A THE MEETING FTER so long an absence Does the meeting give us pleasure, The tree of life has been shaken, We cordially greet each other In the old, familiar tone; And we think, though we do not say it, How old and gray he is grown! We speak of a Merry Christmas We speak of friends and their fortunes, And the living alone seem dead. And at last we hardly distinguish Between the ghosts and the guests; And a mist and shadow of sadness Steals over our merriest jests. VOX POPULI 'HEN Mazárvan the Magician W Journeyed westward through Cathay, Nothing heard he but the praises But the lessening rumor ended So it happens with the poets: Where Badoura is unknown. A THE CASTLE-BUILDER GENTLE boy, with soft and silken locks, A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes, A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks, And towers that touch imaginary skies. A fearless rider on his father's knee, There will be other towers for thee to build; There will be other steeds for thee to ride; There will be other legends, and all filled With greater marvels and more glorified. Build on, and make thy castles high and fair, Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries. CHANGED ROM the outskirts of the town, FRO Where of old the mile-stone stood, Now a stranger, looking down I behold the shadowy crown Of the dark and haunted wood. Is it changed, or am I changed? Ah! the oaks are fresh and green, But the friends with whom I ranged Through their thickets are estranged By the years that intervene. Bright as ever flows the sea, Bright as ever shines the sun, But alas! they seem to me Not the tides that used to run. |