If I were a young man With a brisk, healthy body, Oh, if I were a bold young man With love of rum toddy, Though I knew that I was spiting My old age with pain, My happy lip would touch and sip Again and again. If I were a young man With my bones full of marrow, Oh, if I were a bold young man Straight as an arrow, I'd store up no virtue For Heaven's distant plain, I'd live at ease as I did please And sin once again. APPLES AND WATER. Dust in a cloud, blinding weather, Drums that rattle and roar! A mother and daughter stood together Beside their cottage door. "Mother, the heavens are bright like brass, The dust is shaken high, With labouring breath the soldiers pass, Their lips are cracked and dry." "Mother, I'll throw them apples down, I'll bring them pails of water." The mother turned with an angry frown Holding back her daughter. "But mother, see, they faint with thirst, They march away to die," "Ah, sweet, had I but known at first Their throats are always dry." "There is no water can supply them In western streams that flow, There is no fruit can satisfy them On orchard trees that grow." "Once in my youth I gave, poor fool, A soldier apples and water, So may I die before you cool Your father's drouth, my daughter." MANTICOR IN ARABIA. (The manticors of the montaines Mighte feed them on thy braines.--Skelton.) Thick and scented daisies spread Where with surface dull like lead Arabian pools of slime invite Manticors down from neighbouring height To dip heads, to cool fiery blood In oozy depths of sucking mud. Sing then of ringstraked manticor, Man-visaged tiger who of yore Held whole Arabian waste in fee With raging pride from sea to sea, That every lesser tribe would fly Those armed feet, that hooded eye; Till preying on himself at last Manticor dwindled, sank, was passed By gryphon flocks he did disdain. Ay, wyverns and rude dragons reign In ancient keep of manticor Agreed old foe can rise no more. Only here from lakes of slime Drinks manticor and bides due time: Six times Fowl Phoenix in yon tree Must mount his pyre and burn and be Renewed again, till in such hour As seventh Phoenix flames to power And lifts young feathers, overnice From scented pool of steamy spice Shall manticor his sway restore And rule Arabian plains once more. OUTLAWS. Owls: they whinney down the night, Bats go zigzag by. Ambushed in shadow out of sight The outlaws lie. Old gods, shrunk to shadows, there In the wet woods they lurk, Greedy of human stuff to snare In webs of murk.