SEA SPRAY &> SMOKE DRIFT 



When our blood ran rapidly, and when 

 Our bones were pliant and limber, 



Could we stand a merry cross-counter then, 

 A slogging fall over timber ? 



Arcades ambo ! Duffers both, 



In our best of days, alas ! 

 (I tell the truth, though to tell it loth) 



'Tis time we were gone to grass ; 

 The young leaves shoot, the sere leaves fall, 



And the old gives way to the new. 

 While the preacher cries, ** 'Tis vanity all. 



And vexation of spirit too." 



Now over my head the vapours curl 



From the bowl of the soothing clay. 

 In the misty forms that eddy and whirl 



My thoughts are flitting away ; 

 Yes, the preacher's right, 'tis vanity all. 



But the sweeping rebuke he showers 

 On vanities all may heaviest fall 



On vanities worse than ours. 



We have no wish to exaggerate 



The worth of the sports we prize, 



36 



