Is there within thy heart a need That mine can not fulfil ? One chord that any other hand Could better wake or still? Speak now - lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay. Lives there within thy nature hid The demon-spirit Change, Shedding a passing glory still On all things new and strange ? It may not be thy fault alone — but shield my heart against thy own. Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day And answer to my claim, That Fate, and that to-day's mistake Not thou had been to blame? Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou wilt surely Whatever on my heart may fall, remember, I would risk it all! ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. A Ask me no more. SK me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; But, O too fond, when have I answered thee? Ask me no more. WIDOW BEDOTT TO ELDER SNIFFLES. Ask me no more: what answer should I give? Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die ! Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: ALFRED TENNYSON. 53 Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles. REVEREND sir, I do declare It drives me most to frenzy, To think of you a lying there A body'd thought it was enough To come a follerin' arter. But sickness and affliction Are sent by a wise creation, O, I could to your bedside fly, It's a world of trouble we tarry in, That you may soon be movin' again Both sick and well, you may depend By your faithful and affectionate friend, FRANCES MIRIAM WHITCHER. My Aunt. MY aunt! my dear unmarried aunt! Long years have o'er her flown; Yet still she strains the aching clasp That binds her virgin zone; My aunt! my poor deluded aunt! She just makes out to spell? Her father-grandpapa, forgive This erring lip its smiles Vowed she should make the finest girl Within a hundred miles; MY AUNT. He sent her to a stylish school; 'T was in her thirteenth June; And with her, as the rules required, "Two towels and a spoon." They braced my aunt against a board, They laced her up, they starved her down, They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, Oh, never mortal suffered more So, when my precious aunt was done, Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche, Tore from the trembling father's arms For her how happy had it been! On my ancestral tree. OLIVER Wendell Holmes. 55 The Bachelor's Dream. MY Y pipe is lit, my grog is mixed, My curtains drawn, and all is snug; Old Puss is in her elbow-chair, And Tray is sitting on the rug. Last night I had a curious dream, Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg — What d' ye think of that, my cat? What d' ye think of that, my dog? She looked so fair, she sang so well, I could but woo and she was won; Myself in blue, the bride in white, The ring was placed, the deed was done! Away we went in chaise-and-four, As fast as grinning boys could flog - What loving tête-à-têtes to come! Her mother came to live with her! The mother brought a pretty Poll — My Susan brought a favorite maid. She had a tabby of her own, – A snappish mongrel christened Gog, What d' ye think of that, my cat? |