SHE:
Down in the glen
By the trysting tree,
Somebody's brother is waiting for me;
Waiting in vain,
Though it may seem cruel,
But how can I help it--the poor little fool!
I know I'm not faithful
As he is--but then,
Women are never as constant as men.
He'll never forgive me;
I know I'm to blame,
But he might have treated me some day the same.
WALTER TALLMADGE ARNDT.
_The Badger._
~To the Cigarette Girl.~
Your motions all are sweet and full of grace
As daintily you roll your cigarette;
You smoke it with a pretty puckered face
That I, a mortal man, can ne'er forget.
It's jolly fun when you adopt our sins;
Pray never fear of being thought a "poke."
Your every mood sincerest worship wins,
And yet I wish, my dear, you didn't smoke.
H. F. H.
_Amherst Literary Monthly,_
~A Game of Chess.~
We played at chess one wintry night
Beside the fire, that warm and bright
Was mirrored in her hazel eyes;
Methought a gleam from Paradise
Outshone the back-log's flickering light.
The hand that took my queen was white,
I trembled at its gentle might;
Nor sweeter game could Love devise--
We played at chess.
I scarce could see to play aright,
I took a pawn and lost a knight,
And then she gazed with mild surprise--
She said I was not shrewd nor wise;
And yet, to me, with strange delight
We played at chess.
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