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There are times for a mood Corybantic;
In season 'tis sweet to be sad;
But an art that is constantly frantic
Or dismal, is bad.
Our ears have been brutally battered
With volleys of virulent sound;
Our senses are cruelly shattered
With shocks that amaze and astound.
O hasten from Pindus or Haemus,
Come down, you have lingered too long,
Come down, and from Discord redeem us,
Dear Sisters of Song!
C. L. Graves.
XV
IN quest of golden cargo brave Jason and his band
Upon the good ship Argo sailed to the Colchian strand;
But nobler is the story that I would fain unfold
Of ships of greater glory, of freights of richer gold.
For the grain ships are sailing, are sailing all the while,
Unresting and unfailing from the mouth of Father Nile;
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