Unseen, who women held so dear,

The strong man's yearning to his kind Shall shake at most the window-blind, Or dull awhile the card-room's cheer.

In his own place of power unknown,
His Light o' Love another's flame,
His dearest pony galloped lame,
And he an alien and alone!

Yet may he meet with many a friend—
Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen
Among us when “God save the Queen"
Shows even "extras" have an end.

And, when we leave the heated room,
And, when at four the lights expire,
The crew shall gather round the fire
And mock our laughter in the gloom;

Talk as we talked, and they ere death— Flirt wanly, dance in ghostly-wise, With ghosts of tunes for melodies, And vanish at the morning's breath.

ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER

A GREAT and glorious thing it is

To learn, for seven years or so, The Lord knows what of that and this, Ere reckoned fit to face the foeThe flying bullet down the Pass,

That whistles clear: "All flesh is grass."

Three hundred pounds per annum spent
On making brain and body meeter
For all the murderous intent

Comprised in "villainous saltpetre!"
And after?-Ask the Yusufzaies
What comes of all our 'ologies.

A scrimmage in a Border Station—
A canter down some dark defile—
Two thousand pounds of education
Drops to a ten-rupee jezail-

The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride,
Shot like a rabbit in a ride!

No proposition Euclid wrote

No formulæ the text-books know, Will turn the bullet from your coat,

Or ward the tulwar's downward blow. Strike hard who cares-shoot straight who canThe odds are on the cheaper man.

One sword-knot stolen from the camp
Will pay for all the school expenses
Of any Kurrum Valley scamp

Who knows no word of moods and tenses,

But, being blessed with perfect sight,
Picks off our messmates left and right.

With home-bred hordes the hillsides teem.
The troopships bring us one by one,
At vast expense of time and steam,
To slay Afridis where they run.
The "captives of our bow and spear"
Are cheap, alas! as we are dear.

THE SONG OF THE WOMEN

(Lady Dufferin's Fund for medical aid to the Women of India)

HOW shall she know the worship we would do her?
The walls are high and she is very far.

How shall the women's message reach unto her
Above the tumult of the packed bazaar?

Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing,
Bear thou our thanks lest she depart unknowing.

Go forth across the fields we may not roam in,
Go forth beyond the trees that rim the city
To whatsoe'er fair place she hath her home in,
Who dowered us with wealth of love and pity.
Out of our shadow pass and seek her singing-
"I have no gifts but Love alone for bringing."

Say that we be a feeble folk who greet her,
But old in grief, and very wise in tears:
Say that we, being desolate, entreat her
That she forget us not in after-years;

For we have seen the light and it were grievous
To dim that dawning if our Lady leave us.

By Life that ebbed with none to staunch the failing,
By Love's sad harvest garnered ere the spring,
When Love in Ignorance wept unavailing
O'er young buds dead before their blossoming;

By all the grey owl watched, the pale moon viewed,
In past grim years declare our gratitude!

By hands uplifted to the Gods that heard not,
By gifts that found no favour in their sight,
By faces bent above the babe that stirred not,
By nameless horrors of the stifling night;

By ills fordone, by peace her toils discover,
Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven above her!

If she have sent her servants in our pain,

If she have fought with Death and dulled his sword; If she have given back our sick again,

And to the breast the weakling lips restored,

Is it a little thing that she has wrought?

Then Life and Death and Motherhood be nought.

Go forth, O Wind, our message on thy wings,
And they shall hear thee pass and bid thee speed,
In reed-roofed hut, or white-walled home of kings,
Who have been holpen by her in their need.

All spring shall give thee fragrance, and the wheat
Shall be a tasselled floorcloth to thy feet.

Haste, for our hearts are with thee, take no rest!
Loud-voiced ambassador, from sea to sea

Proclaim the blessing, manifold, confest,

Of those in darkness by her hand set free,
Then very softly to her presence move,
And whisper: "Lady, lo, they know and love!"

THE BETROTHED

"You must choose between me and your cigar." Breach of Promise Case, circa, 1885

OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,

For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I

are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas-we fought o'er a good cheroot,

And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box-let me consider a space;

In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie's a loving lass,

But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay; But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown— But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty-grey and dour and old—

With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,

And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar—

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket

With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box-let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manilla-there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion-bondage bought with a ring, Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string?