Si II I' ; THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES RINGS AND LOVE-KNOTS BY SAMUEL MINTURN PECK A uthur of ' ' Cap and Bells " THIRD EDITION. NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANT CONTENTS. PAGE An Alabama Garden ...... 3 Mignon ........ 5 Earth Love . ..... 7 Aunt Martha's Spinning- Wheel. . . . -9 Polly ........ 12 The Grapevine Swing . . . . . . 14 The Little Lass in Pink . . . . .17 Where the Apple-Blossoms Blow . . . .20 Snowdrops ....... 22 All For You . . . . . . .24 Blackberry Blossoms ...... 26 A Song From the City . . . . . .28 To a Rosebud ....... 30 Amorita . . . . . . . .31 The Daffodil's Secret ...... 34 My First Kiss . . . . . . .36 The Buttercup ....... 38 Liltle Bopeep at the Fancy-Bali . . . .39 Ariel's Song ....... 42 In the Orchard . . . . . . .44 The Trumpet Flower ...... 46 Glamourie . . . . . . . -47 The Fugitives ....... 49 CONTENTS. PAGE Bonnie Rosabel . A Seaside Flirtation The Daisy Midsummer Song . The Way to Win 59 The Last Apple-Blossom A Song Before Dawn . . 62 The Wooing of Rose . . . . . 6 4 Spanish Song ... 7 A Southern Girl ... ^ The Dandelion . . 7I Catching a Dimple ... 73 The Little Red Ribbon 75 Mabel at Her Needlework 77 Love Among the Clover . . . -79 My Lost Love 8l Letter Song 8 3 An April Maid . . . ..... 85 Wooing 8 ? Morning Song ... 8 9 Puck 9 1 She Said That I Was Dreaming 9 2 Elf Song -94 That Little Lass of Mine 9 6 Mr. Dream-Maker 99 A Moonlight Maid I0 CONTENTS. PAGE The Passing of Summer .... .102 A Song for the South ...... 103 A Creole Serenade. . . . . . .105 The Maiden of My Dreams ..... 107 My Love in the Long Ago . . . . .109 The Year Hath Reached its Afternoon . . .in A Seng to the Autumn Wind . . . * -113 A Georgia Girl . ...... 114 To a Cricket . . . . . . .116 Autumn Dawn ....... 119 Dream-Love ....... 120 Lisette ........ 122 A Summer Girl ....... 123 Laughing in Her Sleep ..... 125 The Love that Lives for Aye . . . .127 Eulalie ........ r8 Love's Art ........ 130 The Death of Autumn ..... 131 Marguerite ........ 132 Sweetheart ....... 134 The Girl in the Gainsborough Hat .... 136 To a Butterfly in December ..... 138 Little Bopeep and Little Boy Blue . . . .141 Autumn Glee ....... 143 Ingle Song ..... . . 145- My Grandmother's Turkey-Tail Fan . . . 147 To the memory of MY MOTHER, IUCY LAMB RANDALL PECK. Rings and love-knots rare. And roses wet "with dew, I bring them to my dainty fair To show my heart is true, OLD SONG. AN ALABAMA GARDEN. ALONG a pine-clad hill it lies, O'erlooked by limpid Southern skies, A spot to feast a fairy's eyes, A nook for happy fancies. The wild bee's mellow monotone Here blends with bird-notes zephyr-blown, And many an insect voice unknown The harmony enhances. The rose's shattered splendor flees With lavish grace on every breeze, And lilies sway with flexile ease Like dryads snowy-breasted ; And where gardenias drowse between Rich curving leaves of glossy green, The cricket strikes his tambourine, Amid the mosses nested. AN ALABAMA GARDEN. Here dawn-flushed myrtles interlace, And sifted sunbeams shyly trace Frail arabesques whose shifting grace Is wrought of shade and shimmer; At eventide scents quaint and rare Go straying through my garden fair, As if they sought with wilclered air The fireflies' fitful glimmer. Oh, could some painter's facile brush, On canvas limn my garden's blush, The fevered world its din would hush To crown the high endeavor ; Or could a poet snare in rhyme The breathings of this balmy clime, His fame might dare the dart of Time And soar undimmecl forever 1 MIGNON. ACROSS the gloom the gray moth speeds To taste the midnight brew, The drowsy lilies tell their beads On rosaries of dew. The stars seem kind, And e'en the wind Hath pity for my woe, Ah, must I sue in vain, ma belle? Say no, Mignon, say no! Erelong the dawn will come to break The web of darkness through ; Let not my heart unanswered ache That beats alone for you. MIGNON. Your casement ope And bid me hope, Give me one smile to bless ; A word will ease my pain, ma belle, Say yes, Mignon, say yes ! EARTH LOVE. I SEEK not why the cyclones roar, Nor whence the lurid storm-clouds pass ; Be mine a shyer, sweeter lore, The secrets of the whispering grass. The crackling scroll, the musty tome, They are but arid husks to me Who joy to breast the daisy foam That flecks the meadow's emerald sea. The shimmering dewdrop, softly bright, That hangs upon the violet's eye, I prize beyond the bolder light That dazzles in the arching sky. EARTH LOVE. In lonely woods I love to scan The silvery snare the spider weaves, Or watch the mimic caravan Of ants among the mouldering leaves ; Or on the turf with head bent low, In some remote and mossy glen, To list the toil, the joy, the woe Of tiny lives unguessed of men. With heart unvexed of tangled creeds By petty brains to thinness spun, Be mine the text of flowers and weeds By Nature writ in shade and sun. They lure me not, the stars above ; Their mysteries are too cold and high. God gave to us the earth to love, Within whose breast all sorrows die. AUNT MARTHA'S SPINNING-WHEEL. WITH spider-webbing tattered In travesties of lace, Mid treasures years have shattered, Once miracles of grace ; Imploring Time to spare it With rusty tongue of steel, Behold it in the garret, Aunt Martha's spinning-wheel. With slow and pensive fingers I wipe the webs away, While loving Fancy lingers To paint an olden day. When youth and beauty crowned it What gay songs used to peal ! Now crickets wail around it, Aunt Martha's spinning-wheel. AUNT MARTHA'S SPINNING-WHEEL. I softly touch the treadle ; It gives a plaintive squeak ; It begs me not to meddle, In murmurs sad and meek. Alas ! the feet that lithely Once twinkled through the reel, No more shall pat it blithely, Aunt Martha's spinning-wheel. How oft its noisy turning Hath served a lover's need, And kept Age from decerning What only Youth should heed ! 'T would drown both vows and kisses That lovers love to steal ; A dear old treasure this is Aunt Martha's spinning-wheel. For fear of house adorner In search of bric-a-brac, Far in the garret corner With sighs I put it back ; A UNT MARTHA'S SPINNING-WHEEL* And there just as I found it, I leave for woe or weal With ghosts to glide around it Aunt Martha's spinning-wheel. POLLY. IN a little scarlet kirtle With a dewy sprig of myrtle She comes tripping from the dairy When the dawn begins to peep. Where the snowy lambs are skipping And the swallows gayly dipping She stands with dimpled elbows I can see her in my sleep ! How her rosy fingers twinkle As she milks ! The tinkle, tinkle In the milk-pail is delightful, I could listen all the day. It sets my heart a-flutter, Just to see her pat the butter, POLL Y. For she rolls it and she pats it In a wildly witching way. Tis sad to see the lasses Frown upon her as she passes, But she gives her wayward curls a toss, The saucy little sprite ! She knows the laddies love her, For they never fail to hover Like bees around an apple-bloom, When Polly comes in sight. THE GRAPEVINE SWING. WHEN I was a boy on the old plantation, Down by the deep bayou, The fairest spot of all creation, Under the arching blue ; When the wind came over the cotton and corn, To the long slim loop I'd spring With brown feet bare, and a hat-brim torn, And swing in the grapevine swing. Swinging in the grapevine swing, Laughing where the wild birds sing, I dream and sigh For the days gone by Swinging in the grapevine swing. THE GRAPEVINE SWING. Out o'er the water-lilies bonnie and bright, Back to the moss-grown trees ; I shouted and laughed with a heart as light As a wild-rose tossed by the breeze. The mocking-bird joined in my reckless glee, I longed for no angel's wing I was just as near heaven as I wanted to be Swinging in the grapevine swing. Swinging in the grapevine swing, Laughing where the wild birds sing, Oh to be a boy With a heart full of joy, Swinging in the grapevine swing ! I'm weary at noon, I'm weary at night, I'm fretted and sore of heart, And care is sowing my locks with white As I wend through the fevered mart. THE GRAPEVINE SWING, I'm tired of the world with its pride and pomp, And fame seems a worthless thing. I'd barter it all for one day's romp, And a swing in the grapevine swing, Swinging in the grapevine swing, Laughing where the wild birds sing, I would I were away From the world to day, Swinging in the grapevine swing. THE LITTLE LASS IN PINK. A PEERLESS pearl of beauty, A jewel of romance ! Who would not ride in tourney To gain her winsome glance ? Who would not be a minstrel, The golden rhymes to link, And sing her praise in merry lays The little lass in pink ? So tiny are her glovelets, So dainty are her shoon, I trow the pixies wrought them Beneath the midnight moon ; And o'er the elfin stitches They sang, with many a wink, ' We twine a twist that none resist The little lass in pink." THE LITTLE LASS IN PINK. She hath a witching dimple ; Now was it not a sin That when the fairies crowned her They put that dimple in ! The heartaches it hath given It grieves my soul to think ; She hath no care how lovers fare The little lass in pink. Her smile is like a dew-drop That glistens in the morn. Her frown no eye hath seen it : She never looks in scorn. Her footsteps fall like rose-leaves Beside the fountain's brink. The gallants sigh as she goes by The little lass in pink. After the revel's over, When stars grow dim above, And slumber's drowsy fingers Have kissed the eyes we love, THE LITTLE LASS IN PINK. Ho ! gallant cavaliers, Your parting beakers clink : " May time tread light and never blight The little lass in pink 1 " WHERE THE APPLE-BLOSSOMS BLOW. MEET me where the apple-blossoms blow, Softly now the fragrant boughs are swinging ; Greet me when the moon begins to glow, And in the pines the whippoorwills are singing. With loyal heart a-beat, Oh, haste with flying feet, And shame the sluggish hours that wing too slow. The day is long and dreary, My heart is worn and weary, I count the laggard moments as they go, Love. Oh, Meet me where the apple-blossoms blow. WHERE THE APPLE-BLOSSOMS BLOW. 21 Meet me where the apple-blossoms blow ; Let the floating petals flake your tresses, Breathing us a benison below, Crowning our betrothal with caresses. Far in the upper deep, The stars are now a-peep, The drowsy river murmurs in its flow, I hear its voice repeating : " Life's blossom-time is fleeting." Ah ! let us catch the fragrance ere it go, Love. Oh, Meet me where the apple-blossoms blow ! SNOWDROPS. WHEN winter's sceptre quivers Within his withered hand, And from the captive rivers His crystal chains unhand, Above the sod they shyly peer, The first-born blossoms of the year. They never catch the cooing Of wood-doves in the trees, They never hear the wooing Of butterflies and bees, All pure and bright they stand alone, Unconscious of the charms they own. SNOWDROPS. Anon, when day is ended And night grows crisp and chill, With airy bells suspended Along the frosty hill, They are the chimes the fairies ring To welcome in the laughing spring. ALL FOR YOU. THE love in my heart is as strong as the hills And as deep as the fathomless sea, Yet pure as the breath of the rose that thrills The soul of the summer with glee. 'Tis fair as the light of the faithful stars That beam in the boundless blue ; No selfish mote its radiance mars, And, Sweetheart, 't is all for you. All for you ! Strong and true, No time the tie can sever, Till the angels doubt, And the stars burn out, I am yours, Sweetheart, forever. ALL FOR YOU. 25 The love in my heart, I know not why Nor how it came to be, But the bliss that is mine no gold can buy, Since love hath come to me. O, love, love, love ! There's nothing so sweet, Go search the wide world through My heart is so full of it, every beat Cries out it is all for you. Ail for you ! Strong and true, No time the tie can sever. Till the angels doubt And the stars burn out, I am yours, Sweetheart, forever. BLACKBERRY BLOSSOMS. FROM a thicket in the corner of zig-zag fence Where the succulent pokeberry stalks uprear, With sassafras and sumach in a wild-growth dense, The blackberry blossoms through the brown rails peer; With dew-drops shining on their long white sprays, Where the yellow bee buzzes and the red-bird flies, They marvel at the world and its new-found ways, With innocent wonder in their wild, sweet eyes. Magnolias are white, And roses are bright, And many there be that love them ; But with dew-besprinkled faces And wildwood graces, Oh, the blackberry blossoms are above them. BLACKBERRY BLOSSOMS. When the pine-boughs are swinging in the soft May breeze, And bumblebees are boasting of their spring-tide gain, And the mockbird is singing out his happiest glees To the cotton-tailed rabbit in the bend of the lane ; They lean their faces on the moss-grown rails And listen to the melody the mockbird weaves ; While the lizards go a-darting with their trembling tails Like slim, long shuttles through the last year's leaves. Chrysanthemums are fair, And orchids are rare, And many there be that love them ! But with dew-besprinkled faces And wildwood graces, Oh, the blackberry blossoms are above them ! A SONG FROM THE CITY. AMID the tall grasses, ah ! would I might lie When Maytime is flitting and summer is nigh, Peacefully, dreamfully resting all day With never a thought of the future to fray, Wood-birds to s : ng to me, Breezes to bring to me Wild, wayward perfumes that kings cannot buy. Amid the tall grasses, ah ! would I might sleep, Lulled by low murmurings tender and deep ; Lying full length by some willow-kissed stream, Mystical music would stray through my dream, Echoes from airy-land, Lyrics from fairy-land, Over my weary brain softly would sweep. A SONG FROM THE CITY. Amid the tall grasses, ah ! would I might rest Till the sun had sunk down in the shadowy west ; There would I glide from a sorrow-crowned life, Forgetting the weariful world and its strife, Back to my boy days, Back to my joy days, That is the sweetest thought, that is the best. TO A ROSEBUD. O HAPPY little rosebud Upon her dusky hair ! Like some sweet star That gleams afar, You lighten my despair. All wet with dew at morning Upon the old rose-tree You shone so fair I chose you there My messenger to be. So loyal little rosebud Just whisper to my sweet, I sigh for her, I'd die for her, My heart is at her feet. AMORITA. I SEEM to hear you singing in the murmur of the breeze, I listen to your teardrops in the rain amid the trees. There's an echo of your laughter in the brooklet as it flows, And I feel your balmy breathing in the odor of the rose. Everywhere, Sweet and fair, In the earth and sky Hints of you, Thrill me through, Love me or I die. 32 AMOR1TA. The blossom by the wayside grows more fragrant as you pass, And brighter flash the dew-drops as they glimmer in the grass. The hue that tints the ruby to your curving lip replies, And from the distant stars I catch the glory of your eyes. Let my song, Lithe and strong Through your lattice fly, Ere the night Wings its flight, Love me or I die. What were life without you, oh, I cannot, dare not dream, T were worthless as a shattered leaf upon an autumn stream, AMORITA. 33 Tossed upon the restless wave by every blast unkind, And driven down the turbid tide heart-broken, hopeless, blind. O, my sweet, At your feet Heed my lonely cry, Grant relief To my grief, Love me or I die. THE DAFFODIL'S SECRET. SING, sing, O bluebird, sing A merry lilt to greet the spring Who hies across the world to-day With dimples arch and blushes gay, Ah, dost thou doubt ? The secret's out ; Like frolic heralds braving The storm with golden glee, The daffodils are waving The tidings glad to me. Trill, trill, O bluebird, trill Yet blither measures from thy bill. Soon o'er thy nest the breeze shall strew Sweet apple-blossoms wet with dew ; THE DA FFODIL'S SECRE T. 35 No longer doubt The secret's out ; E'en now the buds are swelling With beauty soon to be. The daffodils are telling The tidings glad to me 1 MY FIRST KISS. THE tender smile of parting day Was waning in the west ; Soft shadows climbed the eastern way Where morning's feet had prest. We lingered on, my Love and I, Amid the fragrant dew, And though our hearts were beating high Our words were low and few. The little stars laughed down in scorn Where had my courage fled ? At last, with strength of passion born, The fateful words were said.. FIRST KISS. 37 She could not speak she could not see, So thick the teardrops shone, But drooping eyelids told to me What lips were shy to own. I've toiled and won an honored name, And now I'm growing old ; I've touched the shining hem of Fame, And found its touch was cold ; But still from out the shadowy past One memory brings me bliss, For I shall keep while life shall last Our first, betrothal kiss. THE BUTTERCUP. WHEN morning caught the fairy band A-fcasting in the dell, From out Titania's trembling hand The dainty gobiet fell ; And with her tresses blown askew, She fled across the peeping dew. The sun-god viewed the frighted train, And laughed along the green ; When lo ! just where the cup had lain A lovely sight was seen : The beaker bloomed a floweret gay, The blithest blossom of the May. LITTLE BOPEEP AT THE FANCY-BALL. HER shoon are made of satin, fairer far than Arctic snows, And gayly pit-a-pat in them amid the dance she goes; So graceful is her tripping, Forever I could look To view those shoon a-skipping About her dainty crook. Her gloves are number sixes she could don a five with ease ; They were fashioned by the pixies that no mortal ever sees. They reach up to her shoulder : Her arm no eye may scan, 'T is shocking, I have told her Such cruelty to man. 40 LITTLE BOPEEP A T THE FANCY-BALL. Her hair how shall I term it, but summer sunbeams curled ? I know 't would make a hermit gay and win him to the world. Her lips are pouting scarlet, Her eyes a witching hue ; I'd style each one a starlet, If stars were only blue. 'T is far beyond my praises, the hat she chose to rim Her winsome face, with daisies bright all nodding round the brim ; And when her eyes like beryls Beneath them coruscate, Each glance is fraught with perils, As I have found too late. The dowagers in glasses inspect her frolic skirt, And often as she passes by I hear them whisper, " flirt." LITTLE BOPEEP A T THE FANCY-BALL. 41 But let them take all that on What care hath gay Bopeep ? With saucy hose and hat on She leads the beaux like sheep. ARIEL'S SONG. MY home is the heart of a milk-white rose; I slumber the long day through, Lapped in balm till the night wind blows The shimmering stars in the blue. Then up from my couch, in the evening gale I float in a thistle-down car, Over the hiH and over the dale, And over the billows afar. Ariel I, Elf of the sky, Swift on my errands I fare. For woe and for weal Through the starlight I steal ; Let wry-hearted mortals beware. ARIEL'S SONG. 43 The moth that flits through the midnight gloom Quakes when my bugle I blow ; The dusky bat and the beetles that boom My arrows have oft laid low. Then onward I fare with a pack full of dreams And spells to bless and to blight, And happy the brow when the morning beams That I have kissed in the night. Ariel I, Elf of the sky, I toil till the east grows gray, Chasing grim cares, And culling the tares That tangle the sheaves of the day. IN THE ORCHARD. WHEN the butterfly's a rover With the frolic summer breeze, Flitting o'er the purple clover Like a seagull o'er the seas, Fleeter wings my fancy borrows, Gayly flouting cares and sorrows, As I lie with half-closed eyelids ' Neath the drowsy apple-trees. In my dreams through field and thicket With the mellow bees I stray ; I'm a comrade of the cricket In his piping and his play ; IN THE ORCHARD. 45 I obey the gentle luring Of the wood-dove's troubadouring, And I feel my heart-beats quicken As he coos his ardent lay. In the grass a pleasure lingers That a king might sigh to share ; 'T is no breeze, but summer's fingers That are straying through my hair. And a-dream, with naught to fray me, On earth's bosom low I lay me, Like a child upon its mother's, Happy only to be there. THE TRUMPET FLOWER. ITS tube of gold and scarlet bright, A blossom seen at noonday glow, Becomes beneath the wand of night A horn for elves to blow. When night winds rock the sleeping bird, And star smiles soothe the restless main, By mortal ear can ne'er be heard The pixie's eerie strain. The fegend saith, a child might catch The fairy glee if free from sin, For Puck would lift the elf-land latch, And let the wee one in. GLAMOURIE. I DREAMED that you kissed me 1 I dreamed that I felt The touch of two warm lips to mine ; And over my mouth, that was quivering dwelt The odor of roses and wine. The fays began ringing the dew-bells bright, The moon shed an answering beam ; The fountain leaped up with a thrill of delight, But alas ! it was only a dream. 'T was only a dream 'Neath the moon's pale gleam, Only the dream of a kiss ; But fate may undo me, And sorrow pursue me, You were mine for one moment of bliss. 48 GLAMOURIE. I dreamed that you kissed me ! Your shimmering hair Rippled over mine eyes in its flow. I felt the soft touch of your bosom most fair With virginal lilies a-blow. Two white arms stole around me with passion confest All pains of the past to redeem. Let Fortune deride me, one moment was blest ; But alas ! it was only a dream. 'T was only a dream 'Neath the moon's pale gleam, Only the dream of a kiss ; But Fate may undo me, And sorrow pursue me, You were mine for one moment of bliss I THE FUGITIVES. THE winds are piping shrilly Above the trembling tree ; Before their fingers chilly The frighted leaflets flee ; One longing look behind them, cast upon the branches bare, And on they wildly flutter, the exiles of the air. With cruel speed relentless, The shouting winds pursue ; O'er meadows brown and scentless Still flit the timid crew ; Their gold and purple garments, whose tints surpassed the morn, By sullen mire are drabbled, by heartless flints are torn. THE FUGITIVES. Some with a sob and shiver Go hurrying through the town ; Some in the cold, dark river Their sorrows fain would drown ; And some with weary faces within the churchyard fly To seek among the quiet graves the rest that storms deny. BONNIE ROSABEL. WHEN drowsy dews begin to peep Amid the swaying boughs, Before the stars have gone to sleep She comes to milk the cows. Her rosy twinkling fingers sweep In curves of rhythmic grace, And as she milks the bubbles leap To see her pretty face. Hey, lads ! Ho, lads, Let the chorus swell, And pipe with me A merry glee For bonnie Rosabel. 53 BONNIE ROSABEL. Her breath is like the breeze that plays Amid the fragrant thorn ; Her voice outsweets the rill that strays Through April woods at morn. Alas ! for him who stops to gaze Upon her locks a-twined : His guileless feet shall go their ways And leave his heart behind. Hey, lads I Ho, lads I Rhymes can never tell The winsome grace That lights the face Of bonnie Rosabel. A SEASIDE FLIRTATION. WITH sorrow in her eyes of blue, With trembling hands, she slowly penned it- The little parting billet-doux That conscience told her now should end it. Those tite-H-tete along the shore, Those gipsyings with fern-filled basket, Must join the dear delights of yore And only live in memory's casket. There never was a heart like Jack's : He told his passion in his glances. She sealed her note with scented wax, But could not drown her dismal fancies. 54 A SEASIDE FLIRTATION. When he should read his suit denied, So long the theme of idle gazers, She pictured him a suicide, And shuddered at the thought of razors I At last she slept but not till dawn Had blossomed through the ocean vapors. Jack conned her missive with a yawn When he had read the morning papers. He gave his beard a languid twirl, And murmured as he sat a-smoking : " Tear-stained By Jove I poor little girl I thought she knew that I was joking 1 " THE DAISY. THE moon was fair, the night was still, The sunrmer mists were creeping, And down the valley by the rill A tiny fay lay sleeping. The night was still in fairy-land, Puck strayed a merry fellow On mischief bent ; within his hand A shield of white and yellow. In fairy-land, the story goes, The fay Puck never missed her, But dropped the shield, and on his toes He slyly crept and kissed her. 56 THE DAISY. The story goes, at morning-tide, The hills no longer hazy, The shepherds all with wonder eyed The shield, a dewy daisy. MIDSUMMER SONG. THE amber smiles of early morn Hath flashed across the ripening corn ; And on the spider's netting frail The dew is gleaming bright, As if an elf had lost her veil While fleeing from the light. From out the wood the streamlets run On silver feet to greet the sun ; No bramble snare their steps can bind, Their laughter rings above, Where balmy blossoms weight the wind With messages of love. 5 8 MIDSUMMER SONG. Now swells the din of merchant bees Along the meadow's flowery seas, While music floats from every bough In carols sweet and clear ; It is the heart of summer now The noontide of the year. THE WAY TO WIN. IF on the field of love you fall, With smiles conceal your pain ; Be not to Love too sure a thrall, But lightly wear his chain. Don't kiss the hem of Beauty's gown, Or tremble at her tear, And when caprices weigh you down, A word within your ear : Another lass, another lass, With laughing eyes and bright- Make love to her, And trust me, sir, T will set your wrongs aright. 60 THE WA Y TO WIN. Whene'er a sweetheart proves unkind And greets you with a frown, Or laughs your passion to the wind, The talk of all the town, Plead not your cause on bended knee And murmured sighs prolong, But gather from my minstrelsy The burden of my song : Another lass, another lass, There's always beauty by, Make love to her, And trust me, sir, 'T will clear the clouded sky THE LAST APPLE-BLOSSOM. O LITTLE bud of pink and white, By sad mischance delayed, Wert thou cast off by spring in flight To pine amid the shade ? Unsought by bee and butterfly, Thy fragrant comrades flown, Thou lingerest unmourned to die In silence and alone. O little flower of white and pink, Thou hast not lived in vain, Thy modest face the fairest link In memory's rosy chain ; Thy parting breath like magic brings Sweet spring-tide's bygone hours ; And once again my fancy wings Through April's sun ai)d showers. A SONG BEFORE DAWN. O LITTLE Love, along the hill The silver dews are peeping, Upon the pine the whippoorwill His lonely watch is keeping ; But gayly blows The summer rose Around your lattice creeping. O little Love with wayward curls, No jewel do I bring you ; If tripping rhymes were glossy pearls What shining gems I'd string you? And through the night With laughing light A diadem I'd fling you. A SONG BEFORE DA WN. 63 O little Love, above the trees The amber dawn is breaking ; And hark ! I hear the sobbing breeze His garden loves forsaking. May dreams of bliss Your eyelids kiss And joyous be your waking. THE WOOING OF ROSE. I TOOK her little hand in mine ; It quivered like a bird ; And as I felt its touch divine A trembling sigh I heard. Momentous time ! Should I propose ? I knew not what to say ; As I beheld my blushing Rose I felt my hair turn gray I There was a passage in Lucille Just suited to my case ; I knew 't would melt a heart of steel If quoted with true grace. THE WOOING OF ROSE. 65 I started stammered shuffled blushed, And though I am not brave, then I would have gladly rushed To glory or the grave. 1 thought of Byron, Scott, and Moore ; Ah, could I but recall A bit of their poetic lore ! I once had known it all. " O woman in our hoars of ease," I blunderingly said, And then I thought my tongue would freeze, And wished that I were dead. My heart was beating like a flail, And yet my lips were dumb. The clock that hung upon a nail Ticked louder than a drum. I could not see ; for, strange to tell, The air seemed full of smoke. 66 THE WOOING OF ROSE. Then from my tongue the fetters fell, And then and then I spoke. " I love you, dear," I said in haste ; " I love you too," she said ; And then I clasped her dainty waist, And kissed her lips of red. Then came a flood of poetry ; I spouted yards of rhyme ; And she is going to marry me In apple-blossom time. SPANISH SONG. SENORITA, red thy lips As the roses in the South : Is it yea or nay that slips Birdlike from thy dimpled mouth ? Captive to thy sorcery Cruel kindness thou dost show; Sweetheart, if thou lov'st not me, Break the spell and let me go. Senorita, dark thy hair, Gleaming with imprisoned light, Like a subtle shining snare Tangling fast my dreams by night, 68 SPANISH SONG. Sleep or waking still to thee All my fevered thoughts do flow ; Sweetheart, if thou lov'st not me, Break the spell and let me go. Senonta, soft thine eyes, Lustrous, fair and jetty-fringed, Like twin stars that gem the skies When the dawn is rosy-tinged ; Cease, ah, cease thy coquetry, Teach their rays a warmer glow ; Sweetheart, if thou lov'st not me, Break the spell and let me go. A SOUTHERN GIRL. HER dimpled cheeks are pale ; She's a lily of the vale, Not a rose. In a muslin or a lawn She is fairer than the dawn To her beaux. Her boots are slim and neat, She is vain about her feet It is said. She amputates her r's, But her eyes are like the stars Overhead. A SOUTHERN GIRL. On a balcony at night With a fleecy cloud of white Round her hair Her grace, ah, who could paint ? She would fascinate a saint, I declare. 'T is a matter of regret, She's a bit of a coquette, Whom I sing : On her cruel path she goes With a half-a-dozen beaux To her string. But let all that pass by, As her maiden moments fly Dew empearled ; When she marries, on my life, She will make the dearest wife In the world. THE DANDELION. THIS fairy story, every word, Was told me by a little bird : A naughty elf in days of old Played truant by the river, Upon his cap a plume of gold With laughing light a-quiver. He smiling chased the butterflies With eager feet and happy eyes ; And every spangle-wing he caught With cobwebs he would bind it, And, when he dropped his feather, thought, At even-song to find it. THE DANDELION. But when the shadows grew apace, And darkness came to end the race, In vain he sought amid the gloom, That tearful little brownie He only found in place of plume A dandelion downy. CATCHING A DIMPLE. THE roses kissed her shadow, The zephyrs blither blew, And the little grasses quivered As they touched her dainty shoe ; The branches bent to greet her, While the rillets ran to meet her, And the summer morn was sweeter As she tripped along the dew. She stooped and plucked a daisy To bind amid her hair, And I seemed to see it laughing With the rapture to be there. 74 CA TCHING A DIMPLE, No fairer nymph Apollo Ever chased o'er hill and hollow ; And I could not choose but follow Though she led me to despair. With waning hope to win her, And many a fear to miss, I traced her little footsteps Along the road to bliss. But love ne'er wins by weeping, So when with pulses leaping I saw a dimple peeping I caught it with a kiss. THE LITTLE RED RIBBON. I SING not of battles nor conquerors laden With trophies their valor has won in the strife, My song is the love of a shy little maiden Who smiled upon me in the morning of life. I whispered my passion ; though clumsily spoken, With tear-shining lashes she heeded my prayer, With the ring of betrothal I plead for a token The little red ribbon she wore in her hair. Though now it is faded I picture it braided The way that it shimmered that night on the stair; And often I kiss it, And think how I'd miss it The little red ribbon she wore in her hair. 76 THE LITTLE RED RIBBON. The years have flown by and her locks have grown whiter ; I smile when she speaks of the gray in the gold ; I whisper to her that her glances are brighter, Her dimples more witching than ever of old. Our love-life has witnessed more laughing than weep ing; We chase with fond kisses the footprints of care ; But my little wife never dreams I am keeping The little red ribbon she wore in her hair. Though faded and crinkled And rumpled and wrinkled, The bonnie, bright looping that glistened so fair Far down in my pocket It lies in a locket The little red ribbon she wore in her hair. MABEL AT HER NEEDLEWORK. MABEL sits at her broidery frame With threads of gold and blue ; And her needle darts with subtle aim The silken fabric through. She sings as soft as the wind that grieves When the summer roses blight, While her fingers glide like lily leaves That drift in the autumn night. I view them flitting to and fro O'er the web of her broiderie, And my fancy wanders long ago To a castle by the sea. 78 MABEL A T HER NEEDLEWORK. I catch the grace of a shy, quaint glance That leaps from her eyes of gray, And dream she hath strayed from an old romance To win the hearts of to-day. LOVE AMONG THE CLOVER. OVER and over the purple clover, Under the greenwood tree, Sweet Bessie came straying, for wild-flowers Maying, And sang in her maiden glee : " O hey, O ho ! There's a laddy I know Who joys my face to see. Fair blossoms, I pray, now what shall I say When Robin comes wooing o' me, Dear heart, When Robin comes wooing o' me ? " Over and under the boughs asunder, Through the wood came Robin ere long ; In the olden fashion he carolled his passion, And the hawthorn swayed to his song : 8o LOVE AMONG THE CLOVER. " O hey, O ho ! The way I know She dropped me this flower to tell ; But what she will say this blossomy day Would that I knew it as well, Dear heart, Would that I knew it as well." Over and over the fragrant clover, The bees went humming till late, And where is the laddy, and what luck had he A-wooing his blithesome mate ? O hey, O ho ! They walk full slow, Brown Robin and blushing Bess ; But what did she say in the wood to-day ? I think I will leave you to guess, Dear heart, I think I will leave you to guess. MY LOST LOVE. 'T WAS morn beside the summer sea ; My love and I, how blithe were we ! The salt sea-wind sang bold and free Before the gates of day. Our pulses throbbed with bliss divine To see a rainbow span the brine With tender tints as if in sign Our joy would live for aye. O first love, O fair love, Beside the summer sea, As coos the newly-mated dove You sang your love to me ! MY LOST LOVE. 'T is night beside the summer sea; Amid the night's pale mystery My fair lost love comes back to me As in the olden time. Her smile is softer than the mist, By silvery moonbeams shyly kist ; Her voice is clear and low and trist And sweeter far than rhyme. O first love, O last love, Beside the summer sea, As clasps the wave the star above, So clings my heart to thee I LETTER SONG. WHO is it dreams of thee all the night Till the last star dies in the gray ? Who is it calls thee his heart's delight, Though many a league away ? Who is it wishes thy sorrow to bear, Leaving the joy for thee ? Who is it breathes thee a song and a prayer ? Come look in my heart and see, Dear heart, Look in my heart and see. Who is it longs for the touch of thy hand, The sound of thy feet at the door ? And who would give all the gold in the land To gaze on thy face once more ? 84 LETTER SONG. Who is it craving thy voice to beguile Grim cares that will not flee ? Whose eyes are a-thirst for thy winsome smile ? Come look in my heart and see, Dear heart, Look in my heart and see. Whose are the veins that laugh and leap Whenever thy name Is heard ? Whose are the eyes that fain would weep To think of a hope deferred ? Whose is the arm that will not fail, If ever thy need shall be ? Whose is the love that never grows pale ? Come look in my heart and see, Dear heart, Look in my heart and see. AN APRIL MAID. TRIPPING through the April breeze In a kirtle blue, Brighter blossom mellow bees Ne'er in summer woo. From her little scarlet mouth Rills of song are gliding, Ballads of the balmy South, In her memory biding. She is winsome, she is shy, Clad in sweet apparel ; Like the song of Lorelei Floats her dainty carol. 86 AN APRIL MAID. Round about her wayward hair Tricksy fairies hover, Trapping sunbeams unaware Who could choose but love her ? Up and down her velvet cheek Dimples share her blushes Will she listen if I speak When her carol hushes ? Be my fate or drear or bright, Soon, ah ! soon I'll know it; If I may not be her knight, Still Til be her poet I WOOING. WOOING, wooing, wooing! there's wooing everywhere, A myriad tender murmurings are floating on the air ; The ripple of the laughing rills that leap to meet the sun, The wood-dove's soft and twilight tone amid the shadows dun, While on the purple hills afar the pine-trees' constant boughs Repeat in endless harmony their never-broken vows. Wooing, wooing, wooing ! Alas ! 't is growing late. The birds were mated long ago; Sweetheart, shall we not mate ? The tender melody of love makes music in the blood ; The magic tide that comes but once is rolling to the flood. 88 WOOING. Alas for those who dream and dream unplighted on the shore And wake to find the tide of love has ebbed forever more ! MORNING SONG. SWEETHEART, the night is over, the mists have shrunk away ; The morning beams are gathering the dew-drops from the spray, And every little leaf With a rapture like to grief Is a-quiver with the kisses of the summer winds at play. Forth let us stray, dear, While 't is summer-time j All the world is gay, dear, Fit for love and rhyme. Sweetheart, come let us wander ; the paths are blos som-strewn ; There are daisies for your tresses, there are poppies for your shoon. 9o MORNING SONG. Let their beauty and their glee Wake a tender thought of me Ere the summer day has floated to the golden gates of noon. Why should we part, love ? When true lovers wed Summer's in the heart, love, When their bloom is dead. PUCK. WHEN the last gold threads are gliding From the loom of weary day> Many a bliss for me is biding By the way, Where the mellow, brown bee doies In the twilight naught I miss, Greeting pansies, pinks and roses With a kiss. Through a shadow-land of flowers In the musky gloom I go, While the petals fall in showers Soft and low. Till Aurora's silver finger Beckons on the laggard light, With my frolic elves I linger, Then good-night. SHE SAID THAT I WAS DREAMING. THE amber beams were flitting From the meadow newly-mown My Love and I were sitting In the waning light alone. I told her of my passion, And the hope I had at stake ; She said that I was dreaming Ah, let me never wake ! The mellow glow grew dimmer ; I clasped her hand in mine ; The stars began to glimmer Above the drowsy pine. I said their beams were shining The brighter for her sake ; She told me I was dreaming Ah, let me never wake ! SHE SAID THA T I WAS DREAMING. 93 I felt her fingers tremble ; Shy teardrops I could see ; Her heart could not dissemble The love she bore for me. I whispered : " Were you faithless, Sweetheart my heart would break : If loving is but dreaming Ah, let me never wake ! " ELF SONG. I TWIST the toes of the birds a-doze, I tinkle the dew-bells bright ; I chuck the chin of the dimpled rose Till she laughs in the stars' dim light. The glowworm's lamp I hide in the damp, I steal the wild bee's sting ; I pinch the toad till his legs are a-cramp, And clip the beetle's wing. O ho ! O hey ! My pranks I play With never a note of warning. I set a snare for the moonbeams fair All wrought of spider-web twine ; I tangle the naughty children's hair In a snarl of rare design. ELF SONG. 95 I flit through the house without any noise, There's never an elf so sly ; I break the toys of bad little boys And the cross little girls who cry. hey ! O ho ! 1 work them woe, Till crows the cock in the morning. THAT LITTLE LASS OF MINE. THE trembling dew-drop tipped with light upon the grass at morn, That glitters like a jewel lost by elfin courtier fine, The melody of summer winds amid the swaying corn, Both waken happy visions of that little lass of mine ; For no gems could e'er be fairer, Nor morning roses rarer, Though hued their pouting petals with the tint of amber wine ; There was envy in the skies When the stars beheld her eyes, So lovely are the glances of that little lass of mine. THA T LITTLE LASS OF MINE. 97 I'll whisper you a secret (hush!) that no one ever thinks I pray you do not tell her, for I keep it by design : Her lips are made of cherries and her cheeks are made of pinks, Her eyes of sunny violets that little lass of mine ; And no one ever guesses That her wealth of wayward tresses [shine, Was spun by fairy spinners from the stolen summer While her merry tripping toes, They were fashioned from a rose /It must have been a climbing rose), that little lass of mine I v fhere is a song most wonderful that never has been sung, 'T is waiting for a worthy bard to breathe its golden line : O poet, come and sing it on a harp with silver strung, No other lay were fitting for that little lass of mine. 98 THA T LITTLE LA SS OF MINE. Come ripple forth her praises Like the rillet through the daisies, And let your rhymes part, meet and kiss like blossoms on a vine, While a fairy's wings unseen Float the trembling strings between, To make the carol meeter for that, little lass of mine. MR. DREAM-MAKER. A Lullaby. COME, Mr. Dream-maker, sell me to-night The loveliest dream in your shop; My dear little lassie is weary of light, Her lids are beginning to drop. She's good when she's gay, but she's tired of play, And the teardrops will naughtily creep ; So Mr. Dream-maker, hasten, I pray, My little girl's going to sleep. A MOONLIGHT MAID. WE had wandered forth at eventide Through the blossoming lane for a stroll ; I was young and shy, but ardent-eyed, And she was the queen of my soul. The moon shed silvery sympathy As we gazed, on the sky of June, " Now, what would you do," said my Love to me, " If you were the man in the moon ? " In her dimpled face I gave one glance, And Hope leaped high in my breast ; What lover could wish for a rarer chance To put his fate to the test ? " If I were the man in the moon," said I, As I gazed in her face divine, " I'd scatter the envious clouds on high And for you alone I would shine. A MOONLIGHT MAW. " I'd gather the stars in a buckle bright To gleam on your dainty shoe ; To a comet I'd hitch my car to-night And wander through space with you. I'd snatch," " Now, stop, that's enough, dear me ! " And gayly her laughter rung. " If you were the man in the moon," said she, " You'd admire me and hold your tongue." THE PASSING OF SUMMER. A NAMELESS sorrow haunts the air With whispers vague and scattered; It echoes round each blossom fair By zephyrs lately flattered. The rose at night Awakes in fright From dreams of beauty shattered. The cricket pipes an Autumn rune, A careless-hearted rover, Fair Summer dons her faded shoon Amid the withered clover; In vain we pray ; She may not stay, Her matchless reign is over. A SONG FOR THE SOUTH. O PEERLESS land of tears and smiles, Of fragrant glooms and golden hours, Where Summer's hand with endless wiles Entwines the feet of Time with flowers, Howe'er the tide of fortune flow, Thou hast my heart where'er I go- No blot of shame thy record mars In senate-hall or lurid fight : Thy spotless fame shines like the stars That guard thee through the balmy night. In weary wanderings to and fro, Thou hast my heart where'er I go. io 4 A SONG FOR THE SOUTH. Thy maids are fair, thy warriors brave, And those at peace beneath the pine, Hymned through the air by wind and wave, Their glory needs no song of mine. O native Land ! through weal and woe, Thou hast my heart where'er I go 1 A CREOLE SERENADE. THE lily bares her snowy breast Beneath the summer moon ; The moth pursues his honeyed quest Where sucked the bee at noon ; And from the fountain's liquid light The fairy music flies To plead for me the love, to-night, Thy wayward heart denies. Sail, Love, sail Across the slumber sea, And freight thy bark, Amid the dark, With tender dreams of me ! 106 A CREOLE SERENADE. The lissome rose with balmy feet Around thy lattice climbs ; The breeze steals in with winglets fleet To breathe his silver rhymes ; While I, with weary waiting worn, Gaze up with wistful eyes, And guard thy slumbers till the morn Comes laughing up the skies. Sail, Love, sail Across the slumber sea, And freight thy bark, Amid the dark, With tender dreams of me 1 THE MAIDEN OF MY DREAMS. I'M dreaming of my darling's face, The shrine of fancies pure ; Each lineament I love to trace, And feel its tender lure ; Her balmy lips whose blooming grace All gems I prize above ; Her faithful eyes whose light doth chase All thoughts but those of love. I'm dreaming of my darling's feet, That are so lithe and small, She shames the rose's petal fleet Where'er her footsteps fall. Where'er she trips their music sweet Is neither bold nor coy ; My heart bemoans their parting beat Their coming brings me joy. io8 THE MAIDEN OF MY DREAMS. I'm dreaming of my darling's lays, They are so low and clear ; E'en when she speaks her voice betrays A wish to bless and cheer. But why should I thus sing her praise When every eye can see She is too fair for mortal gaze, And all the world to me ? MY LOVE IN THE LONG AGO. SOFT is the light on the summer sea, When the sun in the west is low, And the billows sigh to the shells that lie In the sunset's mellow glow ; But the beauty gleams in vain, And the tints that wax and wane And the song of the surge At the ocean's verge, Seems naught but a dirge, For oh I My thoughts fly far, 'neath the evening star, To my Love in the long ago. The wind comes up from the sighing sea, And the sea-bird's wing of snow Fades from my sight in the clasp of night, Like joy in the arms of woe ; MY LOVE IN THE LONG AGO. And I dream by the billows blue Of a heart that was leal and true ; And I vow by the tide, Though Fate may divide My faith shall abide, And grow ; And my heart ever turn while the bright stars burn To my Love in the long ago. THE YEAR HATH REACHED ITS AFTER NOON. THE laughing flights of song are still That charmed the springtide air ; Down rivulet and grassy rill No wayward perfumes fare ; Upon her throne Queen August lies With languor in her dreamful eyes. The idle clouds that stray the blue Their mission now forget ; A blended note the wood-doves coo Of passion and regret; The sparrows flute a faded tune ; The year hath reached its afternoon. YEAR HA TH REACHED ITS AFTERNOON. The cricket clears his dusty throat To sing an eerie strain ; And as he pipes with rusty note Of beauty soon to wane, The red rose trembles on the tree With prescience of the fate to be. A SONG TO THE AUTUMN WIND. WIND of Autumn, breathing spices Ravished from the woods and fields, In thy song a spell entices Stronger than a wizard wields. I obey thee. Be thou master ; Guide my feet o'er vale and rill, Lead me onward where the aster Crowns with purple stars the hill. Let the path be long and winding, Bloom and berry fringe the way ; Every turn fresh beauty finding Fairer than the flush of May. Autumn lingers, Winter tarries, Laughter wings our frolic feet.- Lighter heart no pixy carries When the tricksy fairies meet. A GEORGIA GIRL. T is always springtime in her face Howe'er the winds may blow. Let shifting seasons pass apace Her roses ever glow ; The poppies on her dainty mouth Still burn with scarlet hue, And breathe the fragrance of the south Beneath her eyes of blue. I joy to watch her lissome feet, 'Tis bliss to view them pass ; For lo, they flit with rhythmic beat And scarcely bend the grass. The daisies laugh as she goes by And strive to kiss her shoe, And e'en the zephyrs softer sigh Beneath her eyes of blue. A GEORGIA GIRL. The sunbeams tangled in her hair Like merry captives play. They never know a grief or care But glisten all the day. She laughs at love ! He well may bless His fate who comes to woo. And happy wins a whispered " yes " Beneath her eyes of blue. TO A CRICKET. PIPER with the rusty quill Fifing on a windy hill In a dusty coat ; Saddened by the fading glow Softer measures seem to flow From thy russet throat. Perched amid the withered grass, Like a friar singing mass O'er the blossoms dead ; Hauntingly a note of woe Echoes from thy tremolo, Mourning beauty fled. TO A CRICKET. 117 As I listen fancy strays Backward through the summer ways Prankt with nodding flowers ; And anon the fragrant night Rich in song and rare delight Opes her musky bowers. Glowworms glimmer, fireflies speed Lighting Puck and Mustard-seed And their pixie crew. Then the darkness flees, and Morn Peeping o'er the poppied corn Becks to pleasures new. Dimpled daisies, laughing, toss Kisses o'er the dewy moss At my wayward feet ; While the lays of bees and birds Sweeter than all carolled words In soft chorus meet. xi8 TO A CRICKET. Rising from the lap of Noon Comes a drowsy breeze to croon Mid the new-mown hay : As thou pipest, thus I fare, Fancy led to visions rare Down the summer day. When the winds from arctic waves Wailing o'er the flower-graves Glass each shuddering pool ; Minstrel flee thy frozen nest, I shall wait thee ; be my guest On the hearth at Yulei AUTUMN DAWN. THE stars have watched by the dying rose Till the east is red with the dawn ; And the shattered leaves have sought repose On the breast of the frozen lawn. The spider's net with many a gem Hangs bright in the morning ray, While the cricket chants a requiem In the grasses stark and gray. The twittering birds with fickle faith To a distant land have flown ; And a weird perfume like summer's wraith, Strays through the woods alone. DREAM-LOVE. THERE is a mate for every heart That throbs beneath the sun, Though some by fate are kept apart Till life is nearly done ; Where is the loyal heart and hand Shall make my life complete ? God bless my Love, on sea or land, Until our paths shall meet ! My faith is sure And will endure, Till that glad hour shall be : Sweet moment haste Across the waste And bring my Love to me. DREAM-LOVE. The glow of morn is in her face, Its dew-lights in her eyes, Amid her hair the peerless grace That tints the morning skies ; And, oh, her feet, her little feet, They are so lithe and small, I dream I catch their rhythmic beat Whene'er the rose leaves fall. Yes, oft in dreams With sonny gleams Her winsome smile I see. Sweet moment haste Across the waste And bring my Love to me I LISETTE. HER smile is like the radiance That shimmers round the rose, When first it greets the wooing glance That happy morning throws. Her breath is like the summer breeze That wanders from the wild, And whispers to the mellow bees Of dewy buds beguiled. The raptures of her voice enthrall The birds among the bowers ; Her little feet as lightly fall As dew upon the flowers. But why, oh why with trembling string Pursue the minstrel's art ? The sweetest rhyme can never sing The charms that win my heart. A SUMMER GIRL. SHE wears a saucy hat And her feet go pit-a-pat As she walks ; And the sweetest music slips From her merry madding lips When she talks. She fascinates the street With her gaiters trim and neat, Made of kid, For they twinkle as they pass, Like the rillets in the grass, Half-way hid. 124 A SUMMER GIRL. Her skin is soft and white, Like magnolia buds at night On the bough ; But for fear she'd be too fair, There's a freckle here and there On her brow. Dimples play at hide and seek On her apple-blossom cheek And her chin, Slyly beckoning to you, " Don't you think it's time to woo ? Pray begin." Then her winsome, witching eyes Flash like bits of summer skies O'er her fan, As if to say, " We've met ; You may go now and forget If you can." LAUGHING IN HER SLEEP. I CAUGHT my Love reclining Beside the ingle warm, Her silken tresses twining About her snowy arm. A silver rippling murmur, A dimple half a-peep, Proclaimed my little sweetheart Laughing in her sleep. As she lay there a-dreaming, Had Cupid crept anear, Beside the embers gleaming, To whisper in her ear ? Some plan for man's confusion, Some plot for heartaches deep, It filled her soul with rapture, Laughing in her sleep. i 2 6 LAUGHING IN HER SLEEP. Ah, woe betide the morrow When she shall come to wake I My soul is wrung with sorrow To think how hearts will ache. For gallant beaux may tremble, And pitying seraphs weep, When Cupid talks with Beauty Laughing in her sleep ! THE LOVE THAT LIVES FOR AYE. I WANDERED through a dreary land Before our life paths met ; Life's guerdons bright escaped my hand Or vanished in regret. You came and chased the clouds away, My silver star of morn, And ushered in the peerless day My dearest hope was born. If not for me the sweet love hid Within your gracious heart ; If fate should frown on me and bid My new-found hope depart, Ah, do not deem all solace fled, Or think my love can die Till memory's lamp shall cease to shed The light of days gone by. EULALIE. LIGHTLY swings the southern rose Laced around with lisping leaves, Sweet its fragrance comes and goes Hanging from my cottage eaves ; Prankt with pearls of summer dew, Fair and free, Tender thoughts it brings of you, Eulalie. Softly falls the southern shine Stealing o'er my russet floor, Sifting through the wooing pine Waving at my cottage door ; Shifting shyly all the while Full of glee, 'T is an emblem of your smile, Eulalie. EULALIE. 129 Gently laughs the southern breeze Through the window at my side, Straying from blue Mexique seas Where it kissed the dimpled tide. When its fluting tones rejoice, Then for me Lives again your winsome voice, Eulalie. LOVE'S ART. UPON the ice with fingers chill My darling's name I traced; Alack ! despite the loving skill The sun my art effaced. I wrote it next upon the grass With petals of a flower, And sighed to find the wind, alas, Had blurred it in an hour. I carved it in the shining sand Beside the summer sea, A wave stole up with stealthy hand And bore it off "from me. Upon my grief, young Cupid came ; " Not all in vain your art," Cried he, " for as you wrought the name T was graven on your heart." THE DEATH OF AUTUMN. ELVES and fairies weep and moan ; Wail, sweet Autumn, to the wind ! Brownies of the woodland groan, With sad fingers intertwined. Duller wax her brilliant dyes, Dimmer wane her dying eyes, Breathless now her body lies, Strewn with roses overblown. Sigh and sob, ye frolic sprites, Who will crown your revels now ? She who led to rare delights Sleeps beneath the frozen bough. Toll for Autumn ! Soft and slow Falls and falls the pitying snow, Weaving beauty's pall below, Through the long and lonely nights. MARGUERITE. SHE reads shy Nature's inner mood, The wordless winds are understood, The timid floweret of the wood To her its heart confesses. Her movements own a winsome grace ; And wildwood charms enshrine her face While bending o'er she stoops to place A daisy in her tresses. Marguerite, shy and sweet, Singing as you stray, The flower of June will wither soon But true love blooms for aye. Across the fields she trips at morn, Her glances thrill the ripening corn ; And earth is glad that she was born, MARGUERITE. While heaven leans and blesses. Though many a royal flower I see Carnation, rose, &cAettr-dt-lis t Oh take them all, and give to me The daisy in her tresses ! Marguerite, fair and fleet, List to me I pray ; Your beauty bright must lose its light, But my love shines for aye. SWEETHEART. SWEETHEART, when first I met thee, Dost tliou recall that clay ? The winds were sweet with music, The skies were bright with May. Hope came on pearly pinions To bid my passion speak, And I, amid the blushes, saw Love's morning on thy cheek. When first I met thee, Sweetheart, With raptured heart and brain I had no dread of parting, No thought had I of pain ; Nor dreamed the frost of anger Would come to chill my skies, And I in sorrow e'er should see Love's sunset in your eyes. SWEETHEART. Sweetheart, when first I met thee, Fond vows thou diclst not spurn ; My soul gave all its treasure And scorned to ask return. Within my heart still brightly Love's beacon flames for thee Across the waves of doubting. Oh, Come back, Sweetheart, to me 1 THE GIRL IN THE GAINSBOROUGH HAT. SHE wore a hat with a curving brim And a gleaming plume of white, That nodded and laughed o'er the dusky rim, Like foam in the morning light. I gave one glance ; 't was enough and more, For my heart went away with that. My comrades smiled as I watched from the door The girl in the Gainsborough hat. Her locks were as dark as the blackbird's wing, Her lashes a fringe of jet ; Her eyes were the kind that the poets sing, And a soldier can never forget. I looked. I sighed. How should I begin The game I would fain be at ? I knew by her mien no sigh would win The girl in the Gainsborough hat. THE GIRL IN THE GAINSBOROUGH HA T. 137 " Faint heart ne'er won fair lady," and so One twist of my long mustache, And boldly I marched to meet the foe, Where the darts of Cupid flash. When a stammering lover grows dumb, they say A kiss is better than chat ; And that is the way I won that day, The girl in the Gainsborough hat. TO A BUTTERFLY IN DECEMBER. GAY gallant from the realm of spring Amid the dusk unmated, Where wendest thou on trembling wing At eventide belated ? Too frail to breathe a weary moan Thou canst not make reply, Fluttering through the gloom alone Bewildered butterfly ! December's breath is damp and chill Upon the leafless hedges, The cricket's pipe is harsh and shrill Amid the rustling sedges. Seek not the colors rich and gay That wreathe the western sky : Trust not the cheating vision ; stay, Deluded butterfly ! TO A BUTTERFLY IN DECEMBER. A favored knight at Flora's court Thy dazzling tints were lauded When frolic zephyrs led the sport And dimpled buds applauded. But where is now the lissome rose That blushed to hear thee sigh ? Her dust is blown where no one knows, Forsaken butterfly! For me awaits a cozy nook, Beside a cottage ingle, And there above some quaint old book Sweet fancies will commingle. Frail wanderer in search of rest Our parting sure is nigh, To bid good-night were cruel jest, Poor homeless butterfly ! Perchance thy waning strength may keep Thee from the yawning river ; Across yon marsh's oozy deep Thy feeble wings may quiver, TO A BUTTERFL Y IN DECEMBER. With pinions torn amid the gloom Thou strugglest but to die : The stars will light thee to the tomb, Ill-fated butterfly ! LITTLE BOPEEP AND LITTLE BOY BLUE. IT happened one morning that Little Bopeep, While watching her frolicsome, mischievous sheep Out in the meadow, fell fast asleep. By her wind-blown tresses and rose-leaf pout, And her dimpling smile, you'd have guessed, no doubt, 'T was love, love, love she was dreaming about. As she lay there asleep came Little Boy Blue, Right over the stile where the daisies grew ; Entranced by the picture he stopped in the dew. So wildly bewitching that beautiful morn Was Little Bopeep that he dropped his horn And thought no more of the cows in the corn. i 4 2 LITTLE BOPEEP AND LITTLE BOY BLUE. Our sorrows are many, our pleasures are few ; O moment propitious ! What could a man do ? He kissed the wee lassie, that Little Boy Blue ! At the smack the woolies stood all in a row, And whispered each other, " We're clearly de trap; Such conduct is perfectly shocking let's go ! " AUTUMN GLEE. 'T is all a myth that Autumn grieves, For watch the rain amid the leaves ; With silver ringers dimly seen It makes each leaf a tambourine ; And swings and leaps with elfin mirth To kiss the brow of mother earth ; Or, laughing 'mid the trembling grass, It nods a greeting as you pass. Oh ! hear the rain amid the leaves 'Tis all a myth that Autumn grieves ! 'T is all a myth that Autumn grieves, For list the wind among the sheaves ; Far sweeter than the breath of May Or storied scents of old Cathay, It blends the perfumes rare and good Of spicy pine and hickory wood : A UTUMN GLEE. And with a voice as gay as rhyme It prates of rifled mint and thyme. Oh ! scent the wind among the sheaves 'T is all a myth that Autumn grieves I 'T is all a myth that Autumn grieves Behold the wondrous web she weaves ! By viewless hands her thread is spun Of evening vapors shyly won. Across the grass from side to side A myriad unseen shuttles glide Throughout the night, till on the height Aurora leads the laggard light. Behold the wondrous web she weaves 'T is all a myth that Autumn grieves I INGLE SONG. THROUGH the gloaming chilly Falls the silent snow, Like a shattered lily Drifting to and fro ; Yet beside our ingle Summer dreams arise : If you love me, Darling, Tell me with your eyes. Fires that burn in quiet Long and brightly glow; Flames that rush and riot Soon to ashes go. Lips that move not often When they love, are wise, If you love me, Darling, Tell me with your eyes. 146 INGLE SOXG. There are none to listen, Yet why should we speak ? When soft glances glisten Whispered words are weak. We who know love's silence Need no low replies. If you love me, Darling, Tell me with your eyes. MY GRANDMOTHER'S TURKEY-TAIL FAN. IT owned not a color that vanity dons Or slender wits choose for display ; Its beautiful tint was a delicate bronze, A brown softly blended with gray. From her waist to her chin, spreading out without break, 'T was built on a generous plan : The pride of the forest was slaughtered to makt My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. For common occasions it never was meant : In a chest between two silken cloths 'T was kept safely hidden with careful intent In camphor to keep out the moths. 148 My GRANDMOTHER'S TURKEY-TAIL FAN. T was famed far and wide through the whole country side, From Beersheba e'en unto Dan ; And often at meeting with envy 't was eyed, My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. Camp-meetings, indeed, were its chiefest delight. Like a crook unto sheep gone astray It beckoned backsliders to re-seek the right, And exhorted the sinners to pray. It always beat time when the choir went wrong, In psalmody leading the van. Old Hundred, I know, was its favorite song My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. A fig for the fans that are made nowadays, Suited only to frivolous mirth ! A different thing was the fan that I praise, Yet it scorned not the good things of earth. Mr GRANDMOTHERS TURKEY-TAIL FAN. 149 At bees and at quiltings 't was aye to be seen ; The best of the gossip began When in at the doorway had entered serene My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. Tradition relates of it wonderful tales. Its handle of leather was buff. Though shorn of its glory, e'en now it exhales An odor of hymn-books and snuff. Its primeval grace, if you like, you can trace: 'T was limned for the future to scan, Just under a smiling gold-spectacled face, My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. NON-RENEWABLE APR 08 DUE2WKSFROM MAY 1994 3ATE RECEIVED REMINGTON RAND INC. 2O 213 (533) University of California, Los An eles L 007 037 494 7