Yet could I almost be content To lose here at your feet A year or two, you murmuring elm, EDWARD Dowden. [By kind permission of the author.] A WISH. To the south of the church, and beneath yonder yew, A pair of child-lovers I've seen; More than once were they there, and the years of the two When united, might number thirteen. They sat by a grave that had never a stone It was Life paying Death a brief visit,―a known They tenderly prattled; oh what did they say? Little friends, could ye know aught of death or decay? I wish to believe, and believe it I must, My own, you are five, very nearly the age And some day a true-love your heart will engage, Then come to my grave, like a good little lass, And if any daisies should peer through the grass, And place not a stone to distinguish my name, But come with your lover, as these lovers came, And while you are smiling, your father will smile But mind, oh yes, mind you are happy the while— I wish you to visit my grave. FREDERICK LOCKER. [From "London Lyrics."-By kind permission of the author.] HALLY'S FLOWER. I am the soft blue flower that, willow-shaded, In Hally's garden grew: Once loved and fair, but now forlorn and faded- For one sweet morn in May (or April, maybe), I raised mine eyes and saw the bright boy-baby, Methinks I see him now in golden fancy, He passed by pink and dahlia, rose and pansy, Then he bowed down his sweet child-lips and kiss'd me, Called me his own flower-pet; And when he past, I saw his pure heart missed me, For his blue eyes were wet. So every day, for three sweet mornings after, And kissing me, with smiles and baby-laughter, Then dark rain fell, thick, fast, and ever faster— And then in grief I cried for my boy-master-- No sunbeam thro' those clouds could eye discover, And each song-bird was dumb: And then in grief I cried for my boy-lover, But still he did not come. Then some soft hand, from thence in anguish taking My shower-besprinkled bloom, When dews, like tears, upon my leaves were breaking, Brought me to Hally's room. There on the bed my bright boy-lord was sleeping, His face was white as the tube-rose that weeping Then he turned round, and waking feebly, slowly, Clasp'd me to his pale breast, and whispered lowly, E He held me all that day, but I was fading, And Hally was fading too : And his blue eyes were dim, for night was shading For that same night, upon the bed together, Two faded flowerets lay: The one to bloom no more upon the heather, For Hally, my boy-master, had not faded But lived, yea brightly still, for death had shaded The tender white camellia and pink pansy Told me the self-same day They heard him singing still-it was not fancy- And for his sake his baby friends still love me, And once, in tears and slow, They wrote "Dear Hally's pretty flower" above me, But that was long ago. For I am dark and faded now. After the starless rain, I wonder, If he will raise the sod he sleepeth under, And kiss me once again. SAMUEL K. COWAN. [By kind permission of the author.] THE BOAT-RACE. "There, win the cup, and you shall have my girl. Or wait a twelvemonth. Books-for ever books! I'd have you, boy, a man, with thews and strength She needing yours. There-there-I love you, Ned, He left the subject; and, across the wine, There in the orchard's greenness, down beyond |