* * *
A city of death and the dead,
But thither a pilgrim came,
Wearing on weary head
The crowns of years and fame:
Little the Lucrine lake
Or Tivoli said to him,
Scarce did the memories wake
Of the far-off years and dim.
For he stood by Avernus' shore,
But he dreamed of a Northern glen
And he murmured, over and o'er,
'For Charlie and his men:'
And his feet, to death that went,
Crept forth to St. Peter's shrine,
And the latest Minstrel bent
O'er the last of the Stuart line.
FROM OMAR KHAYYAM
[Rhymed from the prose version of Mr. Justin Huntly M'Carthy]
The Paradise they bid us fast to win
Hath Wine and Women; is it then a sin
To live as we shall live in Paradise,
And make a Heaven of Earth, ere Heaven begin?
The wise may search the world from end to end,
From dusty nook to dusty nook, my friend,
And nothing better find than girls and wine,
Of all the things they neither make nor mend.
Nay, listen thou who, walking on Life's way,
Hast seen no lovelock of thy love's grow grey
Listen, and love thy life, and let the Wheel
Of Heaven go spinning its own wilful way.
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