"Why, I've been asleep," Achilles said,
"On the windy plains of Troy;
Three thousand years have turned to dust
With their maddening mirth and joy;
Yet it seems but a day since Ilium fell,
Since Sinon spun out his tale,
And the Greeks returned from Tenedos
With a light and prosperous gale.
"Three thousand years is a long, long time,
But I'll doze for a thousand more;
For I'm sick of the bluff of the Teuton hosts
And the gas from each army corps.
So lay me down in my ancient tomb,
Where the Phrygian winds sweep by,
And I'll dream of the days when heroes fought,
'Round the lofty walls of Troy."
For Very Rev. W. R. Harris, D.D.
THE CHRISM OF KINGS
In the morn of the world, at the daybreak of time,
When Kingdoms were few and Empires unknown,
God searched for a Ruler to sceptre the land,
And gather the harvest from the seed He had sown.
He found a young Shepherd boy watching his flock
Where the mountains looked down on deep meadows of green;
He hailed the young Shepherd boy king of the land
And anointed his brow with a Chrism unseen.
He placed in his frail hands the sceptre of power,
And taught his young heart all the wisdom of love;
He gave him the vision of prophet and priest,
And dowered him with counsel and light from above.
But alas! came a day when the Shepherd forgot
And heaped on his realm all the woes that war brings,
And bartering his purple for the greed of his heart
He lost both the sceptre and Chrism of Kings.
For Miss Katherine Brégy.