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THE DOORSTEP.
THE conference meeting through at last, Not braver be that leaps the wall

We boys around the vestry waited, By level musket-flashes litten,
To see the girls come tripping past

Than I, who stepped before them alı Like snow-birds willing to be mated.

Who longed to see me get the mitten.

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Turn The Donster .

My

A clowa faud bizly ouerhee)

The onon was slyly peeping through it, ,
Yox hid its face, as if it said,

Come, now on liever do it! do it!
lipstice then had only known

The hiss of mother and oft sider,
Brez pomelos, full afon kez sure
Sweet, ray, dashing mont, thised her!

twas boyish love you still,
o listless woman weary

once Anore thar freakcies Fire I'll give her who can live you thoner?

Perhaps To feel

lover

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Guia de

But no, she blushed and took my arm!

We let the old folks have the highway, And started toward the Maple Farm

Along a kind of lovers' by-way. I can't remember what we said,

'Twas nothing worth a song or story,

Yet that rude path by which we sped

Seemed all transformed and in a glory.
The snow was crisp beneath our feet,
The moon was full, the fields were gleam-

ing;
By hood and tippet sheltered sweet

Her face with youth and health was beam- Perhaps 'twas boyish love, yet still,
ing.

O listless woman! weary lover!
To feel once more that fresh wild thrill,

I'd give-But who can live youth over? The little hand outside her muff

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. O sculptor, if you could but mould it! So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,

To keep it warm I had to hold it.

no

To have her with me there alone

MUSIC AND LOVE. 'Twas love and fear and triumph blended:

(From Twelfth Night, Act I., Scene 1.) At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended.

F music be the food of love, play on,

Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken, and so die.She shook her ringlets from her hood,

That strain again;—it had a dying fall : And with a "Thank you, Ned,” dissembled, 0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, But yet I knew she understood

That breathes upon a bank of violets, With what a daring wish I trembled. Stealing, and giving odour.—Enough;

more;

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. A cloud passed kindly overhead,

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! The moon was slyly peeping through it,

That notwithstanding thy capacity Yet hid its face, as if it said,

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, “Come, now or never, do it, do it!"

Of what validity and pitch soever,

But falls into abatement and low price, My lips till then had only known

Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy, The kiss of mother and of sister,

That it alone is high-fantastical. But somehow, full upon her own

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. Sweet, rosy, darling mouth-I kissed her!

FROM "THE SONG OF THE CAMP."

recalled a

They sang of love, and not of fame;
Forgot

was Britain's glory:
Each heart

different name, But all

lang

"Annie Lawrie"! ( Bayard Tayle

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THE LILI POND. OME fairy spirit with his wand,

Oh! there together while we stood,
I think, has hovered o'er the dell,

A butterfly was wafted o'er
And spread this film upon the pond,
And touched it with this drowsy spell, In sleepy light; and even now

His glimmering beauty doth return For here the musing soul is merged

Upon me when the soft winds blow, In woods no other scene can bring,

And lilies toward the sunlight yearn. And sweeter seems the air when scourged With wandering wild-bee's murmuring.

The yielding wood? And yet t’was loth

To yield unto our happy march; One ripple streaks the little lake,

Doubtful it seemed, at times, if both Sharp purple-blue; the birches, thin

Could pass its green, elastic arch.
And silvery, crowd the edge, yet break
To let a straying sunbeam in.

Yet there, at last, upon the marge

We found ourselves, and there, behold, How came we through the yielding wood, In hosts the lilies, white and large,

That day, to this sweet-rustling shore ? Lay close with hearts of downy gold!

SO

Deep in the weedy waters spread

The rootlets of the placid bloom :
So sprung my love's flower, that was bred

In deep still waters of hearts-gloom.
So sprung; and so that morn was nursed

To live in light and on the pool
Wherein its roots were deep immersed,
Burst into beauty broad and cool.

Would through the airy region stream

bright, That birds would sing and think it were not

night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! 0, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek.

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.

ROM

Few words were said as moments passed;

TREU UND FEST.
I know not how it came—that awe
And ardor of a glance that cast

@OME blame the years that fly so fast, Our love in universal law.

* And sigh o'er loves and friendships

gone; But all at once a bird sang loud,

While others say too long they last, From dead twigs of the gloamy beach,

And wish each day were earlier done. His notes dropped dewy, as from a cloud, A blessing on our married speech.

But thou art none of these—to thee

The past is past; past not in vain.
Ah, love! how fresh and rare, even now, Days lived in life's reality-
That moment and that mood return

What need to wish them here again?
Cpon me, when the soft winds blow,
And lilies toward the sunlight yearn!

Days hallowed each by noble use-
GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP.

What need to wish them earlier done?
Who spend their souls in time's abuse

Are eager for to-morrow's sun.
BALCONY SCENE.

Thy trust and rest unbroken are ; (From " Romeo and Juliet,” Act II., Scene 2.)

In God's appointed pathway still POM. He jests at scars, that never felt Thy constant spirit, like a star, a wound.

Moves on accomplishing His will. [Juliet appears above at a window.

ANONYMOUS. But, soft! what light through yonder window

breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief,

GAED a waefu' gate yestere'en, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: | A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue; Be not her maid, since she is envious;

I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady; 0, it is my love!

'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, 0, that she knew she were!

Her lips like roses wet wi’ dew, She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of

Her heaving bosom, lily-white; that?

It was her een sae bonnie blue. Her eye discourses, I will answer it.

She talked, she smiled, my heart she wiled, I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:

She charmed my soul, I wist na how; Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

And aye the stound, the deadly wound, Having some business, do entreat her eyes

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. To twinkle in the spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her But spare to speak, and spare to speed; head?

She'll aiblins listen to my vow; The brightness of her cheek would shame Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead those stars,

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven,

ROBERT BURNS.

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