"I knew how he loved me, and thought he would bear Any treatment of mine, and be glad of the fare;

I laughed when he chided, and told him in jest,
If such were his scruples, to part were the best.

"He went at my bidding; ah, did he but know
How bitter my tears, and how frequent they flow,
He would come back for pity, and never again
Of my lightness and folly have cause to complain."

A Merry Mood.

O, THERE's nothing sad in nature, All the live-long night and day, You may look, and you will never Fail to find her children gay. With a merry, merry carol,

The wild birds wake the morn, The blackbird from the thicket, The skylark from the corn. Then shall I be heavy-hearted When all the world is gay? Let me carol with the wild birds, And be as blithe as they.

And the winds are merry ever,
From the zephyr to the gale,
Upon tameless wings careering
Over upland lawn and vale;

A MERRY MOOD.

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Softly, softly in the tree tops,

Gaily, gaily o'er the grass, Wildly over heathy moorlands, Freely, whereso'er they pass. Then shall I be heavy-hearted

When all the earth is gay ?

Let me gladden with the wild winds,
And be as blithe as they.

And the brooks that thread the meadows,
O, how free and happy they,
Leaping, laughing, dancing ever
In their careless, merry play;
Singing to the summer woodlands,
In their ceaseless, childlike glee,
Until every leaf is thrilling
With the happy melody.

Can I then be heavy-hearted,

With the earth around so gay; No, I'll seek the summer fountains,

And be as glad as they.

The Little Word.

It was but a little word,

Breathed in the softest tone,

Which the quivering leaves above me heard,

And the stars and I alone.

Only a little word.

Yet it changed the world for me,

And deep in my bosom it touched a chord, Which answered in melody.

A light broke over the sky,

No fitful meteor glow,

But a rosy flush, as when morn is nigh,

For the waiting world below.

THE LITTLE WORD.

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O, I had waited long

That one sweet word to hear,

Had pleaded oft with a passion strong,

Still hoping against my fear.

From her own dear lips it came,

Last night 'neath the broad elm's shade,
And a strange new gladness thrilled my frame,
And the ghost of my fears was laid.

Now she is mine, mine own,

O, the world is an Eden bower,
I envy no monarch his vaunted throne,
No princeling his golden dower.