Page:The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson, Vailima Edition, Volume 8, 1922.djvu/565

NEW POEMS But tho' these fathers of your race

Be gone before, yourself a sire,

To-day you see before your face

Your stalwart youngsters touch the lyre.

On these—on Lang, or Dobson—call,

Long leaders of the songful feast.

They lend a verse your laughing fall—

A verse they owe you at the least.

CLXXX

TO MISS RAWLINSON

CLXXXI

HE pleasant river gushes

Among the meadows green;

At home the author tushes;

For him it flows unseen.

551