~
Sweet guitar, so old thou art
Thou seemest strange to modern eyes,
Yet in thy broad-backed cavern-heart
The softest music hidden lies.
Whene'er thy strings with gentle hand
I lightly sweep in deep-bassed chords,
There comes a breath of foreign lands
That seems to sing soft Spanish words.
Was Caballero's passion deep
E'er sung to thy rich-chorded bass?
Didst ever break senora's sleep
By music 'neath her window-case?
Somewhere--sometime, a song was sung
By lover bold or maiden fair,
So sweet, thou hid'st it deep among
Thy soulful strings, and kept it there.
Whoe'er it was, that distant day,
That loved to strike thy mellow strings,
Whoever sang that sweet love-lay,
Its echo still within thee rings.
Though Maude may vow she loves me not,
And jolly glees may lightly play,
I look beyond the surface thought,
And hear that echoing old love-lay.
L. C. STONE.
_Amherst Literary Monthly_.
[Illustration: A BROWN GIRL.]
~Tantalizing.~
Her rosy cheeks are pressed to mine,
Her gleaming hair lies on my shoulder,
Her arms are clasped about my neck,
And yet my arms do not enfold her.
Her throbbing heart beats loud and fast,
Her wistful eyes are gently pleading.
Her blushing lips are pursed to kiss,
And yet my lips are all unheeding.
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