R. C. Lehmann

When the waves rise high and higher as they toss about together, And the March-winds, loosed and angry, cut your chilly heart in two, Here are eighteen gallant gentlemen who come to face the weather

When the gusts are at play with the trees on the lawn, And the lights are put out in the vault of the night; When within all is snug, for the curtains are drawn,

When eight strong fellows are out to row, With a slip of a lad to guide them, I warrant they'll make the light ship go,

(MAY 20, 1910) Full in the splendour of this morning hour, With tramp of men and roll of muffled drums,

I There's nothing I know of to make you spend A day of your life at Cragwell End.

When the fierce bugle thrilled alarm, From lands apart these fighters came. An equal courage nerved each arm,

So now your tale of years is done, Old Fluff, my friend, and you have won, Beyond our land of mist and rain,

Like winds that with the setting of the sun Draw to a quiet murmuring and cease, So is her little struggle fought and done;

Tested and staunch through many a changing year, Gelert, his master's faithful hound, lies here. Humble in friendship, but in service proud,

Hail and Farewell, dear Brother of the Pen, Maker of sunshine for the minds of men, Lord of bright cheer and master of our hearts -

He's a boy, And that's the long and (chiefly) the short of it, And the point of it and the wonderful sport of it;

RUPERT is dead, and RUPERT was my friend; "Only surviving son of" - so it ran - "Beloved husband" and the rest of it.

(THE NOTES FOR '1 AND 10S ARE SIGNED BY JOHN BRADBURY) When the Red KAISER, swoll'n with impious pride And stuffed with texts to serve his instant need,

Blow, Father Triton, blow your wreath'd horn Cheerly, as is your wont, and let the blast Circle our island on the breezes borne;

Tufted and bunched and ranged with careless art Here, where the paving-stones are set apart, Alert and gay and innocent of guile,

Our Peter, who's famed as an eater of things, Is a miniature dragon without any wings. He can gallop or trot, he can amble or jog,

Ho, ruddy-cheeked boys and curly maids, Who deftly ply your pails and spades, All you who sturdily take your stand

I heard - 'twas on a morning, but when it was and where, Except that well I heard it, I neither know nor care - I heard, and, oh, the sunlight was shining in the blue,

Soo-Ti, I thank the careful fate That made you wise and obstinate, Alert, but with a proper pride,

(1914) When the thunder-shaking German hosts are marching over France - Lo, the glinting of the bayonet and the quiver of the lance! -

Hang garlands on the bathroom door; Let all the passages be spruce; For, lo, the victim comes once more,

A robin skimmed into the room, And blithe he looked and jolly, A foe to every sort of gloom,

Sweetheart, where all the dancing joys compete Take now your choice; the world is at your feet, All turned into a gay and shining pleasance,

"Come, Peggy, put your toys away; you needn't shake your head, Your bear's been working overtime; he's panting for his bed. He's turned a thousand somersaults, and now his head must ache;

When good-nights have been prattled, and prayers have been said, And the last little sunbeam is tucked up in bed, Then, skirting the trees on a carpet of snow,

"Euclid, we are told, is at last dead, after two thousand years of an immortality that he never much deserved." - The Times Literary Supplement. A THRENODY for EUCLID! This is he Who with his learning made our youth a waste,

Hush! We're not a pack of boys Always bound to make a noise. True, there's one amongst us, but

I This is the tale the old men tell, the tale that was told to me, Of the blue-green dragon,

Splendour, whom lately on your glowing flight Athwart the chill and cheerless winter-skies I marked and welcomed with a futile right,

I sing the sofa! It had stood for years, An invitation to benign repose, A foe to all the fretful brood of fears,

(COMMUNICATED BY AN EIGHT-YEAR-OLD) I've a palace set in a garden fair, And, oh, but the flowers are rich and rare,

There's a line of rails on an upland green With a good take-off and a landing sound, Six fences grim as were ever seen,

Let others from the feathered brood Which through the garden seeks its food Pick out for a commending word

It was deadly cold in Danbury town One terrible night in mid November, A night that the Danbury folk remember

You with the hawk's eyes and the nerves of steel, How was it with you when the hurried word Roused you and sent you swiftly forth to deal

When you and I were younger the world was passing fair; Our days were sped with laughter, our steps were free as air; Life lightly lured us onward, and ceased not to unroll