The beauties whom he sighed for were most frigidly polite,
So perforce he came and sat beside the little girl in white.
She soon forgot her envy of the glittering _beau monde_,
For their common love of horses proved a sympathetic bond.
She told him all about the farm, and how she came to town,
And showed the honest little heart beneath the home-made gown.
A humble tale, you say,--and yet he blesses now the night
When first he came and sat beside the little girl in white.
JULIET W. TOMPKINS.
_Vassar Miscellany_.
~Mendicants.~
"Foot-sore, weary, o'er the hills
To your friendly door I come.
I'm a mother; in my breast
I have wrapped my only son.
Lady, blessed of the Three,
Give us shelter for a night.
Pure and wise they say thou art,
Pity one by fate bedight."
Calm and grave the maiden stood;
Eyed that weary mother long,
Drooping form, despairing face,
Eyes pathetic with great wrong.
"Enter," gently then she spake,
"Peace be thine from skies above,
Only I have closed my door,
Closed and barred it fast from Love."
By the hearthstone warm and bright
Sits the mother crooning low;
Ah! an arrow's silver gleam,
Flashes of a golden bow!
Soft she sways a dimpled child
Winged with down, and innocent;
"Hush thee, Eros,--sleep, my son,"
Sings her voice in glad content.
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