A Vagabond Song Sports and There is something in the Autumn that is native Pastimes to my blood Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry And my lonely spirit thrills To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills. There is something in October sets the gipsy blood astir; We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of flame She calls and calls each vagabond by name. BLISS CARMAN. Swimming And mightier grew the joy to meet full-faced taste The rapture of its rolling strength, and cross Sports Like plumes in battle's blithest charge, and thence and To match the next with yet more strenuous sense; Pastimes Till on his eyes the light beat hard and bade His face turn west and shoreward through the glad Swift revel of the waters golden-clad, And back with light reluctant heart he bore ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. How many a time have I Cloven, with arm still lustier, breast more daring, The long suspended breath, again I spurned Sports and The foam which broke around me, and pursued Pastimes My track like a sea-bird.-I was a boy then. GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. From "The Two Foscari." The Angler's Reveille* What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, And all the drowsy little stars have fallen asleep in light; "Tis then a wandering wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree, And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. This is the carol the Robin throws Over the edge of the valley; Listen how boldly it flows, Sally on sally: Tirra-lirra, Down the river, All a-quiver. Day is near, *From "The Toiling of Felix." By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark; Now forth she fares through friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, While every voice cries out "Rejoice!" as if the world were new. This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, Unto his mate replying, Shaking the tune from his wings While he is flying: Surely, surely, surely, Life is dear Even here. Blue above, You to love, Purely, purely, purely. There's wild azalea on the hill, and roses down the Sports dell, And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well; The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink, Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink. and Pastimes This is the song of the Yellowthroat, Fluttering gaily beside you; Hear how each voluble note Offers to guide you: Which way, sir? Let me teach you, Jolly fishing? This way, sir! I'll teach you. Then come, my friend, forget your foes, and leave your fears behind, And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet mind; |