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Not braver he that leaps the wall
Than I, who stepped before them all,
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 lover's by-way.
I can't remember what we said,
T was nothing worth a song or story;
Yet that rude path by which we sped
The snow was crisp beneath our feet.
By hood and tippet sheltered sweet
The little hand outside her muff—
So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,
To have her with me there alone—
At last we reached the foot-worn stone
The old folks, too, were almost home;
Her dimpled hand the latches Angered, We heard the voices nearer come,
Yet on the doorstep still we lingered.
She shook her ringlets from her hood,
But yet I knew she understood
A cloud passed kindly overheard,
The moon was slyly peeping through it,
Yet hid its face, as if it said,
"Come, now or never! doit! doit!"
My lips till then had only known
The kiss of mother and of sister, But somehow, full upon her own
Sweet, rosy, darling mouth—I kissed her!
Perhaps "t was boyish love, yet still,
O listless woman, weary lover!
I'd give— But who can live youth over?
Edmund Clarence Stedman.
cND on her lover's arm she leant,
J And round her waist she felt it fold;
» And far across the hills they went
In that new world which is the old. Across the hills, and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day,
The happy princess followed him.
"I'd sleep another hundred years,
O love, for such another kiss;" "O wake forever, love," she hears,
"O love, 't was such as this and this;" And o'er them many a sliding star.
And many a merry wind was borne. And streamed through many a golden bar,
The twilight melted into morn.
"O eyes long laid in happy sleep!"
"O happy sleep, that lightly lied!" "O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!"
"O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!" And o'er them many a flowing range
Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark; And, rapt through many a rosy change,
The twilight died into the dark.
A hundred summers! can it be?
And whither goest thou, tell me where? "O seek my father's court with me,
For there are greater wonders there." And o'er the hills, and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day,
Through all the world she followed him.
■ IS sweet to hear.
At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, The song and oar of Adria's gondolier;
By distance mellowed, o'er the waters sweep. 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear,
Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sw-eet to view on higli The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.
"Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark,
Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,
The lisp of children, and their earliest words.
Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes
In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth,
From civic revelry to rural mirth;
Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth;
* * * * *
Tls sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels,
To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;
Dear is the helpless creature we defend
But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,
Like Adam's recollection of his fall;
And life yields nothing further to recall
Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven Fire which Prometheus filched for us from heaven.
NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME.
pIERE is no time like the old time, when you
and I were young, 'When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds
of springtime sung! The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed,
But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first!
There is no place like the old place where you and I were born!
Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of the morn,
From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the
clinging arms that bore, Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look
an ns no more!
There is no friend like the old friend who has shared
our morning days, No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his
Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold,
But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.
There is no love like the old love that we courted in our pride;
Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're
fading side by side. There are blossoms all around us with the colors of
And we live in borrowed sunshine when the light of day is gone.
There are no times like the old times—they shall never be forgot!
There is no place like the old place—keep green the
dear old spot! There are no friends like our old friends—may Heaven
prolong their lives! There are no loves like our old loves—God bless our
MARY, at thy window be! It is the wished, the trysted hour! J/Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor; jj^ How blithely wad I bide the stoure, & A weary slave frae sun to sun, $ Could I the rich reward secure— ^ The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen when to the trembling string
To thee my fancy took its wing—
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
I sighed, and said amang them 'a,
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? Or canst thou break that heart of his,
YVhase only faut is loving thee? If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown; A thought ungentle eanna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
J>fWAY! let naught to love displeasing.
What though no grants of royal donors
We '11 shine in more substantial honors.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender
And all the great ones, they shall wonder How they respect such little folk.
What though, from fortune's lavish bounty.
No mighty treasures we possess;
And be content without excess.
Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give; For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.
Through youth and age. in love excelling.
We ':1 hand in hand together tread; Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling.
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures,
To see them look their mother's features,
And when with envy time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys, You '11 in your girls again be courted,
And I '11 go wooing in my boys.