Life — January 19, 1893 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

38 TO LIFE ON HIS TENTH BIRTHDAY. * Mr, Julian Hawthorne sent the following lines in response to an invitation to a modest feast at which Live, its artists and contributors celebrated the young- ster’s tenth birthday D"™ R Lie, if you're but ten years old, O, say, how may it be That six-and-forty years have rolled Since first I came to Thee ? Ere you existed, how could I ‘Adorn this earthly Sphere ? He without Lire to live who'd try Must be@till-born, ‘tis clear. But if in truth you're only ten, And I'm alive, 'twould seem {'m but a little boy again, And Age is alla dream : And all the world with us is young And that fair Age of Gold Is here, whereof the poets sung, If we're but ten years old. I'd like to think that this is so ; Yet, if ‘tis so, I think *Twere wrong to let Delmonico Provide our food and drink. Ah ! never little ten-year boys Should birds and bottles swallow ; To ginger-pop restrict our joys, With bread and milk to follow. T used to wonder why the tribe Of scers and poets of old In such conflicting terms describe Your virtues manifold. ‘They call you long, and short, and cheap, And dear, and low, and high, A thing to laugh at, and to weep, Despise, prize, welcome, fly. But now the mystery is solved : Those men of olden days From inner consciousness evolved Their notions of your traits. They never could have really known What qualities you hold, Since they long since were dead and gone, Ere Lire. was ten years old. Then let us sing, Long live the King Of all the Witty Papers ! Each blessed Thursday may he bring His quips, conceits, and capers ; Indeed, why should he ever end His royal reign of laughter ? 1 doubt not Providence will send Immortal Lie hereafter ! il ! unto the Captains bold Who man Lire’s jolly bark ; May they the utmost joys behold. Of this terrestrial lark ! Upanchor! Hoist the sails! Away ! Grip fast the trusty tiller ! Good voyage, good grog, and plenteous pay To M-tch-ll, M-tc-lf-, M-ll-r ! {If we followed the dictates of our modesty we should omit the names in the last verse, but as we could not do this without destroying Mr. Hawthorne's rhyme we have chosen the alter- native of disguising them beyond recognition, } A SOLILOQUY. THE CaT: Alas, poor Bonesie—I knew him: a fellow of infinite zest, of most excellent endurance. He hath dragged his stage ten thousand trips. Here hung that harness that hath broke I know not how oft! Where be your sighs now ?. your gambols ? your whinnies ? your balkings that were wont to set the stage load in a roar? THE POEMS OF WILLIAM WINTER. ME: WILLIAM WINTER has for many years written verses which WV. have been inspired by the love of Beauty and the love of Friends. Itis doubtfui whether there is any better inspiration for lyrical poetry than these emotions. Age only intensifies them ; foran old friend is the best friend of all, and a friend who dies receives in one’s memory immortal youth. And the love of beauty is given by increasing yearsa certain pathetic interest ; the pursuit has been so long and arduous, but has led into so many pleasant by- ways that one hardly regrets the escape of the elusive butterfly at last. Old men everywhere give up the chase with words like Stevenson’s on their smiling Mes: “+ Where hath fleeting Beauty led ? To the doorway of the dead. Life is over, life was gay— We have come the primrose way.” * * * ITH the hope that he may make “an authentic contribution to that ancient body of English lyrical poetry of which gentleness is the soul and simplicity the garment" Mr. Winter has made a selection from the poems which he has written during more than thirty years, and because “ their exist- ence seems frail and their fate dubious" he has called them ‘ Wanderers ‘millan). For him the love of beauty and of friends is practically a single comicbooks.com