TURN, FORTUNE, TURN THY WHEEL.
FROM “THE MARRIAGE OF GERAINT.” T urn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud; Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine, storm, and cloud; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; With that wild wheel we go not up or down; Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands; For man is man and master of his fate. Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd; Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
VIVIEN’S SONG.
FROM “MERLIN AND VIVIEN.” I n Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers: Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all. The little rift within the lover’s lute Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit, That rotting inward slowly moulders all. It is not worth the keeping: let it go: But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. And trust me not at all or all in all.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

1811-1863.

AT THE CHURCH GATE.
FROM “PENDENNIS.” A lthough I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover: And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her. The Minster bell tolls out Above the city’s rout, And noise and humming: They ’ve hushed the Minster bell: The organ ’gins to swell: She ’s coming, she ’s coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast: She comes—she ’s here—she ’s past— May heaven go with her! Kneel, undisturbed, fair saint! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute; Like outcast spirits who wait And see through heaven’s gate Angels within it.
THE MAHOGANY TREE. C hristmas is here; Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we: Little we fear Weather without Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom; Night-birds are we: Here we carouse, Singing like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short— When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust! We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait; Happy we ’ll be! Drink, every one; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree. Drain we the cup.— Friend, art afraid? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up; Empty it yet; Let us forget, Round the old tree. Sorrows, begone! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite, Leave us to-night, Round the old tree.