papers fly through the air. Two typewriters click with maddening insistence in a corner. A signaller "buzzes" tenaciously at the telephone, talking in a strange language, apparently to himself, as he never seems to be connected with anyone else. A stream of miscellaneous persons quartermasters, chaplains, generals, batmen, D. A. D. O. S.'s, sergeant-majors, staff officers, buglers, Maires, officers just arriving, officers just going away, gas experts, bombing experts, interpreters, doctors-drifts in, wastes time, and drifts out again.

Clerks scribble ceaselessly, rolls and nominal rolls, nominal lists and lists. By the time they have finished one list it is long out of date. Then they start the next. Everything happens at the same time; nobody has time to finish a sentence. Only a military mind with a very limited descriptive

* From The Bomber Gipsy, by A. P. Herbert. Copyright 1920 by Alfred A. Knopf, Publisher.