And she spoke to me of the monarch, And of the purity of her soul. VI _Stele_ After years of continence he hurled himself into a sea of six women. Now, quenched as the brand of Meleagar, he lies by the poluphloisboious sea-coast. παραἀ ΘῘνα Πολοϕλοίσβοιο Θαλἀσσης. SISTE VIATOR. VII _I Vecchii_ They will come no more, The old men with beautiful manners. Il était comme un tout petit garçon With his blouse full of apples And sticking out all the way round; Blagueur! “Con gli occhi onesti e tardi,” And he said: “Oh! Abelard,” as if the topic Were much too abstruse for his comprehension, And he talked about “the Great Mary,” And said: “Mr. Pound is shocked at my levity,” When it turned out he meant Mrs. Ward. And the other was rather like my bust by Gaudier, Or like a real Texas colonel, He said: “Why flay dead horses? “There was once a man called Voltaire.” And he said they used to cheer Verdi, In Rome, after the opera, And the guards couldn’t stop them, And that was an anagram for Vittorio Emanuele Re D’ Italia, And the guards couldn’t stop them. Old men with beautiful manners, Sitting in the Row of a morning; Walking on the Chelsea Embankment. VIII _Ritratto_ And she said: “You remember Mr. Lowell, “He was your ambassador here?” And I said: “That was before I arrived.” And she said: “He stomped into my bedroom.... (By that time she had got on to Browning.) “ ... stomped into my bedroom.... “And said: ‘Do I, “‘I ask you, Do I “‘Care too much for society dinners?’ “And I wouldn’t say that he didn’t. “Shelley used to live in this house.” She was a very old lady, I never saw her again. HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY (LIFE AND CONTACTS) “VOCAT ÆSTUS IN UMBRAM” _Nemesianus Ec. IV._ ODE POUR L’ELECTION DE SON SEPULCHRE I For three years, out of key with his time, He strove to resuscitate the dead art Of poetry; to maintain “the sublime” In the old sense. Wrong from the start-- No, hardly but, seeing he had been born In a half savage country, out of date; Bent resolutely on wringing lilies from the acorn; Capaneus; trout for factitious bait; Ἵδυεν λάρ τοι πάνθ’, ὃς’ ἐνἰ Τροίη Caught in the unstopped ear; Giving the rocks small lee-way The chopped seas held him, therefore, that year. His true Penelope was Flaubert, He fished by obstinate isles; Observed the elegance of Circe’s hair Rather than the mottoes on sun-dials. Unaffected by “the march of events,” He passed from men’s memory in _l’an trentiesme De son eage_; the case presents No adjunct to the Muses’ diadem. II