OF

Good Night.

H, sweet my love, the hour is late;
The moon goes down in silver state,
As here alone I watch and wait.

Though far from thee, my lips repeat,
In whispers low, Good night, my sweet.

The house is still, but o'er the gloom
Of starlit gardens, faint with bloom,
I lean out from my darkened room,
And only hear the roaming breeze
Move softly in the lilac trees.

Somewhere beneath these gracious skies
My bonny love a-dreaming lies,
With slumber brooding in her eyes.

Go seek her, happy wind so free,
And kiss her folded hands for me.

Across this dome of silent air,

On tides of floating ether bear,

To where she sleeps, my whispered prayer;
The day has brought the night forlorn —
God keep thee, little love, till dawn.

While life is dear, and love is best,
And young moons drop adown the west,
My lone heart, turning to its rest,

Beneath the stars shall whisper clear,
Good night, my sweet, though none may hear.

ANONYMOUS.

ON THE DOORSTEP.

Song.

ALONG the shore, along the shore

I see the wavelets meeting:

But thee I see -ah, never more,

For all my wild heart's beating.
The little wavelets come and go,
The tide of life ebbs to and fro,
Advancing and retreating :

But from the shore, the steadfast shore,
The sea is parted never:

And mine I hold thee ever more,
Forever and forever.

Along the shore, along the shore,
I hear the waves resounding,
But thou wilt cross them never more,
For all my wild heart's bounding :
The moon comes out above the tide
And quiets all the billows wide

Her pathway bright surrounding :
Thus on the shore, the dreary shore,
I walk with weak endeavor:
I have thy love's light ever more,
Forever and forever.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK.

THE

On the Doorstep.

HE conference-meeting through at last,
We boys around the vestry waited

To see the girls come tripping past
Like snowbirds willing to be mated.

13

Not braver he that leaps the wall

By level musket-flashes litten,
Than I, who stepped before them all,
Who longed to see me get the mitten.

But no; she blushed, and took my arm!
We let the old folks have the highway,
And started toward the Maple Farm
Along a kind of lover's by-way.

I can't remember what we said,

'T was nothing worth a song or story; Yet that rude path by which we sped Seemed all transformed and in a glory.

The snow was crisp beneath our feet,

The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; By hood and tippet sheltered sweet,

Her face with youth and health was beaming.

The little hand outside her muff

O sculptor, if you could but mold it!

So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,
To keep it warm I had to hold it.

To have her with me there alone,

'T was love and fear and triumph blended. At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended.

The old folks, too, were almost home;
Her dimpled hand the latches fingered,

We heard the voices nearer come,

Yet on the doorstep still we lingered.

She shook her ringlets from her hood,

And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled,

But yet I knew she understood

With what a daring wish I trembled.

KISS ME SOFTLY.

A cloud passed kindly overhead,

The moon was slyly peeping through it, Yet hid its face, as if it said,

"Come, now or never! do it! do it!"

My lips till then had only known

The kiss of mother and of sister,

But somehow, full upon her own

Sweet, rosy, darling mouth — I kissed her!

Perhaps 't was boyish love, yet still,

O listless woman, weary lover!

To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill
I'd give - But who can live youth over?
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

15

Kiss Me Softly.

Da me basia. - CATULLUS.

KISS me softly and speak to me low,

Malice has ever a vigilant ear ;

What if Malice were lurking near?
Kiss me, dear!

Kiss me softly and speak to me low.

Kiss me softly and speak to me low,
Envy too has a watchful ear:
What if Envy should chance to hear?
Kiss me, dear!

Kiss me softly and speak to me low.

Kiss me softly and speak to me low:

Trust me, darling, the time is near

When lovers may love with never a fear, –
Kiss me, dear!

Kiss me softly and speak to me low.

JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

To Celia.

RINK to me only with thine eyes,

DRIN

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss within the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there

It could not withered be;

But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me,

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself but thee.

BEN JONSON.

ΤΕ

Tell her, oh, tell her.

ELL her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying

Beneath the green arbor, is still lying there; And breezes, like lovers, around it are sighing,

But not a soft whisper replies to their prayer.

Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going,
Beside the green arbor she playfully set,
As lovely as ever is blushing and blowing,
And not a bright leaflet has fallen from it yet.