And the Old Queen stooped in the stillness where the jewelled head drooped low:

'Daughter no more but Sister, and doubly Daughter

SO

Mother of many princes-and child of the child I bore, What good thing shall I wish thee that I have not wished before?

'Shall I give thee delight in dominion-mere pride of thy setting forth?

Nay, we be women together-we know what that lust is worth.

Peace in thy utmost borders, and strength on a road untrod?

These are dealt or diminished at the secret will of God.

'I have swayed troublous councils, I am wise in terrible things;

Father and son and grandson, I have known the heart of the Kings.

Shall I give thee my sleepless wisdom, or the gift all wisdom above?

Ay, we be women together-I give thee thy people's love:

'Tempered, august, abiding, reluctant of prayers or

Vows,

Eager in face of peril as thine for thy mother's house. God requite thee, my Sister, through the wonderful years to be,

And make thy people to love thee as thou hast loved me!'

D

RIMMON
(1903)

ULY with knees that feign to quake-
Bent head and shaded brow,-

Yet once again, for my father's sake,
In Rimmon's House I bow.

The curtains part, and the trumpet blares,
And the eunuchs howl aloud;

And the gilt, swag-bellied idol glares
Insolent over the crowd.

"This is Rimmon, Lord of the Earth-
Fear Him and bow the knee!'

And I watch my comrades hide their mirth
That rode to the wars with me.

For we remember the sun and the sand
And the rocks whereon we trod,

Ere we came to a scorched and a scornful land
That did not know our God;

As we remember the sacrifice

Dead men an hundred laid

Slain while they served His mysteries

And that He would not aid.

Not though we gashed ourselves and wept,
For the high-priest bade us wait;
Saying He went on a journey or slept,
Or was drunk or had taken a mate.

('Praise ye Rimmon, King of Kings,
Who ruleth Earth and Sky!'

And again I bow as the censer swings
And the God Enthroned goes by.)

Ay, we remember His sacred ark,

And the virtuous men that knelt
To the dark and the hush behind the dark
Wherein we dreamed He dwelt;

Until we entered to hale Him out,
And found no more than an old
Uncleanly image girded about

The loins with scarlet and gold.

Him we o'erset with the butts of our spears-
Him and his vast designs-

To be the scorn of our muleteers
And the jest of our halted lines.

By the picket-pins that the dogs defile,
In the dung and the dust He lay,
Till the priests ran and chattered awhile
And wiped Him and took Him away.

Hushing the matter before it was known,
They returned to our fathers afar,
And hastily set Him afresh on His throne
Because He had won us the war.

Wherefore with knees that feign to quake-
Bent head and shaded brow-

To this dead dog, for my father's sake,
In Rimmon's House I bow.

H

THE OLD ISSUE

October 9, 1899

ERE is nothing new nor aught unproven,' say the Trumpets,

'Many feet have worn it and the road is old indeed.

It is the King-the King we schooled aforetime!' (Trumpets in the marshes-in the eyot at Runnymede!)

'Here is neither haste, nor hate, nor anger,' peal the Trumpets,

'Pardon for his penitence or pity for his fall.

It is the King!'-inexorable Trumpets

(Trumpets round the scaffold at the dawning by Whitehall!)

'He hath veiled the crown and hid the sceptre,' warn the Trumpets,

'He hath changed the fashion of the lies that cloak his will.

Hard die the Kings-ah hard-dooms hard!' declare the Trumpets,

Trumpets at the gang-plank where the brawling troopdecks fill!