Nora's Vow At night I'd wake at the midnight hour, She said she was being "the human fly," For the sweet, sweet sake of the Human Snake 159 But she skipped in the end with an old, old friend, An eminent bearded lady. But, oh, at night, when my slumber's light, Regret comes o'er me stealing; For I miss the sound of those little feet, Refrain My Angeline! My Angeline! Why didst disturb my mind serene? My Human Snake, my Angeline! Harry B. Smith. NORA'S VOW HEAR what Highland Nora said,- I would not wed the Earlie's son." "A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, "Are lightly made and lightly broke, The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light; The frost-wind soon shall sweep away "The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild swan made; Sir Walter Scott. HUSBAND AND HEATHEN O'ER the men of Ethiopia she would pour her cornucopia, If she had the wings of eagles to their succour she would fly Succotash and vermicelli, Prunes, pomegranates, plums and pudding, peaches, pineapples, and pie. She would fly with speedy succour to the natives of Molucca With whole loads of quail and salmon, and with tons of fricassee The Lost Pleiad And give cake in fullest measure To the men of Australasia And all the Archipelagoes that dot the southern sea; All their lives deprived of pie, 161 She would satiate and satisfy with custards, cream, and mince; And those miserable Australians And the Borrioboolighalians, She would gorge with choicest jelly, raspberry, currant, grape, and quince. But like old war-time hardtackers, her poor husband lived on crackers, Bought at wholesale from a baker, caten from the mantelshelf; If the men of Madagascar, And the natives of Alaska, Had enough to sate their hunger, let him look out for himself. To fasten up his galluses when he went out to his work; To buy sugar-plums and honey For the Terra del Fuegian and the Turcoman and Turk. Sam Walter Foss. THE LOST PLEIAD "TWAS a pretty little maiden Which she oughtn't to have done! For a giant was her father and a goddess was her mother, Now the giant's daughters seven, She among them, if you please, One alone was always dark, For she shrank from observation Or censorious remark. She had yielded to a mortal when he came to flirt and flatter. She was Merope or Sterope-the former or the latter; So the planets all ignored her, and the comets wouldn't call On Merope or Sterope-I am not sure at all! But the Dog-star, brightly shining In the hottest of July, Saw the pretty Pleiad pining In the shadow of the sky, So her former indiscretion as a fault was never reckoned, As Merope or Sterope-I can't recall her name! Arthur Reed Ropes. THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN THEY'VE got a brand-new organ, Sue, They've done just as they said they'd do, The New Church Organ They're bound the critter shall be seen, They've hoisted up their new machine In everybody's sight. They've got a chorister and choir, Ag'in' my voice and vote; For it was never my desire To praise the Lord by note. I've been a sister good an' true For five-an'-thirty year; I've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear; I've sung the hymns both slow and quick, And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, I took the fork an' led; And now, their bold, new-fangled ways Is comin' all about; And I, right in my latter days, Am fairly crowded out! To-day the preacher, good old dear, I al'ays liked that blessed hymn- It somehow gratifies my whim, In good old Ortonville; But when that choir got up to sing, I couldn't catch a word; They sung the most dog-gondest thing Some worldly chaps was standin' near; I bid farewell to every fear, And boldly waded in. I thought I'd chase their tune along, 163 |