Men and fortress, plates and pies,
All out of clay he made,
Then rubbed with chubby fists his eyes,
And slumbered in the shade.
JOHN CLAIR MINOT.
_Bowdoin Quill_.
~When Morning Breaks.~
When morning breaks, what fortune waits for me?
What ships shall rise from out the misty sea?
What friends shall clasp my hand in fond farewell?
What dream-wrought castles, as night's clouds dispel,
Shall raise their sun-kissed towers upon the lea?
To-night the moon-queen shining wide and free,
To-night the sighing breeze, the song, and thee;
But time is brief. What cometh, who can tell,
When morning breaks?
To-night, to-night, then happy let us be!
To-night, to-night, life's shadowy cares shall flee!
And though the dawn come in with chime or knell,
When night recalls its last bright sentinel,
I shall, at least, have memories left to me,
When morning breaks.
EDWARD A. RALEIGH.
_Cornell Magazine_.
~A Lost Memory.~
Listening in the twilight, very long ago,
To a sweet voice singing very soft and low.
Was the song a ballad of a lady fair,
Saved from deadly peril by a bold corsair,
Or a song of battle and a flying foe?
Nay, I have forgotten, 'tis so long ago.
Scarcely half remembered, more than half forgot,
I can only tell you what the song was not.
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