he garden
And laces the rosebuds
In their green velvet corsets.

While composing solfeggios
That he sings in a low tone to the blackbirds,
He strews the meadows with snowdrops
And the woods with violets.

By the side of the cress in the brook
Where drinks the stag, with listening ear,
With his concealed hand he scatters
The silver bells of the lilies of the valley.

* * * * *

Then, when his work is done
And his reign about to end,
On the threshold of April, turning his head,
He says, Spring, you may come!

THE VETERANS

From 'The Old Guard'

The thing is worth considering;
Three ghosts of old veterans
In the uniform of the Old Guard,
With two shadows of hussars!

Since the supreme battle
One has grown thin, the other stout;
The coat once made to fit them
Is either too loose or too tight.

Don't laugh, comrade;
But rather bow low
To these Achilles of an Iliad
That Homer would not have invented.

Their faces with the swarthy skin
Speak of Egypt with the burning sun,
And the snows of Russia
Still powder their white hair.

If their joints are stiff, it is because on the battle-field
Flags were their only blankets:
And if their sleeves don't fit,
It is because a cannon-ball took off their arm.

JOHN GAY

(1685-1732)

[Illustration: JOHN GAY]

"In the great society of the wits," said Thackeray, "John Gay deserves
to be a favorite, and to have a good place." The wits loved him. Prior
was his faithful ally; Pope wrote him frequent letters of affectionate
good advice; Swift grew genial in his merry company; and when the
jester lapsed into gloom, as jesters will, all his friends hurried to
coddle and comfort him. His verse is not of the first order, but the
list of "English classics" contains far poorer; it is entertaining
enough to be a pleasure even to bright children of this generation,
and each succeeding one reads it with an inherited fondness not by any
means without help from its own merits. And the man who invented comic
opera, one of the most enduring molds in which English humor has been
cast, deserves the credit of all important literary pioneers.

Kind, lazy, clever John Gay came of a good, impoverished Devonshire
family, which seems to have done its best for the bright lad of twelve
when it apprenticed him to a London silk mercer. The boy hated this
employment, grew il