And A first And a second To stomach And a third, Which is a Laughable Thing. Here's a catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan; For we won through the deserts to his sunset barbican; And the mountains of his palace no Titan's reach may span Where he wields his seignorie! "Red-as-blood skins of Panthers, so bright against the sun On the walls of the halls where his pillared state is set They daze with a blaze no man may look upon. And with conduits of beverage those floors run wet. "His wives stiff with riches, they sit before him there. Bird and beast at his feast make song and clapping cheer. And jugglers and enchanters, all walking on the air, Make fall eclipse and thunder-make moons and suns appear! Once the Chan, by his enemies soreprest, and sorely spent, Lay, so they say, in a thicket 'neath a tree Where the howl of an owl vexed his foes from their intent: Then that fowl for a holy bird of reverence made he! We gape to And are in And dread it is Devil's Work! A catch and a carol to the great, grand Pastmasters of disasters, our desert caravan Where he wields his seignorie! And crowns he gave us! We end where we began: A catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan, The King of all the Kings across the sea!" The market-square suddenly with hooves. of beaten gold! The ground yawned gaping and flamed beneath our feet! They plunged to Pits Abysmal with their wealth untold! And some say the Chan himself in anger dealt the stroke For sharing of his secrets with silly, common folk: But Holy, Blessed Mary, preserve us as you may Lest once more those mad Merchants come chanting from Cathay! NIGHT1 Let the night keep Let day discover not Let the night keep Drowned in deep sleep Thoughts like white flowers In hedges of May; Let such deep hours not Monarch is night Rapturous wings; Night the crown, night the sword Lifted to smite. Kneel to your overlord, Children of night! 1 From Moons of Grandeur by William Rose Benét. Copyright, 1920, George H. Doran Company, Publishers. HOW TO CATCH UNICORNS Its cloven hoofprint on the sand Will lead you-where? Into a phantasmagoric land— Beware! There all the bright streams run up-hill. The birds on every tree are still. But from stocks and stones, clear voices come That should be dumb. If you have taken along a net, A noose, a prod, You'll be waiting in the forest yet . In a virgin's lap the beast slept sound, They say . . but I— I think (Is anyone around?) That's just a lie! If you have taken a musketoon To flinders 'twill flash 'neath the wizard moon. And I should take an easy heart And a tied-up lunch of sandwich and tart, And then I should pretend to snore And I'd hear a snort and I'd hear a roar, And I'd open my eyes on a flashing horn- Knights have tramped in their iron-mong❜ry ADDENDUM Really hungry! Good Lord deliver us, John Hall Wheelock John Hall Wheelock was born at Far Rockaway, Long Island, in 1886. He was graduated from Harvard, receiving his B.A. in 1908, and finished his studies at the Universities of Göttingen and Berlin, 1908-10. Wheelock's first book is, in many respects, his best. The Human Fantasy (1911) sings with the voice of youth—a youth which is vibrantly, even vociferously, in love with existence. Rhapsodic and obviously influenced by Whitman and Henley, these lines beat bravely; a singing buoyance arrests one upon opening the volume. A headlong ecstasy rises from pages whose refain is Splendid it is to live and glorious to die." The Beloved Adventure (1912) is less powerful but scarcely |