PART VI.

Who curseth Sorrow knows her not at all.
Dark matrix she, from which the human soul
Has its last birth; whence it, with misty thews
Close knitted in her blackness, issues out
Strong for immortal toil up such great heights
As crown o'er crown rise through Eternity.
Without the loud, deep clamour of her wail,

The iron of her hands, the biting brine
Of her black tears, the soul, but lightly built
Of indeterminate spirit, like a mist
Would lapse to chaos in soft, gilded dreams,

PART V.

Said the high hill, in the morning, " Look on me!
Behold, sweet earth, sweet sister sky, behold
The red flames on my peaks, and how my pines
Are cressets of pure gold, my quarried scars
Of black crevasse and shadow-filled canyon
Are traced in silver mist. Now on my breast
Hang the soft purple fringes of the night;
Close to my shoulder droops the weary moon,
Dove-pale, into the crimson surf the sun
Drives up before his prow; and blackly stands
On my slim, loftiest peak an eagle with

PART IV.

From his far wigwam sprang the strong North Wind
And rushed with war-cry down the steep ravines,
And wrestled with the giants of the woods;
And with his ice-club beat the swelling crests
Of the deep watercourses into death;
And with his chill foot froze the whirling leaves
Of dun and gold and fire in icy banks;
And smote the tall reeds to the hardened earth,
And sent his whistling arrows o'er the plains,
Scattering the lingering herds; and sudden paused,
When he had frozen all the running streams,

PART III.

The great farmhouse of Malcolm Graem stood,
Square-shouldered and peak-roofed, upon a hill,
With many windows looking everywhere,
So that no distant meadow might lie hid,
Nor corn-field hide its gold, nor lowing herd
Browse in far pastures, out of Malcolm's ken.
He loved to sit, grim, grey, and somewhat stern,
And thro' the smoke-clouds from his short clay pipe
Look out upon his riches, while his thoughts
Swung back and forth between the bleak, stern past
And the near future; for his life had come

PART II.

The South Wind laid his moccasins aside,
Broke his gay calumet of flowers, and cast
His useless wampum, beaded with cool dews,
Far from him northward; his long, ruddy spear
Flung sunward, whence it came, and his soft locks
Of warm, fine haze grew silvery as the birch.
His wigwam of green leaves began to shake;
The crackling rice-beds scolded harsh like squaws;
The small ponds pouted up their silver lips;
The great lakes eyed the mountains, whispered " Ugh!
Are ye so tall, O chiefs? Not taller than

PART I.

Max placed a ring on little Katie's hand,
A silver ring that he had beaten out
From that same sacred coin — first well prized wage
For boyish labour, kept thro' many years.
" See, Kate, " he said, " I had no skill to shape
Two hearts fast bound together, so I graved
Just " K" and " M," for Katie and for Max. "

" But look! you've run the lines in such a way
That " M" is part of " K," and " K" of " M," "
Said Katie, smiling. " Did you mean it thus?
I like it better than the double hearts. "

" Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree, "
What doth thy bold voice promise me?"

" I promise thee all joyous things,
That furnish forth the lives of kings!

" For ev'ry silver ringing blow,
Cities and palaces shall grow!"

" Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,
Tell wider prophecies to me."

" When rust hath gnaw'd me deep and red,
A nation strong shall lift his head!

" His crown the very Heav'ns shall smite,
Æons shall build him in his might!"

" Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree;

Come follow me, you country lasses,
And you shall see such sport as passes:
You shall dance and I will sing;
Pedro, he shall rub the string;
Each shall have a loose-bodied gown
Of green, and laugh till you lie down.
Come follow me, come follow, &c.

You shall have crowns of roses, daisies,
Buds where the honey-maker gazes;
You shall taste the golden thighs,
Such as in wax-chamber lies:
What fruit please you, taste, freely pull,
Till you have all your bellies full.
Come follow me, &c.

C HARON , O Charon,
Thou wafter of the souls to bliss or bane! Charon:
Who calls the ferry-man of Hell? Orpheus:
Come near,
And say who lives in joy, and who in fear. Charon:
Those that die well, eternal joys shall follow;
Those that die ill, their own foul fate shall swallow. Orpheus:
Shall thy black bark those guilty spirits stow
That kill themselves for love? Charon:
O no, no,
My cordage cracks when such great sins are near,
No wind blows fair, nor I myself can steer. Orpheus:
What lovers pass and in Elysium reign? Charon:

Inspector . Women protesting! We've seen it all before.
They were even at it in the First World War,
chanting slogans, chained to bloody railings,
all this jiggery-pokery, women's " wailings".
1915 they tried it on then
bleating for Peace and undermining men,
who had a dangerous job to do.
But there weren't so many anti- in World War II.