18 JULY 1903, Page 17

POETRY.

" QUAM MITLTA NON DESIDERO!"

,

[" Socrates in pampa cum magna via anri argentique ferretur, quam multa non desidero !' inquit."]

WELL said, old sage, all hail to thee.

How pat our sentiments agree !

Yet not so grimly earnest I

When the world's pomp comes sweeping by.

I frown upon the monstrous craze, But unawares my scornful gaze Melts to a foolish wistfulness.— A trifle inconsistent ?—Yes.—

Still if the fates had used me well;—

But why discuss the impossible ?

Nay ; nay ; I hate the gaudy show.

Quam multa non desidero !

Old Horace was my boyhood's friend; Horace shall steer me to the end. He taught me to despise the great, Thrice happy in a low estate; Fleeing the city's dull excess,

To breathe the country's loveliness, Deep in some woodland nest to lie Tranced by a stream that floated by, On simple joys and simple food To train the soul to hardihood. Dear Master, all to thee I owe: Quam multa non d,esidero !

Sometimes I loiter in the Park, Free to indulge a cynic bark, While the bright pageant courts my eye Of what men call Society.

Gay nods, sly becks, and painted smiles, Man's nonchalance, and woman's wiles, The padded beau, and lost in fur Some lean and lacquered dowager. Jeames' high nose and powdered locks, And purple Thomas on the box :

Would I be cursed with wealth ? Ah, no. Quam multa non desiclero !

Or is the City my resort When tired with follies of the Court ?

I watch the alert, clean-shaven crew Who trust their wits to pull them through.

Though now a thick financial fog May lower above the haunts of Gog : The " bulls " and "bears," the man who pulls

. • . Wires at which dangle " bears " and "bulls " ;

The jewelled hands and big cigar, The cocktail at a rakish bar. I hate it all, don't you? Heigh-ho! Qua?», multa non desidero !

A silken voice is in my ear,—

The bland director's oily sneer : "Fie, fie ! man, all you need is pluck ; Never be down upon your luck. We hardened gamblers stand to gain, And scorn your pitiful refrain.

Spoils to the bold: who fears to lose Loses. Take hands then; you refuse ? Faint-hearted moralist, go to school; I waste my wisdom on a fooL"

E. D. S.