POETRY.
ADVENTURE.
IT was a prosperous dull square In London, heavy-built and grey. Decorum was triumphant there, Adventure very far away. Peace brooded on the sooty-grassed Enclosure stiffly railed about, And comfortable people passed, Befurred and satisfied and stout, With all emotions well concealed From any over-curious eye ; And stolid rosy nursemaids wheeled The rosy stolid babies by.
Placid and well assured and neat And rather tame, that west-end square; One never would have thought to meet With treasure-seekers strolling there.
It all seemed—cushioned. As the thought Was phrased, two calm, groomed men brushed
past,—
Like scores of others—and I caught The clipped speech of our Brahmin caste :
—"heard of it front my Bantu men,-- I never saw such ivory.
I got it to the Coast, and then Went down with fever, but you see Td cleared a thousand . . . anything . .
I missed the next word ; he went on:
"It was the store of that old King At—" some strange name—and they were gone ;
While I was left with winged feet And racing pulse and head awhirl To walk into a magic street All gold and ivory and pearl.
Treasure of Kings! To one blue flare The drab sky flamed before my eyes, And Fever stretched hot hands to tear The reckless looters from their prize.
Quests perilous and high romance Hidden, endure eternally.
All hail, 0 happy elf of Chance, Who twitched aside the veil for me !
DOROTHEA MACRELLAR.
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