What 's that? 'Twas but a graceful girl That took the hearts for pelf?

Nay, I was there, and 't was, I swear, Terpsich.o.r.e herself.

THE APRIL-FACE

AN OLD IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR

All up the street at a stately pace The maiden pa.s.sed with her April-face, And the roses I 'd paid for, on her breast Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, While behind her--driver upon his stool-- Tinkled the bell of the street-car mule.

"Going to walk up the street?" I said; She graciously bowed her beautiful head.

"Then I 'll walk, too; 't is a lovely day."-- Thus I opened the ball in my usual way.

"Do you see the car anywhere?" inquired The April-face, "I 'm a trifle tired."

I urged a walk; 'twas a useless suit!

She wildly waved her parachute; The stub-tailed mule stopped quick enow; I handed her in with a stately bow; And the bell rang out with a jangled quirk, As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk.

Three men as she entered solemnly rose, And quietly trampled their neighbors' toes; A dudish masher left his place, And edged near the girl with the April-face, Who sat on the side you 'd call "the lee,"

(With the same sweet smile she 'd sat on me).

The day it was lovely; mild the air; The sky, like the maiden's face, was fair; The car was full, and a trifle stale (Attached to the mule with the stubbly tail); Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired, To the stroll with me; for I made her tired.

And now when the maiden walks the street With another's flowers, and smile so sweet, _I_ wave to the driver upon his stool, And stop the stub-tailed street-car mule, While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; For it makes me a trifle tired myself.

COME BACK TO US, DAVIE

So, Davie, you 're gaeing to tak yo' a wife To halve a' yo' sorrows, an' sweeten yo' life; An' Davie, my laddie, I wish you enow Of joy and content on your shiny auld pow.

She 's feat and she 's brightsome, I ken, as the day When sinshine is whispering its luve to the May; Her cheeks are like blossoms, her mouth is a rose, And her teeth are the pearlies its petals enclose.

Of her voice, her ain music, I dinna' say mair, Than that 'tis a strain might a bogle ensnare, And her een they are stars beaming forth a bright flame To cheer a puir wanderer and lead him safe hame.

Yes, Davie, ye villain, ye 're sleekit and slee, Ye 've lift the door sneck and looped in afore me; Ye 've steek it ahint ye and lea'ed me alain, Like a dowie auld cat blinkin' by the hearth-stane.

Yet Davie, belyve, should you mind in your joy The puir lonely carlies you lo'ed as a boy, The memories of canty auld days we have spent Will come like the harp-tones o'er still waters sent.

Then come to me, Davie, auld days we 'll renew; We 'll heap the bit-ingle and bouse the auld brew; We 'll smoke the auld pipe, till we freshen your life, And send you back young as a boy to your wife.

THE WITCH

Celia, before her mirror bends, Inquiring how to please her friends.

The mystery is solved apace: The mirror but reflects her grace.

Her mirror Celia now defies, She sees herself in all men's eyes.

Celia 's a witch, and hath such arts, Her image is in all men's hearts.

HUMANITY

A lover left his new-made bride And shot a dove with her mate at her side.

ASPIRATION

I have stood and watched the Eagle soar into the Sun, And envied him his swift light-cleaving pinion; And, though I may not soar, at least I may Lift up my feet above the enc.u.mbering clay.

REALITY

There be three things real in all the earth: Mother-love, Death, and a Little Child's mirth.

LITTLE DOLLY DIMPLE

Little Dolly Dimple, In her green wimple, Knows all the philosophers know: That fire is hot And ice is not, And that sun will melt the snow.

She has heard that the moon is made of green cheese; But she 's not quite certain of this.

She knows if you tickle your nose you will sneeze, And a hurt is made well by a kiss.

I wish I were wise as Dolly is wise, For mysteries lie in her deep, clear eyes.

A VALENTINE

TO M. F. AND F. F.

"_The Fourteenth Day of February fine: I choose you for my Valentine._"

Thus ran the first of the sweet old rhymes On the Lovers'-Day in the old, sweet times: And so, I follow closely along To tell my love in the words of the song.