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diff --git a/old/10596-8.txt b/old/10596-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b01fa5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10596-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7779 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cap and Gown, Selected by Frederic Knowles + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cap and Gown + A Treasury of College Verse + +Author: Selected by Frederic Knowles + +Release Date: January 4, 2004 [EBook #10596] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAP AND GOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Carol David and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +CAP AND GOWN + +A Treasury of College Verse + + +Selected by + + +Frederic Lawrence Knowles + +_Editor of "The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics," etc. + + +_1897_ + + + + + +TO THE +REVERED MEMORY +OF A +GREAT SCHOLAR AND GREAT TEACHER +WHOM I WAS ONCE PROUD +TO CALL MY FRIEND, + +Frances James Child, + +THIS LITTLE BOOK +IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. + +_In "Cap and Gown" you look in vain +For epic or heroic strain. +Not ours to scale the heights sublime, +Which hardly masters dare to climb; +We only sing of youth and joy, +And love,--the credo of the boy!_ + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +The gay verses which celebrate undergraduate life must not be taken too +seriously. They seldom pretend to the dignity of poetry. College verse, +if I understand it, is verse suited to the period and point of view of +undergraduate days. Light, graceful, humorous, sparkling,--this it +should be for the most part; serious sometimes, it is true,--for young +men and women about to take upon themselves the responsibilities of +mature life are at heart by no means frivolous, but touching the note of +grief, if at all, almost as though by accident. Life is often sad enough +in the after-years, and for the period of sorrow, sad verse may be in +place. Happy they who have not yet traded cap and bells (never far +hidden under cap and gown) for the + +"Sable stole of cypress lawn." + +Happier still if they never need make such a sorry exchange. + +Yes, like all sound art, college verse must, above all else, be honest. +Let us not say, however, that the thoughtful moods of young men and +women may not sincerely be set to the music of verse. One department in +this collection bears the name "In Serious Mood," and its sentiment +rings as true as that of any other. + +In looking over very many undergraduate papers, I have been struck with +several facts. I will give them for what they are worth, leaving their +explanation to others. First, there seems to be a general fondness for +the sonnet, and a very general lack of success in writing it. Second, +the French forms of light verse are exceedingly popular--particularly +the rondeau, ballade, and triolet. These, more easily lending themselves +to gay moods than does the sonnet, are written with much greater +success. Triolets are perhaps least often, rondeaus most often, +successful. Third, purely sentimental verse is little written in women's +colleges, its place being taken by poetry of nature or of reflection. +Oddly enough, when it _is_ attempted, the writer usually fancies herself +the lover, and describes feminine, not masculine, beauty. College girls +show possibly more maturity of reflective power than do their brothers, +but they are notably weaker in the sense of humor. Fourth, amongst so +much merely graceful verse, there are not wanting touches here and there +of genuine poetry. I shall be disappointed if the reader does not +discover many such in this little book. + +While I have confined myself, for the most part, to verse printed in the +college publications of the past five years, I have overstepped this +limit in a few instances. None of the poems in the present book, +however, were included in the first series published in 1892. + +Thanks are due Messrs. Andrus & Church, of Ithaca, N.Y., for their +generous loan of bound files of the _Cornell Era_, to the assistant +librarian of Harvard University for numerous courtesies, and to the +editors of many college papers, without whose kind cooperation the +second series of "Cap and Gown" would have been impossible. + +F.L.K. + + + +COLLEGE PUBLICATIONS REPRESENTED. + +AMHERST COLLEGE _Amherst Literary Monthly, The_. + +BALTIMORE, WOMAN'S COLLEGE OF _Kalends, The_. + +BOWDOIN COLLEGE _Bowdoin Orient, The._ + _Bowdoin Quill, The_. + +BROWN UNIVERSITY _Brown Magazine, The_. + _Brunonian, The_. + +BRYN MAWR COLLEGE _Bryn Mawr Lantern, The_. + +CALIFORNIA UNIVERSITY _University of California Magazine._ + +CHICAGO UNIVERSITY _University of Chicago Weekly, The_. + +COLGATE UNIVERSITY _Madisonensis_. + +COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY _Columbia Literary Monthly, The._ + _Columbia Spectator, The._ + _Morningside, The_. + +CORNELL UNIVERSITY _Cornell Era, The_. + _Cornell Magazine, The_. + +DARTMOUTH COLLEGE _Dartmouth Literary Monthly, The._ + _Dartmouth Lyrics, 16mo, 1893_. + +HAMILTON COLLEGE _Hamilton Literary Monthly, The_. + +HARVARD UNIVERSITY _Harvard Advocate, The_. + _Harvard Lampoon, The_. + _Harvard Monthly, The_. + +KANSAS, UNIVERSITY OF _Kansas University Weekly_. + +LEHIGH UNIVERSITY _Lehigh Burr, The_. + +LELAND STANFORD UNIVERSITY _Palo Alto, The_. + _Sequoia_. + _Stanford Quad, The_ + _Four-Leaved Clover: Stanford Rhymes, + 16mo, 1896_. + +MASS. INSTITUTE OF +TECHNOLOGY _Tech, The_. + +MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY _Inlander, The._ + _Wrinkle, The_ + +MOUNT HOLYOKE COLLEGE _Mount Holyoke, The_ + +NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY _Syllabus, The_. + +OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY _Makio, The_. + +PENNSYLVANIA, UNIVERSITY OF _Red and Blue_. + +PRINCETON UNIVERSITY _Nassau Literary Monthly_. + +ROCHESTER, UNIVERSITY OF _Campus, The_. + +SMITH COLLEGE _Smith College Monthly_. + +SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY _University Herald_. + +TEXAS, UNIVERSITY OF _University of Texas Magazine_. + +TRINITY COLLEGE _Trinity Tablet, The_. + +TUFTS COLLEGE _Tuftonian, The_. + +UNION COLLEGE _Concordiensis, The_. + _Garnet, The_. + _Parthenon, The_. + +VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY _Vanderbilt Observer, The_. + +VASSAR COLLEGE _Vassar Miscellany, The_. + +VIRGINIA, UNIVERSITY OF _Virginia University Magazine_. + +WELLESLEY COLLEGE _Wellesley Magazine, The_. + _Wellesley Lyrics, 16mo, 1894_. + +WELLS COLLEGE _Cardinal, The_. + +WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY _Wesleyan Argus, The_. + _Wesleyan Literary Monthly, The_. + _Olla Podrida, The_. + _Wesleyan Verse, 16mo, 1894_. + +WESTERN RESERVE UNIVERSITY _College Folio, The_. + +WILLIAMS COLLEGE _Williams Literary Monthly, The_. + _Williams Weekly, The_. + +WISCONSIN, UNIVERSITY OF _Badger, The_. + _Wisconsin Aegis_. + +YALE UNIVERSITY _Yale Courant, The_. + _Yale Literary Magazine, The._ + _Yale Record, The_. + + * * * * * + + +~Soap-Bubbles.~ + +As a little child at play +Blows upon a pipe of clay +Bubbles, evanescent, bright, +With their iridescent light, +So I fling upon the wind +Verses of the bubble kind. + +And my friend with eyes of blue +Looks my dainty verses through, +Pauses from his books awhile, +With an intellectual smile; +For my fancy seems as naught +To this man of deeper thought. + +Still I plead as my excuse: +"Even bubbles have their use. +They are perfect while they live, +And their short career may give, +As they shimmer, and are flown, +Some suggestion for our own. + +"Let their beauty, pure and glad, +Make another soul less sad, +And, as upward they are whirled, +Let them show their little world, +Floating clouds and perfect sky, +Warmly mirrored, ere they die." + +HERBERT MULLER HOPKINS. +_Columbia Literary Monthly._ + + + +I. LOVE AND SENTIMENT + + + +~Love Laughs.~ + +"Love laughs at locksmiths," laughs ho! ho! +Still Thisbe steals to meet a beau, + Naught recks of bolt and bar and night, + And father's frown and word despite. +As in the days of long ago, +In southern heat and northern snow +Still twangs the archer's potent bow, + And as his flying arrows smite, + Love laughs. + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~Where Cupid Dwells.~ + +Way over the seas, is a far, far land, + Where skies are blue and gold; +Where ripples break on a silver sand, + And sunbeams ne'er grow old; +There's a dale where Cupid dwells, they say, +And 'tis there that he rests from his frolic play. + +Oh, there's many a lass and many a swain + That knows of his shafts made there; +For Cupid spares naught of a deep heart-pain. + Though love be all his care. +And I think he should make a reflection or two, +When he rests over there from his play. Don't you? + +ROBERT L. MUNGER. +_Yale Courant_. + + +~To Ruby Lips.~ + +Two ruby lips are hers; a pair +Of eyes a cynic to ensnare, + A tinted cheek, a perfect nose, + A throat as white as winter's snows, +And o'er her brow bright golden hair. + +But, though she's everything that's fair, +My captured fancy's focused where + A saucy smile suffuses those + Two ruby lips. + +Why longer wait their sweets to share? +We're safe behind the portière. + A moment, then, that no one knows-- + Ah! now she's flown, _couleur de rose_, +With, one might hint (but who would dare?) + _Too_ ruby lips. + +H.A. RICHMOND. +_The Tech._ + + +~A Gift.~ + +My friend holds careless in his palm + A glittering stone. +He does not know a jewel rare + Is all his own. + +But in its flashing lights I see + A diamond shine, +And though he holds it in his hand, + The gem is mine. + +ELIZABETH REEVE CUTTER. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~Jacqueminot.~ + +Are you filled with wonder, Jacqueminot, +Do you think me mad that I kiss you so? +If a rose could only its thoughts express, +I'd find you mocking, I more than guess; +And yet if you vow me a fond old fool, +Just think if your own fine pulse was cool +When you lay in her tresses an hour ago, + Jacqueminot. + +This pale, proud girl, you must understand, +Held all my fate in her small white hand, +And when I asked her to be my bride, +She wanted a day to think--decide; +And I asked, if her answer were _no_, she'd wear +A Marshal Niel to the ball in her hair, +But if 'twere _yes_, she would tell me so + By a Jacqueminot. + +My heart found heaven, I had seen my sign, +And after the dance I knew her mine, +And I plucked you out of her warm, soft hair, +As her stately pride stood trembling there, +And I felt in the dark for her lips to kiss, +And I pressed them close to my own like _this_, +And I held her cheek to my own cheek--_so_, + Jacqueminot! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Don't You Wish You Knew!~ + +Glancing in the moonlight, + Gliding in the dark, +Down the river slowly, + Floats our dainty bark. +Sweetly sound two voices, + Shadows hide the view; +Heard the rushes something? + Don't you wish you knew! + +Gently sigh the zephyrs, + Shine the stars above, +Eyes of brighter lustre + Speak of lasting love. +Quickly pass the hours, + Glides the bark canoe; +Heard the rushes something? + Don't you wish you knew! + +A.H.B. +_Brunonian._ + + +~Prom-Roses.~ + +Only a bunch of roses fair, + A duster of pink and white, +Roses that nod to the music low, + The flowers she wore that night. + +She tenderly lifts each drooping head + That gracefully tosses there, +And the dainty flowers, nestling close, + Smile back at the maiden fair. + +"How beautiful they are," she said, + As she pressed them to her cheek, +"Why, the opened petals almost seem + As if they were trying to speak." + +I wonder why she cannot hear + The song that the flowers sing, +I wonder if she knows or cares + For the message the roses bring. + +JAMES P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record_. + + +~A Lyric.~ + +Beneath the lilac-tree, + With its breathing blooms of white, +You waved a parting kiss to me + In the deepening amber light. + +Your face is always near, + Your tender eyes of brown. +I see your form in dreams; I hear + The whisper of your gown. + +Once more the lilac-tree + With twilight dew is wet; +But, oh, I would that you might be + Alive to love me yet. + +EDWARD M. HULME. +_The Palo Alto._ + + +Pallas + +You say there's a sameness in my style, + You long for the savor of something new, +You tell me that love is not worth while, + You wish for verse that is strong and true. + Well, I will leave the choice to you-- +Prose or poetry, short or long, + Only we'll let this be the cue-- +Love is excluded from the song. + +I'll sing of some old cathedral pile, + Where, as we sit in a carved oak pew, +The sunlight illumines nave and aisle, + And peace seems thrilling us through and through. + No? you don't think that will do? +How would you like a busy throng, + A battle, Elizabeth's retinue? +But love is excluded from the song. + +A journey, a voyage, a tropic isle, + The hush of the forest, the ocean blue, +A lament for all that is false and vile, + A paean for all that is good and true. + Pompadour's fan, or Louis's queue, +Mournful or merry, right or wrong. + Subjects, you'll find, are not so few, +But love is excluded from the song. + + Oh! for a song of yourself you sue! +Do you think you can trap me? You are wrong. + Sing of your eyes and your smile and--Pooh! +Love is excluded from the song. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~How I Love Her.~ + +Dear, I'll tell you how I love you-- +Not by singing sweetly of you-- +Oh, I love you far too much, +For the daintiest rhyme's light touch; +No, it needs no language signs, +It's written here between the lines, +How I love you! You will see +If you look there, loving me. + +C.B. NEWTON. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~Polly.~ + +She fluttered gaily down the hill-- + That merry, dimpled lass-- +She hurried singing down the hill, +And then she loitered by the mill, + And saw the bubbles pass, + Made double in the glass +Of the mirror of the water, greeny still. + +She heard a sparrow pertly cry, + She smelt the new-mown hay, +She felt the sunshine in the sky, +As lightly she went skipping by, + A-down the sunny way-- + 'Twas like a holiday, +The keen, expectant sparkle in her eye. + +And Cupid's wings were on her feet, + As nimbly she ran down; +And Cupid's wings were on her feet: +For pretty Polly went to meet + Her lover in the town. + She wore that lilac gown +That made him say--oh, nothing to repeat! + +CHARLES W. SHOPE. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Under the Rose.~ + +Last night the blush rose clustered,-- + To-day the rough wind blows +In showers her broken petals; + Last night,--yet no one knows,-- +I kissed thee, sweetheart, sweetheart, + Under the rose! + +Last night my fond hope blossomed,-- + To-day December snows +Drift deep and cold above it; + To-day,--ah! no one knows,-- +My heart breaks, sweetheart, sweetheart, + Under the rose! + +CATHERINE Y. GLEN. +_Mount Holyoke._ + + +[Illustration: MT. HOLYOKE GIRL.] + + +~A Bit of Human Nature.~ + +'Tis only a pair of woman's eyes, + So long-lashed, soft, and brown, +Half hiding the light that in them lies, + As dreamily looking down. + +'Tis only the dainty curve of a lip, + Half full, half clear defined, +And the shell-like pink of a finger-tip, + And a figure half reclined. + +'Tis only a coil of rich, dark hair, + With sunlight sifted through, +And a truant curl just here and there, + And a knot of ribbon blue. + +'Tis only the wave of a feather fan, + That ruffles the creamy lace, +Loose gathered about the bosom fair, + By rhinestones held in place. + +'Tis only the toe of a high-heeled shoe, + With the glimpse of a color above-- +A stocking tinted a faint sky-blue, + The shade that lovers love. + +'Tis only a woman--a woman, that's all, + And, as only a woman can, +Bringing a heart to her beck and call + By waving her feather fan. + +'Tis only a woman, and I--'twere best + To forget that waving fan. +She only a woman--you know the rest? + But I am only a man. + +CHARLES WASHINGTON COLEMAN. +_Virginia University Magazine._ + + +~Her Little Glove.~ + +Her little glove, I dare aver, +Would set your pulses all astir; + It hides a something safe from sight + So soft and warm, so small and white, +A cynic would turn flatterer! + +Could Pegasus have better spur? +'Twould almost cause a saint to err-- + A Puritan to grow polite-- + Her little glove. + +'Twill satisfy a connoisseur, +This dainty thing of lavender; + And when it clasps her fingers tight + I think--I wonder if it's right-- +That somehow--well--I wish _I_ were + Her little glove. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Verse_. + + +~Skating Hath Charms.~ + +So cold was the night, + And her cheeks were cold, too, +Though it wasn't quite right, +So cold was the night, +And so sad was her plight, + That I--well, wouldn't you? +So cold was the night, + And her cheeks were cold, too. + +H.H. +_Amherst Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Portrait.~ + +Pearls and patches, powder and paint, + This was her grandmother years ago. +Gown and coiffure so strange and quaint, +Features just lacking the prim of the saint, + From the mischievous dimple that lurks below; + High-heeled slippers and satin bow, +Red lips mocking the heart's constraint, +Free from passion, devoid of taint-- + This was her grandmother years ago. + +Straight and slender, gallant and tall. + Ah, how he loved her, years ago! +Just so she looked at that last dim ball, +When, in a niche of the dusk old hall, + They whispered together soft and low. + She whispered "yes," but fate answered "no:" +Some one listened and told it all, +And the horses might wait by the garden wall, + But none came to answer him, years ago. + +So, standing, fresh as the rose on her breast, + Smiling down on me here below, +Never a care on her brow impressed, +Never the dream of a thought confessed + Of all the weariness and the woe, + Hearts would break were time not so slow. +Swept are life's chambers; comes the new guest. +Old love, or new love--which was the best? + For this was her grandmother years ago. + +_Southern Collegian_. + + +~The Convert.~ + +I wrote lots of trash about Cupid, + And the telling bewitchment of curls, +And that men were excessively stupid + To be madly devoted to girls. +I remarked that true love was unstable, + As compared with position or pelf, +'Till one day I met you, little Mabel, + And learned what it felt like, myself! + +Don't read all the things I have written + When I knew that my heart was my own, +But since I confess I am smitten, + Read these little verses alone. +And sincerely I trust I'll be able + To convince you, you sly little elf, +To grant me your heart, little Mabel, + And learn what it feels like yourself! + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Thief's Apology.~ + +I stole a kiss!--What could I do? +Before the door we stood, we two, + About to say a plain good-by; + She seemed so innocent and shy, +But what she thought, I thought I knew. + +Ah, swift the blissful moments flew, +And when at last I said adieu + (Perhaps you think me bold), but I-- + I stole a kiss. + +The tale is told; perhaps it's true, +Perhaps it was a deed to rue; + But when that look came in her eye + I thought she wished to have me try-- +I don't know how 'twould been with you-- + _I_ stole a kiss. + +ROBERT PORTER ST. JOHN. +_Amherst Literary Monthly._ + + +~A Ballad of Dorothy.~ + +It's "Dorothy! Where's Dorothy?" + From morn to even fall, +There's not a lad on Cowslip Farm + Who joins not in the call. +It's Dolly here and Dolly there, + Where can the maiden be? +No wench in all the countryside's + So fine as Dorothy. + +With tucked-up gown and shining pail, + Before the day is bright, +Down dewy lanes she singing goes + Among the hawthorns white. +Perchance her roses need her care, + She tends them faithfully. +There's not a rose in all the world + As fresh and sweet as she! + +With morning sunshine in her hair + A-churning Dolly stands: +Oh, happy chum, I envy it, + Held close between her hands; +And when the crescent moon hangs bright + Athwart the soft night sky, +Down shady paths we strolling go, + Just Dorothy and I. + +As true of heart as sweet of face, + With gay and girlish air, +The painted belles of citydom + Are not a whit as fair. +Come Michaelmas the parish chimes + Will ring out merrily. +Who is the bride I lead to church? + Why, who but Dorothy? + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Cup and Saucer Episode.~ + +'Twas only coffee, yet we both drank deep, + I won't deny I felt intoxication; +For just to see those roguish moon-eyes peep + Over the cup, I plunged in dissipation. + +She raised her cup, and I raised also mine; + She gave a look, as if "Now are you ready?" +Our eyes met o'er the rims--it seemed like wine, + So sweet, divine, bewitching, almost "heady." + +So cup on cup! The salad, too, was good. + I had of that far more than my fair rations. +Yet served it merely as an interlude + Between the music of the cup flirtations. + +And then to have her say 'twas all my fault! + I fairly blushed, and gazed down at my cup. +I noticed, though, she had not called the halt + Until the pot was empty, every sup. + +BERT ROSS. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Faint Heart Ne'er Won Fair Lady.~ + +"The burn runs swiftly, my dainty lass, + And its foam-wreathed stones are mossy, +An I carry ye ower to yonder shore + Ye will na think me saucy?" + +"I thank ye, sir, but a Scottish lass + Recks not of a little wetting. +Will ye stand aside, sir? I can na bide, sir. + The sun o' the gloamin's setting." + +"Yet stay, my pretty, the stepping-stones + Are a bridge o' my are hands' making. +An ye pay no toll I maun be so bold-- + The sweeter a kiss for taking." + +"Farewell, ye braw young Highlander. + Tho' first ye sought to mask it: +Unceevil 'tis to steal a kiss. + But muckle waur to ask it." + +CHARLES POTTER HINE. +_Yale Literary Magazine_. + + +~A Foreign Tongue.~ + +When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue, +Their words are not like ours, +But full of meanings like the throb of flowers +Yet in the earth, unborn. I think the snow +Feels the mysterious passage and the flow +Of inarticulate streams that surge below. +And it is easy learning for the young; +When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue. + +ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~Ye Gold-Headed Cane.~ + +It stands in the corner yet, stately and tall, +With a top that once shone like the sun. +It whispers of muster-field, playhouse, and ball, +Of gallantries, courtship, and fun. +It is hardly the stick for the dude of to-day, +He would swear it was deucedly plain, +But the halos of memory crown its decay-- +My grandfather's gold-headed cane. + +It could tell how a face in a circling calash +Grew red as the poppies she wore, +When a dandy stepped up with a swagger and dash. +And escorted her home to her door. +How the beaux cried with jealousy, "Jove! what a buck!" +As they glared at the fortunate swain, +And the wand which appeared to have fetched him his luck-- +My grandfather's gold-headed cane. + +It could tell of the rides in the grand yellow gig, +When, from under a broad scuttle hat, +The eyes of fair Polly were lustrous and big, +And--but no! would it dare tell of _that_? +Ah me! by those wiles that bespoke the coquette +How many a suitor was slain! +There was one, though, who conquered the foe when they met +With the gleam of his gold-headed cane. + +Oh, the odors of lavender, lilac, and musk! +They scent these old halls even yet; +I can still see the dancers as down through the dusk +They glide in the grave minuet. +The small satin slippers, my grandmamma's pride, +Long, long in the chest have they lain; +Let us shake out the camphor and place them beside +My grandfather's gold-headed cane. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Hours.~ + +Matchless, melting eyes of brown, +This is but a cheerless town; +You should beam 'neath warmer skies, +Matchless, melting, dark brown eyes. + +Yours should be a land of flowers, +Perfumed air and sunny hours; +Eastern fires within you rise, +Matchless, melting, dark brown eyes. + +Eyes of beauty, eyes of light, +Burning mystically bright, +Prithee here no longer stay, +You will burn my heart away. + +W. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Fickle Heart.~ + +A fickle heart! Let subtler poets sing +Of changeless love and all that kind of thing, +Of hearts in which a passion never dies-- +_My_ heart's as fickle as the summer skies +Across whose face the changing cloud-forms wing. + +Unfailing loves unfailing troubles bring. +I love to touch on Cupid's harp each string, +Though each unto my questioning touch replies +A fickle heart. + +So, 'twixt some thirty loves I'm wavering, +To each the same unstable vows I fling, +Reading the first glad gleam of love's surprise +In thirty pair of brown and azure eyes, +Finding in all the same thought answering; +A fickle heart. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~My Lady goes to the Play.~ + +With the link-boys running on before + To light her on her way, +A-lounging in her sedan goes + Belinda to the play. + +In patch and powder, puff and frill, + From satin shoe to hair, +Of all the maids in London town + I wot there's none so fair! + +From Mayfair down along the Strand + To Covent Garden's light, +Where Master David Garrick acts + In a new rôle to-night, + +The swinging sedan takes its way, + And with expectant air +Belinda fans, and wonders who + To-night there will be there. + +Sir Charles, perhaps, or, happy thought, + Flushing thro' her powder, +He might come in--beneath her stays + She feels her heart beat louder. + +The place, at last! The flunkies set +Their dainty burden down, +"Lud, what a crowd!" My Lady frowns +And gathers up her gown. + +ENVOY. + +Alack for human loveliness +And for its little span! +Where's Belinda? Here, quite fresh, +Are still her gown and fan! + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Confession and Avoidance.~ + +They say that you're a flirt at best, + And warn me to beware: your glances +Would make, they say, a treach'rous test + By which to gauge a fellow's chances. +And yet--I love you so! a throng + Of passions bid me speak to-day. +Ah! darling, tell me they are wrong! + Are you as heartless as they say? + +Am I? well, so I have been told, + Though never yet have I confessed it; +But you, sir, seem so very bold + That I--well, I admit you've guessed it. +Alas! 'tis true I'm heartless; yes, + They're right, but only right in part; +The reason, dear, is--can't you guess? + Because--because you have my heart. + +JOHN ALAN HAMILTON. +_Cornell Magazine._ + + +~Clarissa Laughs.~ + +Clarissa laughs. I plead in vain, +She hears my suit with sweet disdain, +When I remind her--speaking low-- +That once she did not flout me so, +She asks me--do I think 'twill rain? +Then when in anger I am fain +To leave her, swear I've naught to gain + By staying, save th'increase of woe, + Clarissa laughs. + +Yet when I beg of her to deign +To answer, give it joy or pain, + She smiles. So then I cannot go, + For with her smiles my love doth grow. +Yet when I press my suit again, + Clarissa laughs. + +RUTH PARSONS MILNE. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~'Mid the Roses.~ + +'Mid the roses she is standing, + In her garden, waiting there; +Roses all about her glowing, + Roses shining in her hair. + +May I, dare I, ask the question + Which my heart has asked before? +Then I falter, "Can you love me, + Darling?" I can say no more. + +Now the petals fall more slowly: + One has lodged upon her dress; +Now her eyes she raises gently; + Meeting mine, they answer "Yes." + +F.T. GEROULD. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Society Martyr.~ + +Rustling billows of silk 'neath the foam of old lace, +A half-languid smile upon each listless face,-- +A dreaming of roses and rose-leaf shades,-- +A medley of modern and Grecian maids. + Such clatter and clink + One scarcely can think + Till he spies a shy nook where he lonely can sink,-- +For how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such chatter and gossip at afternoon teas? + +Fair Phyllis's gold lashes demurely cast down, +Her face in sweet doubt 'twixt a smile and a frown,-- +A venturesome rosebud o'ertopping the rest +Now lies all a-quiver upon her white breast, + The curves of her neck + Man's vow often wreck,-- + She has the whole world at her call and her beck. +So how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such variant emotions at afternoon teas? + +Behind sheltering palms, safe from gossips' sharp gaze, +Is acted in mime one of life's dearest plays,-- +Sweet Bessie's brown eyes raised beseechingly up, +Her lips just released from the kiss of her cup, + And Fred, I much fear, + From small sounds that I hear, + Is as bold as the rim of her cup,--and as near,-- +And how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such sights and such sounds at our afternoon teas? + +Shrewd maters watch Phyllis and Bessie and Fred,-- +Each smile and each look and each toss of the head,-- +And wonder and ponder and figure and scheme, +While fortune and fashion 'gainst love tip the beam. + For Bessie's dark locks + And Phyllis's smart frocks + Are but snares to entrap the society fox. +Pray, how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such artful devices at afternoon teas? + +JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. +_Brown Magazine_. + + +~O Mores!~ + +Cupid's bow is lying broken, +Fallen on the ground, +And his arrows all with blunted +Points are strewn around. +For to reach our modern hearts +Powerless are the blind god's darts, +From his rosy shoulders stripped; +Since, to pierce the breasts so cold, +Shafts must always be of gold, +Arrows must be diamond-tipped. + +ALBERT ELLSWORTH THOMAS. +_Brunonian._ + + +~Which?~ + +Blonde or brunette? Shall Ethel fair, +My winter girl, with golden hair, +Or Maud, whose dark brown eyes bewitch,-- +My summer girl,--now govern? +Which? + +Shall cold Bostonianism rule? +Shall Love teach Browning in his school? +Or shall coy glances, passion-rich, +Compel my fond allegiance? +Which? + +And yet the solving's really clear. +For winter's gone and summer's here. +I want no statue in a niche, +So Cupid says, "Let Maud be +'Which!'" + +W.C. NICHOLS. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Then and Now.~ + +When first we met she was three feet high, + And three, I think, was her age as well, +A touch of the heaven was in her eye; +I cannot say she was very shy, +(As you'll see by her actions by and by), + But the way I behaved I blush to tell. + +We met at a party, on the stair; + She was decked in ribbons and silk galore, +She smiled with a most bewitching air, +And then, I'm afraid, I pulled her hair. +You know you can't expect savoir-faire + Of a cavalier of the age of four! + +She only laughed with her subtle charm, + And took it more sweetly than you'd have believed, +But later she really took alarm-- +When she wanted to kiss me I pinched her arm, +And she ran away to escape from harm; + At which, no doubt, I was much relieved. + +She did not offer to kiss again; + I saw her go off with another beau. +She pretended to hold up her ten-inch train, +And whispered low to her new-found swain. +I was eating ice-cream with might and main,-- +And that was some seventeen years ago. + +I see her to-night on the winding stair, +She replies with a smile to my sober bow; +The palms lean lovingly toward her hair, +And her foot keeps time to a distant air. +I'm afraid she does not recall or care-- +She does not offer to kiss me now! + +Heigho! What a sad, what a sweet affair, +What a curious mixture life seems to be! +I am fast in the net of love, and there, +With another man on the winding stair, +Is the girl I love,--and I pulled her hair +When she wanted a kiss at the age of three! + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~A Toast.~ + +Clink, clink, + Fill up your glasses. +Drink, drink, + Drink to the lasses. +Eyes that are blue, + Lips that are sweet, +Hearts that are true, + Figures petite. +Clink, clink, + Fill up your glasses. +Drink, drink, + Drink to the lasses. +Drink, for there's nothing so sweet as a maid is; + Drink to the dearest of mortals, The Ladies. + +HENRY MORGAN STONE. +_Brunonian_. + + +~A Bit of Lace.~ + +It lay upon a pillow white, +The framework of a beauteous sight +Wherein its mistress laid a bright + Ecstatic face, +And when each night it proudly bore +Her wavy wealth of "cheveux d'or" +It seemed a very Heaven for + The bit of lace. + +But lace can from a pillow part +And by a touch, of cunning art +Adorn the casket of the heart, + Where every grace, +Half hidden by its witching fold, +Seeks to betray a charm untold-- +How envies each admirer bold + The bit of lace! + +Still maidens' mind and garments change, +And so there comes a new exchange; +The real Valenciennes finds a strange + New resting-place, +Where tiny feet and ankles hide, +And where but for a shoe untied +No human eye had e'er espied + The bit of lace. + +A crowded street, a sudden scare, +A little rush, a lengthy tear, +A snowy skirt that needs repair, + Decides the case. +And what each morn her footman missed +Hung from a dainty, dimpled wrist, +And ardent lovers fondly kissed + The bit of lace. + + * * * * * + +This tale is incomplete, I know, +But where else could the traveller go? +Ah, it was fifty years ago + All this took place. +And nodding, in her noonday nap, +Secure from every sad mishap, +I see in Grandma's dainty cap + The bit of lace. + +_Red and Blue._ + + +~A Song to Her.~ + +A song to a maid with eyes like stars; +Lad, you can sing it. +Any old tune to trip the bars, +Any old voice to ring it; +Love will wend it away to her; +Love will mend it and pray to her; +Love with his love will wing it. + +A song to a maid, a song of songs +Born in the singing +Ever, oh! ever to love belongs; +Ringing, ringing, ringing! +Holly berry, a winter theme, +Bursting cherry, a summer's dream, +Love on love's pinions winging. + +_Wrinkle_. + + +~Circe.~ + +Merry smiles and entrancing eyes, + Words that are light as passing air. +Lips that never disown disguise, + Hearts that endeavor hearts to snare, + Tongues that know not the way to spare, +Babbling on in a thoughtless whirl; + Would-be worshippers, O beware! +These are the ways of the modern girl. + +Faces fickle as April skies, + Eyes where Cupid has made his lair; +When they tempt you to idolize, + Then for a broken heart prepare. + What does she care for your despair, +Striving peace from your life to hurl? + Would-be worshippers, O take care! +These are the ways of the modern girl. + +Ribbons and laces, smiles and sighs, + A knot of vermilion in her hair, +Glances where veiled deception lies, + A kiss, perchance, on the winding stair, + Exquisite gowns and roses rare, +Shimmer of silver, gloss of pearl-- + Where is the heart, O woman, where? +These are the ways of the modern girl. + +ENVOY. + +Fashion and pique her hours share, + Nature and truth their standards furl, +Fair as fickle, and false as fair, + These are the ways of the modern girl. + +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~A Wish.~ + +Cupid laughs, nor seems to care +How his shafts are wont to harrow. +Ah! that I could unaware, +Wound him with his golden arrow. + +A. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~To Phyllis.~ + +I said your beauty shamed the rose's blush; + You thought the simile was trite, untrue; +But, oh, I saw each rose for pleasure flush + To hear itself compared, dear heart, to you! + +ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~L'Amour, L'Amour.~ + +We catch the fleeting perfume of roses + As the evening closes the golden day, +And the rhythmic beating of waves in motion + Comes from the ocean a mile away; +In the west is dying the sunset's splendor, + And twilight tender enfolds the land; +Where the tide is flying a-down the river, + And the grasses quiver, we silent stand. + +In your radiant eyes the sun unknowing + Has left his glowing to deeper glow, +And your tender sighs sound far more sweetly + Than the winds that fleetly and blithely blow +And first all shyly your small hand lingers + With trembling fingers within my own, +The blushes slyly and swiftly starting, + And then departing like rose-leaves blown. + +Alas, the envious time is fleeting, + But your heart is beating in time with mine, +And Cupid's rhyme rings louder--clearer, + As I draw you nearer, my love divine! +In the twilight dim we have found love's tether, + And are linked together, no more to part; +While the white stars swing in a maze of glory, + To hear the story that bares your heart. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~Lines on a Ring.~ + +Oh, precious drop of crystal dew, +Set in a tiny band of gold, +Which doth within its little grasp +A blue-veined finger softly hold-- +Thou failest if thy radiant rays +Are seeking--bold attempt 'twould be!-- +To show a fraction of the love +That beams from Edith's eyes on me. + +LOREN M. LUKE. +_Nassau Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Memory.~ + +Shadows up the hillside creeping, +Gold in western sky, +Meadow-brook beneath us keeping +Dreamy lullaby. + +Soft stars through the pine-trees gleaming-- +Gems in dark robes caught-- +Everything about us seeming +With hidden meaning fraught. + +Sweet dark eyes, upon me turning, +Challenge if I dare, +Vie with amorous sunbeams burning +O'er her face and hair. + +But a truce to idle musing-- +That was long ago. +Was she gracious or refusing? +You may never know. + +Winter's snows those fields are hiding +'Neath a robe of white, +For another she is biding +Tryst of love to-night. + +I was only glancing over + A book beloved of yore, +When a sprig of mountain clover + Fluttered to the floor. + +IRVILLE C. LECOMPTE. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +[Illustration: A WESLEYAN GIRL.] + + +~The Soul's Kiss.~ + +Not your sweet, red lips, dear, +Tremulous with sighs, +Lest their passion dull love's rapture; +Kiss me with your eyes. + +Gleam on Cupid's wing, dear, +At the least touch flies, +Even lips may brush to dimness; +Kiss me with your eyes. + +Pain within the bliss, dear, +Of those soft curves lies; +Only love the soul's light carries; +Kiss me with your eyes. + +MAUD THOMPSON. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +~A Portrait.~ + +A slim, young girl, in lilac quaintly dressed; +A mammoth bonnet, lilac like the gown, + Hangs from her arm by wide, white strings, the crown +Wreathed round with lilac blooms; and on her breast +A cluster; lips still smiling at some jest + Just uttered, while the gay, gray eyes half frown + Upon the lips' conceit; hair, wind-blown, brown +Where shadows stray, gold where the sunbeams rest. + +Ah! lilac lady, step from your gold frame, +Between that starched old Bishop and the dame + In awe-inspiring ruff. We'll brave their ire +And trip a minuet. You will not?--Fie! +Those mocking lips half make me wish that I, + Her grandson, might have been my own grandsire. + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~A Picture.~ + +On spinet old, Clarissa plays +The melodies of by-gone days. +Forgotten fugue, a solemn tune, +The bars of stately rigadoon. +With head bent down to scan each note, +A crimson ribbon round her throat, +The very birds to sing forget +As some old-fashioned minuet +Clarissa plays. + +King George long since has passed away, +And minuets have had their day. +Within a hidden attic nook +Covered with dust, her music-book. +Gone are the keys her fingers pressed. +The bunch of roses at her breast. +But still, unmindful of time's flight, +With face so fair and hands so white, +Clarissa plays. + +EDWARD B. REED. +_Yale Literary Magazine._ + + +~Tildy in the Choir.~ + +Lines that ripple, notes that dance, +Foreign measures brought from France, +Reaching with a careless ease +From high C to--where you please, +Clever, frivolous, and gay-- +These will answer in their way; +But that tune of long ago-- +Stately, solemn, somewhat slow +(Dear "Old Hundred"--that's the air)-- +Will outrank them anywhere; +Once it breathed a seraph's fire. +(Tildy sang it in the choir.) + +How she stood up straight and tall! +Ah! again I see it all; +Cheeks that glowed and eyes that laughed, +Teeth like cream, and lips that quaffed +All the genial country's wealth +Of large cheer and perfect health, +Gown--well, yes--old-fashioned quite, +_You_ would call it "just a fright," +But I love that quaint attire. +(Tildy wore it in the choir.) + +How we sang--for _I_ was there, +Occupied a singer's chair +Next to--well, no prouder man +Ever lifts the bass, nor can, +Sometimes held the self-same book, +(How my nervous fingers shook!) +Sometimes--wretch--while still the air +Echoed to the parson's prayer, +I would whisper in her ear +What she could not help but hear. +Once, I told her my desire. +(Tildy promised in the choir.) + +Well, those days are past, and now +Come gray hairs, and yet somehow +I can't think those years have fled-- +Still those roadways know my tread, +Still I climb that old pine stair, +Sit upon the stiff-backed chair, +Stealing glances toward my left +Till her eyes repay the theft; +Death's a dream and Time's a liar-- +Tildy still is in the choir. + +Come, Matilda number two, +_Fin de siècle _maiden you! +Wonder if you'd like to see +Her I loved in fifty-three? +Yes? All right, then go and find +Mother's picture--"Papa!"--Mind! +She and I were married. You +Were our youngest. Now you, too, +Raise the same old anthems till +All the church is hushed and still +With a single soul to hear. +Do I flatter? Ah, my dear, +Time has brought my last desire-- +Tildy still _is_ in the choir! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Memory.~ + +We sat in the lamplight's gentle glow, +Alone on the winding stair, +And the distant strains of a waltz fell low +On the fragrance-laden air. +I caught from her lips a murmured "yes," +And the stately palms amid +There came a blissful, sweet caress-- +I shouldn't have--but I did! + +I might forget that joyous night, +As the months slip swiftly by; +I might forget the gentle light +That shone in her hazel eye; +But I can't forget that whispered "yes" +That came the palms amid, +I can't forget that one caress-- +I shouldn't have--but I did! + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~The American Girl.~ + +The German may sing of his rosy-cheeked lass, + The French of his brilliant-eyed pearl; +But ever the theme of my praises shall be + The laughing American girl, + Yes, the jolly American girl. + +She laughs at her sorrows, she laughs at her joys, + She laughs at Dame Fortune's mad whirl; +And laughing will meet all her troubles in life, + The laughing American girl, + Yes, the joyous American girl. + +You say she can't love if she laughs all the time? + A laugh at your logic she'll hurl; +She loves while she laughs and she laughs while she loves, + The laughing American girl, + Oh, the laughing American girl! + +S.F.P. +_Campus_. + + +~Ballade of Justification.~ + +A jingle of bells and a crunch of snow, + Skies that are clear as the month of May, +Winds that merrily, briskly blow, + A pretty girl and a cozy sleigh, + Eyes that are bright and laughter gay, +All that favors Dan Cupid's art; + I was but twenty. What can you say +If I confess I lost my heart? + +What if I answered in whispers low, + Begged that she would not say me nay, +Asked if my love she did not know, + What if I did? Who blames me, pray? + Suppose she blushed. 'Tis the proper way +For lovely maidens to play their part. + Does it seem too much for a blush to pay +If I confess I lost my heart? + +What if I drove extremely slow, + Was there not cause enough to stay? +Such opportunities do not grow + Right in one's pathway every day; + Cupid I dared not disobey, +If he saw fit to cast his dart; + Is it a thing to cause dismay +If I confess I lost my heart? + +ENVOY. + +What if I kissed her? Jealous they + Who scoff at buyers in true love's mart. +Who can my sound good sense gainsay + If I confess I lost my heart? + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Perdita.~ + +'Twas only a tiny, withered rose, + But it once belonged to Grace. +The goody didn't know that, I suppose-- +'Twas only a tiny, withered rose, +No longer sweet to the eye or nose, + So she tossed it out from the Dresden vase.-- +'Twas only a tiny, withered rose, + But it once belonged to Grace. + +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Strategy.~ + +Some, Cupid kills with arrows, +Some, with traps; +But this spring the little rascal +Found, perhaps, +That he needed both to slay me; +So he laid a cunning snare +On the hillside, and he hid it +In a lot of maidenhair; +And I doubt not he is laughing +At the joke, +For he made his arrows out of +Poison-oak. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~Canoe Song.~ + +Dip! Dip! Softly slip +Down the river shining wide, +Dim and far the dark banks are; +Life is love and naught beside. +Onward, drifting with the tide. + +Drip, drip, from paddle tip +Myriad ripples swirl and swoon; +Shiv'ring 'mid the ruddy stars, +Mirrored in the deep lagoon, +Faintly floats the mummied moon. + +Soft, soft, high aloft,-- +Ever thus till time is done,-- +Worlds will die; may thou and I +Glide beneath a gentler sun, +Young as now and ever one. + +E. FRÈRE CHAMPNEY. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~A Rambling Rhyme of Dorothy.~ + +When ye Crocuss shews his heade + & ye Wyndes of Marche have flede, +Springe doth come, and happylye + Then I thinke of + Dorothy. + +Haycockes fragrante in ye sun +Give me reste when taskes are done: + Summer's here, & merrylye + Then I dreame of + Dorothy. + +Scarlette leaves & heapinge binne; +Cyder, ye cool Tankard in; + Autumn's come. Righte jollylye + Then I drinke to + Dorothy. + +When ye Northe Wynde sweeps ye snowe +& Icyclles hange all belowe, + Then, for soothe, Olde Winter, he + Letts me dance with + Dorothy! + +ARTHUR CHENEY TRAIN. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~The Prof.'s Little Girl.~ + +She comes to the Quad when her Ladyship pleases, + And loiters at will in the sun and the shade; +As free from the burden of work as the breezes + That play with the bamboo is this little maid. +The tongues of the bells, as they beat out the morning, + Like mad in their echoing cases may whirl +Till they weary of calling her,--all their sharp warning + Is lost on the ear of the prof's little girl. + +With a scarred-over heart that is old in the knowledge + Of all the manoeuvres and snares of the Hall, +Grown wary of traps in its four years at college, + And able at last to keep clear of them all,-- +Oh, what am I doing away from my classes + With a little blue eye and a brown little curl? +Ah me! fast again, and each precious hour passes + In slavery sweet to the prof's little girl. + +She makes me a horse, and I mind her direction, + Though it takes me o'er many a Faculty green; +I'm pledged to the cause of her pussy's protection + From ghouls of the Lab and the horrors they mean; +I pose as the sire of a draggled rag dolly + Who owns the astonishing title of Pearl;-- +And I have forgotten that all this is folly, + So potent the charm of the prof's little girl! + + Yet, spite of each sacrifice made to impress her, +She smiles on my rival. Oh, vengeance I'd gain! + But he wears the same name as my major professor, +And so in his graces I have to remain; + And when she trots off with this juvenile lover, +Leaving me and the cat and the doll in a whirl, + It's pitiful truly for us to discover +The signs of her sex in the prof's little girl. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover._ + +~Gertrude.~ + + +Fair Gertrude lives at Farmington, +Perhaps you've seen her there; +Her eyes delight in laughing light, +Let gods describe her hair; +Her figure--well, grave Juno ne'er +Had half the supple grace +Of Gertrude fair of Farmington-- +Perhaps you know that place? + +Beneath her lips there gleam two rows +Of greed-inspiring pearls; +Such rows of teeth the gods bequeath +To but their choicest girls. +For other things at Farmington +I do not care a rap, +Although it is a lovely place-- +I've seen it (on the map). + +I would the gods had given me +Some mild poetic skill; +In Gertrude's praise I'd sing for days, +And volumes I could fill. +Perhaps you think I love this maid-- +In sooth perhaps I do; +Well, If I did, I'd tell her-- +But, by Jove, I'd not tell _you._ + +J.H. Scranton +_Yale Record._ + + +~My Politics.~ + +I am for gold--her golden hair +Whose mesh my soul entrances; +Caressing this, what do I care +For national finances? + +For silver, too--those silver tones +That with her laughter rise; +This wealth, thank God. no law or thrones +Can e'er demonetize. + +G.W. PIERCE. +_University of Texas Magazine._ + + +~The Summer Girl.~ + +A half-reclining form +In a "sleepy-hollow" chair, +A cloud of curls that storm +About her beauty fair, +Two laughing eyes that tell +A shyly answered "Yes." +A dainty hand to--well, +Say simply to caress. + +An airy little sprite +In a billowy flood of lace, +Which flutters in its flight +In the galop's tripping grace. +And, oh, the broken hearts +Which follow the rapturous whirl! +Oh, the Redfern gown, and the arts +Of the annual summer girl! + +EDWIN OSGOOD GROVER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~Love's Token.~ + +The frost and snow of mistletoe, +The warmth of holly berry, +These I combine, O lady mine, +To make thy yule-tide merry. +And shouldst thou learn, sweet, to return +My love, nor deem it folly, +Twined in thy hair the snow fruit wear, +And on thy breast the holly. + +ALICE R. TAGGART. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~A Passing Song.~ + +Ah, only love I have ever known, +Ah, only love I shall ever know, +The careless hours of youth have flown +And the light-hearted past to the winds is thrown, +And faster and faster the hours go. + +To your heart and mine there's a secret lying +While the spring's breath thrills in the air of May, +While life seems ever to be defying +The flight of time and the thought of dying, +And the great world runs on its careless way. + +Yet one dear thought in my heart is resting +As I face the path I must tread ere long, +When wearied with life's unending questing, +Its tawdry joys and its idle jesting, +I shall pass to the midst of the missing throng. + +That here I have known your heart's dear thrilling, +Your helping hand and your watchful eye, +My life with your tender love fulfilling. +I know but this, and am strangely willing +To learn your love and in learning--die. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Safe.~ + +When I picked up her glove + I let Fate decide it. +So great was my love, +When I picked up her glove; +'Twas as soft as a dove + _And her hand was inside it._ +When I picked up her glove + I let Fate decide it. + +W. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~Her Winsome Smile.~ + +Her winsome smile! It beams on me +From where the choir makes melody, + Behind the parson; maid demure, + Her witching eyes my thoughts allure, +Although, in church, this should not be. +Pale Luna's light, the dimpling sea, +Are very taking, I'll agree; + But to her smile all else is poor-- + Her winsome smile. + +The preacher, in a mournful key, +Shoves on the Year of Jubilee, + Shows present times without a cure, + With pessimistic portraiture-- +His back is turned, he cannot see + Her winsome smile. + +HARRY KEISER MUNROE. +_Wesleyan Argus._ + + +~The Summer Girl.~ + +I wooed her in the summer months, + When all the world was gay, +And on the hillside, in the sun, + The yellow harvest lay, +And late, across the level lawns, + The twilight met the day. + +Together, in the garden walks, + At early morn we went; +Together, in the deep green groves, + The drowsy noontide spent; +And in the evening watched how well + The sunset glories blent. + +Oh, happy morn! The trysting oak + Hung o'er the orchard gate. +I waited for her in the shade--- + I had quite long to wait, +For with the coachman she eloped + And left me to my fate. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~Phyllis's Slippers.~ + +Before the firelight's genial glow + She sits, and dreams of waltzes sweet, +Nor heeds the curious gleams that show + Grandmamma's slippers on her feet. + +Ah, happy slippers, thus to hold + So rare a burden! It were meet +That you should be of beaten gold + To clasp so close such dainty feet. + +H. A. RICHMOND. +_The Tech_. + + +~Vindication.~ + +Pray, why do maidens ever stand beneath + The mistletoe? +And why was ever hung the mystic wreath-- + Why should it grow? +And why were laughing eyes and lashes made, + If not to tease? +And such an opportunity displayed, + If not to seize? +Why, pouting lips should always ready be + To catch a kiss. +If cheeks will blush, why, it is plain to see + 'Tis not amiss. +And when a maiden sweet, and roguish eyes, + And mistletoe, +And madd'ning lips, while telltale blushes rise, + A-teasing so-- +Think you that I all idle waiting sat + To see her go? +Did I believe when she insisted that + She didn't know? + +ARTHUR MAURICE SMITH. +_Wrinkle_. + + +~To an Imaginary One.~ + +Say, darling, do you love me true? + Return you my affection? +Pray answer as I want you to, + And speak with circumspection. + +Don't blurt me out a _yes, chérie_, + And throw your arms around me: +A lack of maiden modesty + Would shock me and confound me. + +Be distant as the morning star, + Nor let me know how real, +How most material you are-- + My love is too ideal. + +Yes, be a little bit afraid, + And make a sweet resistance; +So near, a maid is but a maid, + A goddess at a distance. + +Still deign to play the charmer, dear, + Blush while you're thinking of me, +Breathe coyest wordlets in mine ear, + But _don't_ confess you love me! + +HENRY B. EDDY. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~When Gladys Plays.~ + +When Gladys plays in gladsome glee, + All men and gods might wish to see. +With flushing cheek and flashing eye + She strokes the ball or lobs it high, +With cuts of great variety. + +The ball hides in some blooming tree, +And sorely tries poor patient me; + But I swear not, oh, no! not I, + When Gladys plays. + +When whist with all propriety, +As Foster, Hoyle, or Pole decree, + We play together, although my + Good ace she trumps, I merely sigh +And grant the points to the enemy, + When Gladys plays. + +FERRIS GREENSLET. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~At the Club.~ + +When a pretty maiden passes + By the window down the Street, + Cards and billiards lose their sweet; +Conversation on old brasses +Languishes; up go the glasses: + "Nice complexion!" "Dainty feet!" +When a pretty maiden passes + By the window down the street + +Smith forgets the "toiling masses," + Robinson, the fall in wheat; + All the club is indiscreet. +Ah, the wisest men are asses +When a pretty maiden passes + By the window down the street! + +RICHARD HOVEY. +_Dartmouth Lyrics._ + + +~Friends.~ + +The wintry sky may be chill and drear, + And the wind go sighing in mournful strain, +Or it may be the spring of the waking year, + When flowers and birds return again. +Be it March or May, it matters not, + Snow or violets on the ground, +I know a little bewitching spot, + Where it is fair the whole year round. + +A low tea-table set out for two, + A divan with cushions piled on high, +Dresden tea-cups of pink and blue, + A fat little kettle simmering nigh, +In winter a fire that cracks and roars, + In summer a window where breezes play. +What if it hails or snows or pours, + In that little spot it is always May. + +A girl--of course, you will say, when one + Describes such a haven from life's mad whirl. +There must be a--wait till my song is done. + This is _such_ an entrancing girl! +Cheeks as fresh as a summer rose, + Eyes that change like the changing sea, +Lips where a smile first comes, then goes. + And, oh! but she makes delicious tea. + +So we sit and talk while the kettle sings, + And. life seems better at least to me, +The fleeting hours have golden wings, + When in that little spot I'm drinking tea. +Love? Ah, no, we are far above + Such folly. Our time we can better spend. +This world is brimming with loveless love, + But 'tis rarely enough one finds a friend. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~Another Complaint Against Cupid.~ + +Wherever maidens may be found +Dan Cupid's sure to wander round, +I found him once, the little fool, +Attending on a cooking-school. +The scholars only laughed and smiled, +And cried: "How sweet, how smart a child!" +He kept his wings close hid, yet I +Remembered him from days gone by, +And, stepping up, I whispered this: +"My boy, compound for me a kiss." +His face grew thoughtful, then the rogue +Lisped out: "Well, _this_ is most in vogue: +An acorn-cup of sugar first, +Sprinkle quite well with bubbles burst, +Then add a pinch of down that lies +All over June's brown butterflies. +Mix well, and take, to stir it up, +The stem of one long buttercup. +But, sir, you ne'er can taste a mite +Until I add the appetite." +Whereat, ere I could turn to start, +I saw--I _felt_ the flashing dart. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Olla Podrida._ + + +~Sub-Mistletoe.~ + + We two stood near + The chandelier, +With mistletoe upon it. + A lovely girl, + My head awhirl, +Her wrap--I'll help her don it. + + A button caught; + I surely ought +To help, when she'd begun it. + A pause, a hush, + A kiss, a blush, +And now, by Jove, I've done it! + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~She Sayeth "No."~ + +She sayeth "No"--my lady fair-- +And lightly laughs at my despair. + She quick evades my least caress, + Nor grants to me a single tress +From out her wealth of golden hair. + +Yet to her cheeks creeps crimson rare, +When I for her my love declare. + But while her blue eyes tell me "Yes," + She sayeth "No." + +The maid well knows I would not dare +Try to escape her gentle snare. + And, if I really must confess, + I own I trust her lips far less +Than her blue eyes beyond compare. + She _sayeth_ "No." + +BERTRAND A. SMALLEY. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~Silhouettes.~ + +Grandma's shadow on the wall, +Graceful figure, slim and tall, +Shadow of a maiden fair, +Lofty head, with rippling hair, +Nose "la Grecque" from Hebe stole: +Charming, very, on the whole, +Is this shadow on the wall, +Fifty years ago,--that's all. + +Grandpa's shadow on the wall, +Straight this shadow is, and tall; +(Nose "la Roman," we might say) +Stately mien, and courtly way; +Now it's deeply bowing, oh! +But see! for kneeling low +Is this shadow on the wall, +Fifty years ago,--that's all. + + * * * * + +Grandma's shadow on the wall, +Bent this figure is, not tall; +Shadow in a rocking-chair, +Rocking gently,--now with care; +Now it nodding, nodding seems. +Do you think this shadow dreams +Of some shadows on the wall +Fifty years ago,--that's all? + +ANNIE KNOWLTON PILLSBURY. +_Mount Holyoke_. + + +~Bread and Wine.~ + +All day work in the shops, + The weary tread +Of toil that knows no change. + And this is bread. + +At night when work is done, + Her hand in mine, +The hope of happier days, + And this is wine. + +ELIZABETH REEVE CUTTER. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~A Song.~ + +This I learned from the birds, + Dear heart, +And they told me in woodland words, + Apart, + And they told me true, +That all their singing the summer through + Was of you, of you. + +This I learned from the flowers, + Dear heart, +In the dewy morning hours + Apart, + And they sware it, too, +That all their sweetness the summer through + Was for you, for you. + +This I learned from the leaves, + Dear heart, +On stilly, starry eves + Apart, + Though their words were few, +That all their sighing the summer through + Was for you, for you. + +This I learned from the stars, + Dear heart,-- +From the Seven Sisters, and Mars, + Apart + In the boundless blue,-- +That their light the lingering summer through + Was for you, for you. + +This I learned from my life, + Dear heart, +'Mid its storms, and stress, and strife, + Apart, + (God knows it's true!) +That I need to love me my long way through, + Only you, dear, you. + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~Drifting.~ + +Drifting in our frail canoe +On the dusky, silent stream, +Dearest, see! The sunset-gleam +Fires love's torch for me and you. + +Coral clouds and pearly sky, +Flaming in the farthest west, +Softly whisper peace and rest, +Peace and rest that never die. + +Let us shun the sable shore, +Frowning at us slipping by. +Let's be happy, you and I, +Drifting, drifting evermore. + +H. H. CHAMBERLIN, JR. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~Cloudland.~ + +Over the hills, at the close of day, + Gazing with listless-seeming eyes, +Margery watches them sail away, + The sunlit clouds of the western skies. + +Margery sighs with a vain regret, + As slowly they fade from gold to gray, +Till night has come, and the sun has set, + And the clouds have drifted beyond the day. + +What are you dreaming, my little maid + For yours are beautiful thoughts, I know; +What were the words that the wild wind said, + And where, in the dark, did the cloud-ships go? + +Come through the window and touch her hair, + Wind of the vast and starry deep! +And tell her not of this old world's care, + But kiss her softly and let her sleep. + +_Columbia Literary Monthly._ + + +~Two of a Kind.~ + +HE: + + Down in the glen + By the trysting tree, + Somebody's sister is waiting for me. + Under the stars, + In the dewy grass +Waiting for me--the poor little lass! + + And I sit alone + In my cozy den, + A much better place than that clammy glen, + And I think of her tears + As she waits in vain +Till it seems almost cruel to give her such pain. + +SHE: + + Down in the glen + By the trysting tree, + Somebody's brother is waiting for me; + Waiting in vain, + Though it may seem cruel, +But how can I help it--the poor little fool! + +I know I'm not faithful + As he is--but then, +Women are never as constant as men. + He'll never forgive me; + I know I'm to blame, +But he might have treated me some day the same. + +WALTER TALLMADGE ARNDT. +_The Badger._ + + +~To the Cigarette Girl.~ + +Your motions all are sweet and full of grace + As daintily you roll your cigarette; +You smoke it with a pretty puckered face + That I, a mortal man, can ne'er forget. + +It's jolly fun when you adopt our sins; + Pray never fear of being thought a "poke." +Your every mood sincerest worship wins, + And yet I wish, my dear, you didn't smoke. + +H. F. H. +_Amherst Literary Monthly,_ + + +~A Game of Chess.~ + +We played at chess one wintry night +Beside the fire, that warm and bright + Was mirrored in her hazel eyes; + Methought a gleam from Paradise +Outshone the back-log's flickering light. + +The hand that took my queen was white, +I trembled at its gentle might; + Nor sweeter game could Love devise-- + We played at chess. + +I scarce could see to play aright, +I took a pawn and lost a knight, + And then she gazed with mild surprise-- + She said I was not shrewd nor wise; +And yet, to me, with strange delight + We played at chess. + +ROBERT PORTER ST. JOHN. +_Amherst Literary Monthly_. + + +~When Margaret Laughs.~ + +When Margaret laughs the world is gay, +All care is driven far away; + Her hat aslant, with roguish air, + A red carnation in her hair-- +True daughter of the merry May. + +The rosebuds of a summer's day, +The modest flowers along her way, + All seem to have a grace more fair, + When Margaret laughs. + +Oh, youth! for her so bright and gay, +Oh, years! that slip so fast away, + Keep her, I pray thee, fresh and fair, + Dainty, bewitching, debonair, +For life is but a holiday + When Margaret laughs. + +GEORGE B. KILBOURNE. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Captive.~ + +I've sought for Cupid by day and night, + But he always contrived to elude me, +And kept discreetly out of my sight, +Nor showed his face, the crafty wight, + Nor e'er for a moment sued me. + +And often while for his face I sought + I thought with a thrill I had found him, +By my little wiles and my coaxing caught, +Or even for gold ignobly bought, +With his arrows and bow around him. + +But now my pulse gives a fresh, wild start, + And a throb of joyous surprise, dear, +As I see him, armed with his subtle dart, +A fellow prisoner with my heart, + In the depths of your hazel eyes, dear. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator_ + + +~The Difference.~ + +All in the days of long ago, + When Grandfather a-wooing went, +He looked a gallant, dashing beau, + And with his looks was well content + +He rode beside My Lady's chair + With gracious salutation, +He vowed she was divinely fair + And told his adoration. + +But now, alas, poor Grandfather + Would stand but sorry chances +Of passionately telling her + His bosom's sweetest fancies. + +For since a wheel My Lady rides, + The bravest, gayest courtier +Would lose her, if he weren't besides + A fairly rapid scorcher. + +H.K. WEBSTER. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Lenten Maid.~ + +Her wonted smiles are turned to frowns, + Her laugh a sigh, +Sackcloth and ashes for ball gowns-- + Ah, luckless I. + +While worldly thought! away are gone,-- + Her Lenten part,-- +Does Cupid blunt his darts upon + A stony heart? + +Ah, though her mirth and jollities + She puts aside, +The silent laughter of her eyes + She cannot hide. + +S. R. KENNEDY. +_Yale Record_. + + +~Wealth.~ + +I like pretty maids flushed with joy, + With glad hair blowing free. +They smile right kind on many a boy, + But only one on me. +But I have a penny, a fiddle, and Joan, + And my sweet Joan has me. + +Meadow and flock, the wise folk said, + It never were right to miss, +But my maid Joan has a kirtle red + And a merry mouth to kiss. +And I can fiddle and Joan can sing, + And what were better than this? + +The young men talk of getting and gold, + And lands far over the sea. +But I and my fiddle will never grow old, + And this is the life for me. +I have a penny, my fiddle, and Joan, + And my sweet Joan has me. + +ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~Jamie's Word wi' the Sea.~ + +(A-WAITIN' FER JINNIE.) + +Ye'll no fret ye mair the noo, + Wull ye, sea? +Like ye've dune the winter through, + Roarin' at the sands and me. + +Ye were wearyin' yersel' + Till her bit, +Wee, licht fuitstep by ye fell. + Ay, but lookee noo! an' quit! + +Ken ye no the way she rins? + Hoo her hair, +Ower-muckle fer the pins, + Blaws aboot her everywhere? + +Ye'll no stop yer clatt'rin' din? + Puir blin' thing! +Ye'll no see her happy rin; + "Jamie!" ye'll no hear her sing. + +Hoots! Awa', ye loupin' sea, + Doon yer sands, +Jinnie's callin' doon tae me! + Jinnie's haudin' oot her hands! + +ROBERT JERMAIN COLE. +_Columbia Literary Monthly._ + + +~Lent.~ + +Priscilla is a maid devout + In this repentant season, +And to the world and all its ways + Has vowed a pious treason. + +Sweet little saint, so shy, demure!-- + Though long I've tried to win her +I fear that I'm not in it with + Some other lucky sinner. + +For when I begged she'd trust her heart + To me, and o'er her bent, +She blushed and softly murmured, + "How can I when it's Lent." + +T. L. CLARKE. +_Yale Record._ + + +~I Dream of Flo.~ + +I dream of Flo, and memory, fleeting light, +Calls up the happy bygone days to-night, + The scent of lavender is faint in air, + (Ah, well-remembered flowers she loved to wear!) +My senses float afar in rapt delight. + +How can I e'er forget that summer night! +'Tis not because her black eyes shone so bright, + Nor is it for the witchery in her hair, + I dream of Flo. + +She promised me a cushion well bedight +With ruffles blue, and I, oh, luckless wight, + Must send to her--she said, exchange is fair-- + My college pin in gold. Her cushion's where +With half-closed eyes I lie. Is't not aright + I dream of Flo? + +ALBERT SARGENT DAVIS. +_Yale Courant._ + + +~A Humble Romance.~ + +Her ways were rather frightened, and she wasn't much to see, +She wasn't good at small talk, or quick at repartee; +Her gown was somewhat lacking in the proper cut and tone, +And it wasn't difficult to see she'd made it all alone. +So the gay young men whose notice would have filled her with delight +Paid very small attention to the little girl in white. + +He couldn't talk the theatre, for he hadn't time to go, +And, though he knew that hay was high, and butter rather low, +He couldn't say the airy things that other men rehearse, +While his waltzing was so rusty that he didn't dare reverse. +The beauties whom he sighed for were most frigidly polite, +So perforce he came and sat beside the little girl in white. + +She soon forgot her envy of the glittering _beau monde_, +For their common love of horses proved a sympathetic bond. +She told him all about the farm, and how she came to town, +And showed the honest little heart beneath the home-made gown. +A humble tale, you say,--and yet he blesses now the night +When first he came and sat beside the little girl in white. + + +JULIET W. TOMPKINS. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~Mendicants.~ + +"Foot-sore, weary, o'er the hills + To your friendly door I come. +I'm a mother; in my breast + I have wrapped my only son. +Lady, blessed of the Three, + Give us shelter for a night. +Pure and wise they say thou art, + Pity one by fate bedight." + +Calm and grave the maiden stood; + Eyed that weary mother long, +Drooping form, despairing face, + Eyes pathetic with great wrong. +"Enter," gently then she spake, + "Peace be thine from skies above, +Only I have closed my door, + Closed and barred it fast from Love." + +By the hearthstone warm and bright + Sits the mother crooning low; +Ah! an arrow's silver gleam, + Flashes of a golden bow! +Soft she sways a dimpled child + Winged with down, and innocent; +"Hush thee, Eros,--sleep, my son," + Sings her voice in glad content. + +M. E. H. EVERETT. +_Madisonensis_. + + +~With My Cigar.~ + +With my cigar I sit alone, +Alone in twilight's undertone, + With wav'ring shadows growing deep, + While long-forgotten faces peep +Midst curling mists of smoke, now blown +Into a frame that doth enthrone +A face that from my heart hath grown. + Sweet mem'ries o'er my being creep, + With my cigar. + +Those hazel eyes on me have shone, +Those roguish lips have pressed my own, + And this the harvest that I reap! + And this the sweetness that I keep, +To wake, to find the vision flown + With my cigar! + +JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. +_Brunonian_. + + +~To Waltz with Thee.~ + +To waltz with thee, my pretty belle, +To silver music's magic spell, + Was such a strange unmixed delight + That I had wished the merry night +Into eternity might swell. + + * * * * + +Terpsichore ne'er danced so well! +Can all the Graces in thee dwell? + My soul was raised to such a height + To waltz with thee. + +Enchanting strains now rose, now fell, +Thy charms what raptures would compel! + Thy feet were winged, thy figure slight, + Thy winning tread, entrancing, light,-- +What bliss to me that night befell, + To waltz with thee! + +GEORGE B. ZUG. +_Amherst Literary Monthly._ + + +~To Maude's Guitar.~ + +Sweet guitar, so old thou art + Thou seemest strange to modern eyes, +Yet in thy broad-backed cavern-heart + The softest music hidden lies. + +Whene'er thy strings with gentle hand + I lightly sweep in deep-bassed chords, +There comes a breath of foreign lands + That seems to sing soft Spanish words. + +Was Caballero's passion deep + E'er sung to thy rich-chorded bass? +Didst ever break señora's sleep + By music 'neath her window-case? + +Somewhere--sometime, a song was sung + By lover bold or maiden fair, +So sweet, thou hid'st it deep among + Thy soulful strings, and kept it there. + +Whoe'er it was, that distant day, + That loved to strike thy mellow strings, +Whoever sang that sweet love-lay, + Its echo still within thee rings. + +Though Maude may vow she loves me not, + And jolly glees may lightly play, +I look beyond the surface thought, + And hear that echoing old love-lay. + +L. C. STONE. +_Amherst Literary Monthly_. + + +[Illustration: A BROWN GIRL.] + + +~Tantalizing.~ + +Her rosy cheeks are pressed to mine, + Her gleaming hair lies on my shoulder, +Her arms are clasped about my neck, + And yet my arms do not enfold her. + +Her throbbing heart beats loud and fast, + Her wistful eyes are gently pleading. +Her blushing lips are pursed to kiss, + And yet my lips are all unheeding. + +I coldly loose her clinging arms, + And roughly from my side I shove her. +It's amateur theatricals, + And I must play the tyrant lover. + +HENRY MORGAN STONE. +_Brunonian_ + + +~Phantasy.~ + +Her beaming eyes of deepest blue +Enthralled all who to Yale were true. +Her crimson lips, too, conquests made: +Fair Harvard's sons their homage paid, +And many a suitor came to woo + Petite Elaine. + +I begged a kiss awhile ago; +The crimson lips, 'tis true, said "No," +But in her eyes turned up to me +I read the answer differently-- +The crimson never had a show, + Yale won again. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~Rosebuds.~ + +She plucked a rosebud by the wall + And placed it in his outstretched hands; +It was love's token, that was all, + And he rode off to foreign lands. + +He kept the rosebud in his breast, + And when the battle charge was led, +They found him slain among the rest, + The rosebud stained a deeper red. + +But she, beside the wall that day, + A rosebud gave to other hands; +Nor thought of that one borne away + By him who rode to foreign lands. + +_Bowdoin Orient._ + + +~Bashful Johnny.~ + +Young bashful Johnny loved sweet May, +And went to court her every day, +But his tongue could never swear + He loved her true. +It seems to me, had I been there, + I'd vowed my love--now wouldn't you? + +Sweet May would sit by Johnny's side +And all her thoughts to him confide, +Yet take her hand he'd never dare-- + So near his, too. +It seems to me, had I been there, + I'd clasped it tight--now wouldn't you? + +And May's red lips seemed to invite +Sweet kisses, but so bold a flight +He thought--yet wondered if she'd care-- + Would never do. +It seems to me, had I been there, + I would have kissed her--now wouldn't you? + +GEORGE G. GILLETTE. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Cupid's Blunder.~ + +Poor Cupid froze his wings one day, +When winds were cold and skies were gray, + And clouds with snow were laden. +A little maid was passing by; +She caught the rogue,--he could not fly,-- + O naughty little maiden! + +She sent him off with sharpen'd dart, +To steal for her a certain heart; + But, oh, the mishap stupid! +Since Cupid's blind, and cannot see. +He went astray, and came to me. + O naughty little Cupid! + +So that is why my heart is gone, +And I am dreary and forlorn, + With tears my eyes are laden. +She does not want my heart--ah, no! +I did not wish to have it go; + O Cupid, and O maiden! + +GERTRUDE JONES. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +~As Toll.~ + +Lovely Mabel, were you dreaming? + Glad the day you said to me, +Dancing eyes so brightly beaming, + "Give my love to dear Marie!" +What a strange exhilaration + To be bearer of your heart, +What a wonderful temptation + For a part. + +For I have not tried to find her + Since you sent your love by me; +Day by day I think I'm blinder,-- + Fruitless search, as you might see. +I wonder, if in sending, + If you choose your slave by chance, +What that twinkle was portending + In your glance? + +Tell me, when I bear the treasure, + Would you very angry be +Should I keep a trifling measure + That was hardly meant for me? + +For it's common in commissions + Some percentage of the whole +To extract from you patricians. + Just for toll. + +JOHN BARKER. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Chansonette.~ + +Dimpled cheeks and scarlet lips, +Pink and dainty finger-tips, +Glowing blushes, fragrant sighs, +Looks dove-sweet from starry eyes, +These do show this saying true-- +Maidens all were meant to woo! + +Guerdon dear shall be his meed +Who will be Love's thrall in deed: +Strollings 'neath a mellow moon, +Whispers soft as rain in June, +Kisses, maybe, one or two-- +Maidens all were meant to woo! + +WILL L. GRAVES. +_Makio_. + + +~Triolet.~ + +He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe! + Of course I said it wasn't fair +To take advantage of me so, +And kiss me 'neath the mistletoe,-- +But then, 'twas only Jack, you know, + And so I really didn't care! +He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe, + Although I said ft wasn't fair! + +GERTRUDE CRAVEN. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~Song.~ + +The April sun smiles bright above, +The skies are deep and blue, +I walk among the growing fields +And dream, sweetheart, of you. +And as I go, from out the wood +A mocking-bird calls clear, +"Sweetheart, sweetheart," and I turn, +Half hoping thou art here. + +Alas! the sunlight floods the earth, +Yet all is dark to me; +The flowers may gaily bud and bloom, +The earth be fair to see; +And "sweetheart, sweetheart," evermore +The mocking-bird may sing, +But in a fairer land thine eyes +Are opening to the spring. + +R.L. EATON. +_Morningside_. + + +~The Effigy.~ + +And so she smiles!--Nor frown nor pout +That look divine can put to rout. + +I would, my love, thou wert half +So constant as thy photograph! + +P.P.S. +_Parthenon_. + + +~Sotto Voce.~ + + Sing we of the summer, + Of the old, old days, + Of the reed songs and the murmur + Of the waterways. +Let thy song be merry, ever mine be sad; +Let thy sigh be airy, even ofttimes glad; +For then comes a sadness I cannot explain, +Like the deep-plunged echo of a sea's refrain; + And it dooms the sweetness + Of her winsome ways + To the dead completeness + Of the old, old days. + + Sing, Oh! then with joyance, + Thou, my mandolin; + Drown each dread annoyance + Deep, thy soul within; +Whisper ever lowly of her glad, true eyes; +Sing her name, love, slowly, thou can'st sympathize; +Teach my heart, my wilful heart, the faith of peace, +Promising her constancy with time's increase. + Bar, Oh! break the sadness + Of the doubter's sin; + Sing eternal gladness, + Thou, my mandolin. + +HAROLD MARTIN BOWMAN. +_Inlander_. + + +~On Tying Daphne's Shoe.~ + +Tying her shoe, I knelt at Daphne's feet; +My fumbling fingers found such service sweet, +And lingered o'er the task till, when I rose, +Cupid had bound me captive in her bows. + +J. STUART BRYAN. +_Virginia University Magazine_. + + +II. COMEDY + + +~Chappie's Lament.~ + +I walked one day with Phyllith +Ovah in Bothton town, +I in me long Pwinth Albert, +She in a new Worth gown, + +I talked that day with Phyllith, +Ovah in Bothton town, +Of things intenth and thoulful, +Begged her me love to cwown. + +I pawted that day fwom Phyllith +Ovah in Bothton town; +She'd be a bwothah to me, she said, +But wouldn't be Mitheth Bwown. + +FERRIS GREENSLET. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~Marigold.~ + +I love confinement in thy bonds, +I love thy little stock to hold, + Thy very scent, + Aye, marigold! + +I'll love confinement of thy bonds, +I'll love thy little stocks to hold, + Thy every cent, + _I_ marry gold! + +HENRY SAFFORD CANDEE. +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~An Idyl of the Strap.~ + +She spoke to me, her voice was low + And sweet, +With hidden thought I could not know + Replete. +She cast on me a lingering look +That all my inmost being shook, +And, as our glances mixed, she took + My seat. + +_Red and Blue._ + + +~The Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous.~ + +AN ARABIAN LEGEND. + +_Translated from the Arabic._ + +Far off in the waste of desert sand, +The Jim-jam rules in the Jou-jou land: +He sits on a throne of red-hot rocks, +And moccasin snakes are his curling locks; +And the Jou-jous have the conniption fits +In the far-off land where the Jim-jam sits-- +If things are nowadays as things were then. +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +The country's so dry in Jou-jou land +You could wet it down with Sahara sand, +And over its boundaries the air +Is hotter than 'tis--no matter where: +A camel drops down completely tanned +When he crosses the line into Jou-jou land-- +If things are nowadays as things were then. +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +A traveller once got stuck in the sand +On the fiery edge of Jou-jou land; +The Jou-jous they confiscated him, +And the Jim-jam tore him limb from limb; +But, dying, he said: "If eaten I am, +I'll disagree with this Dam-jim-jam! +He'll think his stomach's a Hoodoo's den!" +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +Then the Jim-jam felt so bad inside, +It just about humbled his royal pride. +He decided to physic himself with sand, +And throw up his job in the Jou-jou land. +He descended his throne of red-hot rocks, +And hired a barber to cut his locks: +The barber died of the got-'em-again, +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +And now let every good Mussulman +Get all the good from this tale he can. +If you wander off on a Jamboree, +Across the stretch of the desert sea, +Look out that right at the height of your booze +You don't get caught by the Jou-jou-jous! +You may, for the Jim-jam's at it again. +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +ALARIC BERTRAND START. +_Tuftonian_. + + +~Love up to Date.~ + +I know she loves me, though with scorn + She treats my adoration; +I know she loves me, though my suit + She checks with strong negation. + +And this I know, with proof as sure + As though her lips had said it: +Her heart I have before my eyes, + And there I've plainly read it. + +For cathode rays have stolen through + This maiden so deceiving; +And thus her heart I've photographed, + And seeing is believing. + +S. L. HOWARD. +_The Tech._ + + +~Miss Milly O'Naire.~ + +She is not young and fair, +Nor has she golden hair, +Nor a dimple in each cheek, +If that is what you seek; +Hers is a gift more rare, + Miss Milly O'Naire. + +She has not laughing eyes, +Blue as the summer skies, +Nor lips of cherry red, +On kisses to be fed; +No, it's not for these I care, + Miss Milly O'Naire. + +She is not wondrous wise, +Seeks not for learning's prize. +'Tis true she knows no Greek, +And her English grammar's weak, +But why should I despair, + Miss Milly O'Naire. + +So woo and win her I will, +For there's my tailor's bill, + And creditors by the score; + But they'll trouble me no more, +For she has a million to spare, + Miss Millionaire. + +WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER. +_The Badger._ + + +~A Shy Little Maid.~ + +A love-lorn lad wooed a coy maid once, +All of a summer's day he plead; +Oft he spoke of the bonds of love--the dunce! +And she shyly shook her head. + +When from his heart hope had almost fled, +He spoke of bonds he had in town. +Still the shy little maiden shook her head-- +But she shook it _up and down_. + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~My Mistake.~ + +I met her on a Pullman car, + In section number nine; +Each eye shone like a morning star, + With radiance divine. +So when I placed my bags and traps + In section number ten, +She looked so tempting 'mid her wraps + I sought her face again. + +She glanced at me with roguish pose, + Yet innocent of guile, +Then colored like a blushing rose, + And tried to hide a smile; +The sweet confusion but enhanced + Her dainty tint of pink, +And quite by accident she chanced + The nearest eye to wink. + +When she refused my proffered card + With scorn and proud disdain, +I tried my best, and pleaded hard + My error to explain. +She listened to my mumblings crude, + Then tossed her nose on high; +"I think," she said, "you'd wink, if you'd + A cinder in your eye." + +E. P. G. +_The Tech._ + + +~Sic Semper.~ + +I sent her a spoon, + She is married to-day; +The wedding's at noon. +I sent her a spoon-- +And she loved me in June! + But that's always their way. +I sent her a spoon, +She is married to-day. + +WILL L. GRAVES. +_Makio_. + + +~A Modern Instance.~ + +Her little hand in his he took, +All hot and quivering it was; +And noted how her eyes did look +Bright as a lucent sapphire does. + +Within her dainty little wrist +Her pulse throbbed quick, as if her heart +Beat love's glad summons to be kissed, +Heart's first reveille since life's start, + +Her oval cheeks were flushed with rose; +Her red lips parted for such breath +As hot from tropic spice lands blows; +Enough 'twas to have warmed old Death! + +He gazed at her; he spoke--and she +Stuck out at him a small tongue's tip: +The family doctor old was he, +And she--he said she had _la grippe_. + +_Red and Blue_. + + +~The Echo from the 17th.~ + +Who builds de railroads and canals, + But furriners? +Who helps across de street de gals, + But furriners? + +Who in de caucus has der say, +Who does de votin' 'lection day, +And who discovered U.S.A., + But furriners? + +FRANK TOURTELLOT EASTON. +_Brunonian_. + + +~Ballade of Laura's Fan.~ + +It was never imported from France + With a dainty Parisian frou-frou, +Nor upon it do bull-fighters prance, + As only the Spaniards can do. +It was stencilled by no one knows who, + Yet _I'd_ give all my coupons and rents +For that one precious keepsake from you-- + The fan that cost $0.63. + +On the staircase we sat out a dance, + Or twenty, for all that I knew; +At times on the bliss of my trance + The breath of the roses stole through. +But redder than rose-petals grew + Your cheeks, at my swift compliments; +So the softest of breezes it blew-- + The fan that cost $0.63. + +It all seemed like a fairy romance, + Below us the laughter and mu- +Sic, while now and again, such a glance + As is given on earth but to few +From the depths of your eyes, fond and true, + Set me dreaming of all their contents, +Till I woke,--something hid them, from view,-- + The fan that cost $0.63! + +ENVOY. + +My queen, for your favor I sue; + If your heart through my pleading relents, +To your feelings pray send me one clue-- + The fan that cost $0.63. + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Apparent.~ + +When I questioned young Smithson, a short time ago, + Why no longer he courted Miss B., +He looked at me strangely, and smiled just a bit-- + "The reason's a parent!" cried he. + +ALBERT ELLSWORTH THOMAS. +_Brunonian_. + + +~The Call of Duty.~ + +At early morn, a valiant knight, +On prancing charger, richly dight, +With helm and lance and armor bright, + Rose from his lordly halls: +"Now, in this region, round about, +There dwell three outlaws, strong and stout: +If luck be mine, I'll find them out! + For duty calls." + +Friday, at three, another knight +(Knowing that ladies all delight +In music), shod with patents bright, + Steers clear of Music Halls: +"In Boston's Back Bay, round about, +There dwell three matrons, plain and stout: +If luck be mine, I'll find them out-- + For 'duty calls.'" + +R. C. ROBBINS. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~A Paradox.~ + +'Tis a curious fact, but a fact very old; +You can keep a fire hot by keeping it coaled. + +HERBERT ERNEST DAY. +_Brunonian_. + + +~St. Valentine's Eve.~ + +HE. + +"I will write little Ethel some verses, + The love that I bear her to tell; +I've no money for tokens more costly, + I'm sure these will do quite as well. + +"How pleased she will be when she gets them! + What a sweet little note I'll receive +In acknowledgment of the verses + I sent her St. Valentine's eve." + +SHE. + +"What a miserable jumble of phrases! + What chaotic verse do I see! +I wonder what could have possessed him + To send these effusions to me! + +"Never mind, though, I'm sure they'll be useful, + And I think I know just about where." +So she took them, and twisted, and placed them + In the newly made curls of her hair. + +E.W. BURLINGAME. +_Yale Record_. + + +~Evidence.~ + +Of all the lines that volumes fill, + Since Aesop first his fables told, + The wisest is the proverb old, +That every Jack must have his Jill. + +But when the crowd that nightly fills + The down-town places, hillward goes, + To hear them sing, one would suppose +That every Jack had several gills. + +B.O.H. +_Cornell Magazine_. + + +~The Widow's Mite.~ + +She was a widow stern and spry, + And brimming with lots of fight; +She married a little man five feet high, + And he died from the widow's might. + +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Lines to Her.~ + +There are other fellows nearer,-- + And some of them are dearer,-- +Of those sad thoughts my heart has + not + a + doubt. + +But I want to get in line +With my little Valentine, + So's not to let those fellows + cut + me + out. + +CHARLES FLOYD McCLURE. +_Wisconsin Aegis_. + + +~A Sensible Serenade.~ + +I sing beneath your lattice, love, + A serenade in praise of you; +The moon is getting rather high, + My voice is, too, my voice is, too. + +The lakelet in deep shadow lies, + Where frogs make much hullabaloo, +I think they sing a trifle hoarse, + And I do, too, and I do, too. + +The blossoms on the pumpkin vine + Are weeping diamond tears of dew; +'Tis warm, the flowers are wilting fast, + My linen, too, my linen, too. + +All motionless the cedars stand, + With silent moonbeams glancing through, +The very air is drowsy, love, + And I am, too, and I am, too. + +Oh, could I soar on loving wings, + And at your window gently woo! +But then your lattice you would bolt, + So I'll bolt, too, so I'll bolt, too. + +L.M.L. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Love's Secret.~ + +Well I know she is not handsome, + She can neither sing nor dance, +But I strangely am attracted + By each careless nod and glance + Of my Madeline. + +Quite a philanthropic feeling + Is my love, so true and rare, +For she's burdened with great riches; + In which burden I would share + With my Madeline. + +From such heavy care to shield her, + Each and every purpose tends. +I will help to clip the coupons, + And I'll draw the dividends + Of my Madeline. + + +ROBERT PECK BATES. +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~Pity 'tis, 'tis True.~ + +I sat me down at leisure; +The ready waiter flew, +My order took suavely, +And shouted, "_Oyster stew_!" + +The steaming dish was waiting, +The ready waiter flew, +Then, rose I up in anger, +And left,--'twas "oysters two!" + +HERBERT WELCH. +_Wesleyan Argus._ + + +~Broken Chains.~ + +He was tired of being shackled; + She was faithless, that was plain; +So his lawyer filed the papers, + And the papers filed his chain. + +EUGENE A. COX. +_Vanderbilt Observer._ + + +~Gory Gambols.~ + +I love my adversary's leg to kick, + To frisk upon his features with my feet, +Or bunt him in the stomach till he's sick-- + All this is sweet. + +I smile to hear his collar bone collapse, + Accompanied by his expiring screech; +To crack his ribs is happiness, perhaps, + Beyond all reach. + +I laugh aloud when, in the scrimmage wild, + I smash the thigh bone of some lusty boy, +And see him borne off, helpless as a child-- + That, that is joy. + +My sturdy heel into his spine I jam, + To beat his mouth until he pouts at fate, +To punch him sternly in the diaphragm + Is rapture great. + +Than to perceive his manly blood run red + No greater joy can unto me be given; +But at one kick to kick him down stone-dead-- + That, that is heaven, + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~The Man without a Country.~ + +The "man without a country" was in such a sorry plight, +There wasn't any place on land where he might pass the night, +But if you'd like to see a man as badly off as he, +Who hasn't any place at all to stay on land or sea, +Who has no spot he may enjoy to any great extent, +Just wait until you see some time the man without a cent. + +H.F.H. +_Amherst Literary Monthly_. + + +~She Shook Her Head.~ + +"May I kiss you, dear," a youth once cried, + Although scarce hoping what he said; +But the maiden turned away her eyes + And slowly, sadly, shook her head. + +"But would you mind," he still went on, + "Now would you really care," he said, +"If I should kiss you?" and again + She turned aside--and shook her head. + +J.P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record._ + + +~Priscilla.~ + +Priscilla in the garret loft + +Of rare old silks and velvets soft +A heap espying,-- +Forgotten hues of a by-gone day!-- +The little maid in deft array +Carefully folds and lays away +With envious sighing. + +Did they some rustic beauty grace, +A comely form and winsome face. +With footsteps flying? +Or does she sigh because a bride +They once adorned; now cast aside, +Left in the garret there to hide, +The dust defying? + +Perchance her great-grandmother wore +Them hundred years ago and more-- +Priscilla's crying! +"Come little maid, why this despair? +What makes those big tears standing there?" +"Ah, sir! because they will not bear +Another dyeing." + +_Yale Record_. + + +~Hard to Beat.~ + +Last night I held a little hand + So dainty and so neat, +Methought my heart would burst with joy, + So wildly did it beat. +No other hand into my soul + Could greater solace bring, +Than that I held last night, which was + Four aces and a king. + +WILLIAM A. THOMPSON. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +[Illustration: "THAT SWEET GIRL GRADUATE."] + + +~That Sweet Girl Graduate.~ + +So stately and so dignified + She looks in cap and gown, +I hardly dare to speak to her, + This grad. of great renown. + +I scarcely can believe my eyes! + It surely can't be she +Who always seemed so very shy, + So very coy to me! + +But suddenly the spell departs, + And I give thanks to Fate; +For anxiously she asks me if + Her mortar-board's on straight. + +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Faint Heart.~ + +My lady fair +Her golden hair +Lets fall a-down her shoulder. +I'd steal a tress,-- +She's no redress,-- +Were I a little bolder. + +From her sweet lip +A bee might sip, +Sweeter than rose-leaf's savor. +A kiss I'd take,-- +No cry she'd make,-- +Were I a little braver. + +Her neat, trim waist +Just suits my taste; +Close in my arms I'd fold her, +And clasp her tight,-- +She'd feel no fright,-- +Were I a little bolder. + +She's waiting now +'Till I find how +To ask of her a favor. +She'll be my wife,-- +I'd stake my life,-- +When I'm a little braver. + +HARLAN COLBY PEARSON. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Spring Lament.~ + +The spring is come; warm breezes blow; +It doesn't make me happy, tho';-- +For seasons' changes only bring +To me the pain of ordering +Another suit. Style changes so! + +This hat I'll hardly dare to show +Near "Easter bonnets;" it's too low; +I fear I must be purchasing; +The spring is come. + +I'm glad to have the winter go; +I don't like ice, I don't like snow. +Green fields, bright flowers, and birds to sing, +Of course I like that sort of thing; +But still--it makes me blue to know +The spring is come. + +LOUIS JONES MAGEE. +_Wesleyan Argus_. + + +~A Street-Car Romance.~ + +I write to offer you my heart, +O maiden, whom I do not know. +Pray do not think me premature +In making known my feelings so, +For I have loved you steadfastly, +O damsel of the unknown name, +And all last night and half to-day +My passion has been in a flame. + +'Twas not your face, though that is fair, +Nor yet your voice bewitched me so: +(I heard you ask the motor-man +How long before the car would go.) +I saw you on the car that went +From Harvard Square on Tuesday noon; +I don't believe that you saw me, +For you were reading the _Lampoon_. + +And this is why I write to you: +To say that I am wholly thine, +I love you, for that first-page joke,-- +The one you laughed at,--_that was mine._ + +W. AMES. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Applied Mathematics.~ + +"My daughter," and his voice was stern, + "You must set this matter right; +What time did the Sophomore leave, + Who sent in his card last night?" + +"His work was pressing, father dear, + And his love for it was great; +He took his leave and went away + Before a quarter of eight." + +Then a twinkle came to her bright blue eye, + And her dimple deeper grew. +"'Tis surely no sin to tell him that, + For a quarter of eight is two." + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~The District Telegraph Boy.~ + +Hear the clatter of those feet; +See him coming up the street + On the trot! +He is going to the Greens; +No, he's going to the Dean's, + Is he not? + +See the uniform of blue, +And the shiny letters, too, + On his cap. +I imagine he is quite +An intelligent and bright + Little chap. + +What a careless tune he hums, +And how innocently comes + Hurrying. +Ah, how little does he know +Of the happiness or woe + He can bring! + +Now he brings a hopeless sigh. +Now a sparkle to the eye, + Now a tear. +More of griefs, I think, than joys-- +Why! the fateful little boy's + Coming here! + +Goodness, how he pulls the bell! +He has some bad news to tell, + I'm afraid. +Oh, I hope it's not for me! +Alice, sign for it, and see + If it's paid. + +It is surely not from Will, +For his morning smoke is still + In the air. +Has poor uncle breathed his last? +Has his weary spirit passed + From all care? + +Then poor auntie is bereft, +And that sunny home is left + Fatherless. +Or old cousin Ed and May +'Ve gone and had another ba- + By, I guess. + +What if John has lost, poor man, +Little Clementine or Nan, + Or his wife! +Oh, the hopefulness, the fears! +Oh, the rapture! Oh, the tears! + Of this life! + +I don't like the thing a bit; +I don't dare to open it; + How I shake! +Why, It's from that man of mine: +"_Will bring partner home to dine; + Get a steak."_ + +LOUIS JONES MAGEE. +_Wesleyan Argus_. + + +~Relapse.~ + +I study Evolution, +And hear the teacher tell +How we have all developed +From an isolated cell; +And in the examination +Some fellows make it plain +Their principles will bring them +To the starting-point again. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~Yale, A.D. 2000.~ + +Far from the ball-room's crowded throng +These two had strolled apart, +While he with fervor whispered of +Her image in his heart. + +And that he might detain it there +Forever from that day, +Our Co-ed shyly gave to him +A Yale lock long and gray. + +_Yale Record_. + + +~In Maiden Meditation.~ + +"Were I a man," quoth Mistress Jane, +"Ah, would I were!--I'd drink champagne + And smoke--be dashing in my dress-- + And let my roving eyes express +A love I never entertain. + +"With rose lips near, I'd not refrain +From kissing. I would e'er maintain + That woman's 'No' is often 'Yes,' + Were I a man. + +"Yet while I muse, it seems quite plain +That as I am I can't complain, + For Tom and Jack--they both confess-- + Adore me. So I rather guess +I'd wish I were a girl again, + Were I a man!" + +W.C. NICHOLS. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~"Three's a Crowd."~ + +Crisp and hard lay the snow beneath, +The frosty air made young blood tingle. +As we glided over the polished road +To the sleigh-bells' merriest jingle. + +We were warmly wrapped to our chins in rugs, +Fur-proof against winter's biting weather, +There was room in the sleigh for only two, +But--three of us sleighed together. + +The moon from the clear, cold sky above +Flooded the snow with a golden glory, +And I whispered--for how could I refrain?-- +The old, old, world-famous story. + +Must have seemed quite a crowd, you say, +With three in the sleigh? Well you _are_ stupid! +Three's a pleastanter company far, than two, +When the person who crowds you is Cupid! + +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~On Bills.~ + +At the first of the month I grow morbid and sad; +As I gaze on that pile I believe +In the saying that never was potent before-- +"'Tis more blessed to give than receive." + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~A Senior's Plea.~ + +"Dear Father: Once you said, 'My son, +To manhood you have grown; +Make others trust you, trust yourself, +And learn to stand alone!' + +"Now, father, soon I graduate, +And those who long have shown +How well they trust me, want their pay, +And I can stand a loan." + +JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD. +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~After the Game.~ + +They played at cards on the yellow sand. + When the fields and the trees were green, +She thought that the trump was in her hand, + He thought that he held the queen. +But winter has come, and they both have strayed + Away from the throbbing wave-- +He finds 'twas only the deuce she played, + She finds that he played the knave. + +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Old Days.~ + +Sing a song of old days, +Old days and true, +True days and bold days, +Deeds to dare and do. + +Quarter-staff and buckles +Trip, turn and tread-- +Tapped upon the knuckles, +Rapped upon the head. + +Pouch and pocket-fillings, +Knavery and worse-- +Oh, the crowns and shillings +In the miser's purse! + +Tumbled into limbo, +Picking thro' the locks, +Fast with arms akimbo, +Stewing in the stocks. + +Pretty maids a-laughing-- +Here's to rosy lips, +Port and sherry quaffing +While the pottle drips. + +Quaffing port and sherry, + Jolly roaring blades, +Making gay and merry + With the giddy maids. + +Red blood and revel, + Murder, love, and fraud,-- +Dancing to the devil, + Laughing to the Lord. + +Bright gold and yellow, + Meek maids and bold, +Old wine and mellow-- + Wine and maids and gold. + +Light life and long life, + Brisk life and brave; +Strong life and wrong life, + Great to the grave. + +Sing a song of old days, + Sing them back again; +Kill the canny, cold days, + Let us live like men. + +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~A Reward of Merit.~ + +The father asked: "How have you done +In mastering ancient lore?" +"I did so well," replied the son, +"They gave me an encore; +The Faculty like me and hold me so dear, +They make me repeat my Freshman year." + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~A Fin de Siecle Girl.~ + +She studies Henrik Ibsen "to cultivate her mind," +And reads Shakespeare and Browning through and through; +Meanwhile she knits her brows--it is the only kind +Of fancy work this modern maid can do. + +_Concordiensis_. + + +~Her Reason.~ + +Once a learned Boston maiden + Was besought for one sweet kiss; +"Only one," he softly pleaded, + But the maid's reply was this: + +"I am quite surprised you ask it, + When you know physicians say +That for spreading dire contagion + Kissing is the surest way. + +"Though I own that what you ask me + Would be pure, unbounded bliss, +Yet, from hygienic reasons, + I cannot allow a kiss." + +JAMES P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record_. + + +~The Cruel Maid.~ + +One summer night, in twilight dim, +A fellow wooed a maiden prim. +Around her waist, with, some alarm, +The naughty man had put his arm. + +Her dimpled hand he stroked awhile, +Then murmured low, with loving smile, +"Could e'er so soft a thing be found, +If all the world were searched around?" + +With laughing eyes and flaming cheeks, +The maid replied, "'Tis just two weeks +Since I found out that you, my pet, +Have something that is softer yet!" + +"That I? I have? Oh, can it be? +You darling, now I _do_ love thee!" +Oh, Vanitas! No sooner said, +She put her hand upon his head. + +A. BRADLEY. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~A Football Tragedy.~ + +She clung to him, the game was o'er. + Content was in her soul; +"Dear heart, I'm very happy now + That you have come back whole." + +With gentle hand he smoothed her curls, + And tried to keep a laugh back; +"My dear, your joy is premature, + For I am only _half-back_." + +_University of Chicago Weekly_. + + +~It Was.~ + +He seized her in the dark and kissed her, +And for a moment bliss was his; +"Oh, my! I thought it was my sister!" +He cried. She laughed and said, "It is." + +_Yale Record_. + + +~A Summer Campaign.~ + +I've travelled from the coast of Maine +To Jersey's balmy shore. +Nor have my efforts been in vain, +For maids I've won galore. + +In mountain climbs I spent my breath, +On lakes and rivers, too; +I flirted here with coy Beth, +And there with lovely Sue. + +No tournament, no sail, nor hop, +Without me was complete; +Nor from love-making did I stop, +Till all were at my feet. + +The summer's gone upon the run, +Maids utter sighs in billows; +I've broken sixteen hearts and won +Just sixteen sofa pillows. + +J. H. SCRANTON. +_Yale Record_. + + +~From June to June.~ + +Two lovers 'mong the weedy brake + Were rowing--happy pair! +They drifted far upon the lake + To get the sun and air. + +A year has fled. Again they float; + But one is now the pair, +And three are riding in the boat-- + They bring their _son_ and _heir_. + +NORMAN STAUNTON DIKE. +_Brunonian_. + + +~At the North Avenue Fire.~ + +The boy stood in the burning block, +Whence all but him had fled; +He smashed the china on a rock, +But saved the feather bed. + +A.M. WHITE, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~I Love my Love.~ + +Every one thinks some face fairer + Than all others in the land, +Thinks this one alone is perfect, + Vows to her his heart and hand. + +Then he sings in loudest praises + Of her wealth of golden hair, +Of her lips like ripest cherries, + She alone divinely fair. + +But there's one that's quite forgotten, + One whose charms they fail to see; +Yet in my abject devotion + Fairest of the fair is she. + +There's not one half so entrancing + Or so makes my poor heart thrill-- +It is Martha Washington's picture + On a bright one dollar bill. + +J. P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record_. + + +~The Diva.~ + +Gone are her bird-notes, thin she sings, and flat, +Enough to craze Concone or Scarlatti. +Where once she made our hearts go pit-a-pat, +To-day, alas, they only pity Patti. + +S.F. BATCHELDER. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +Mathematical. + +In Vassar's halls a tutor young, +'Tis said, once met his fate; +He taught her in the Calculus +To differentiate. + +They're married now--at meal-times oft +Discord invades their state; +For he has found that she with him +Would differ when she ate. + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~She Still Wins.~ + +He had worn a colored blazer on the Nile; +He had sported spats in Persia just for style; + With a necktie quite too utter, + In the streets of old Calcutta, +He had stirred up quite a flutter for a while. + +The maids of Java flocked before his door, +Attracted by the trousers that he wore; + While his vest, a bosom-venter, + Shook Formosa to the centre, +And they hailed him as a mentor by the score. + +On his own ground as a masher, on the street +He outdid a Turkish Pasha, who stood treat; + He gave Shanghai girls the jumps, + And their cheeks stuck out like mumps +At the patent-leather pumps upon his feet. + +But he called upon a Boston girl one night, +With a necktie ready-made, which wasn't right; + And she looked at him, this maid did, + And he faded, and he faded, +And he faded, and he faded out of sight. + +_The Tech_. + + +~Her Present.~ + +He had hinted at diamonds, a fan by Watteau, +A fine water spaniel,--so great was his zeal,-- +A chatelaine watch, or a full set of Poe, +And then at the end sent a padded _Lucile_. + +F. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~On the Weather.~ + +The sultry stillness of a summer's day +Oppresses every sense. The droning bees +Alone the silence break, and restless play +The shadows of the gently swaying trees. + +The very ripples in the stream are still, +Save now and then a low and gentle swash, +All which doth try me sore against my will-- +So hot! And all my ducks are in the wash. + +FERRIS GREENSLET. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~Tom's Philosophy.~ + +The bridges mingle with the river, +And the river with the ocean; +The lights of Boston mix forever +With a jagged motion; +Not a lamp-post near looks single; +All things, when in town I dine, +With weird, uncanny phantoms mingle, +Why not I with wine? + +See the house-tops fall from heaven! +And that chimney hit the other-- +A college man would be forgiven +If home he'd help a brother. +Is it the sun that shines on earth, +Or moonbeams that I see? +What are all my struggles worth, +Since I've lost my key? + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Fashion's Folly.~ + +I knew a maiden fair and sweet, + Whom I had loved for years. +At last one day I told her this, + Although with many fears. + +At first she did not say a word, + Then in a pleasant way +She looked out to the west, and said: + "It _is_ a pleasant day." + +She had not heard a single word, + She's told me since with tears; +She wore her hair, as some girls will, + Down over both her ears. + +S.W. CHAMBERLAIN. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~Christmas in Chicago.~ + +The girl from Chicago arose sharp at eight, +As her maid on the door was knocking; +She found a piano, a desk, and a slate +Concealed in the toe of her stocking. + +A. M. WHITE, JR. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~A Discovery in Biology.~ + +I think I know what Cupid is: + _Bacteria Amoris;_ +And when he's fairly at his work, + He causes _dolor cordis_. +So, if you'd like, for this disease, + A remedy specific, +Prepare an antitoxine, please, + By methods scientific. +Inoculate another heart + With germs of this affection, +Apply this culture to your own, + 'Twill heal you to perfection. + +MARY E. LEVERETT. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~Logic.~ + +Say, does Fact or Reason err, +And, if they both err, which the more? +The man of smallest calibre +Is sure to be the greatest bore. + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~A Flirtation on the Cars.~ + +I did not even know her name, +Nor where she lived, nor whence she came-- +'Twas sad, and yet +Was I so very much to blame, +That all my heart should start to flame, +And flare and fret? + +She was so sweet, so passing fair, +With such a smile, with such an air-- +What could I do? +A glance as shy, as debonair, +An eye as bright, a smile as rare, +I never knew! + +And so I smiled across the aisle, +And met the winsome, merry smile +She sent so bold; +At last she laughed, then after while +She cooed aloud in friendly style, +"_I'm_ free years old!" + +_University of Chicago Weekly_. + + +~Has It Come to This?~ + +A youth, with shining locks of gold, + And eyes than summer skies more blue, +With plaintive voice and modest mien, + Went forth to greet his sweetheart true. + +And sang, in accents sweet and low, + Beneath, her window (so says rumor), +"Than others art thou fairer far, + Du bist wie eine _bloomer_." + +MARIE REIMER. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~And the Hammock Swung On.~ + +"A is the maid of winning charm; +B is the snug, encircling arm; +How many times is A in B?" +He questioned calculatively. +She flushed, and said, with air sedate, +"It's not quite clear; please demonstrate." + +HAMILTON GREY. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly_. + + +~The Critic.~ + +"Are _you_ a LAMPOON man? Not really! + Oh, dear, though, I know you must be! +That's why you've been smiling so queerly-- + My goodness, you're studying _me_! +Now, _what_ have I said that is funny? + And oh, _will_ you publish it soon?" +'Tis thus, with a voice sweet as honey, + She mentions the HARVARD LAMPOON. + +"Indeed, yes, I see it quite often, + The pictures are _simply_ inane; +The verses and jokes--they would soften + An average Vassar girl's brain. +Of course they are killingly comic; + I laugh, but I feel like a _loon_!" +And thus, with a fierceness atomic, + She censures the HARVARD LAMPOON. + +"But then they are _bright_, I don't doubt them, + And _very_ artistic, _of course_! +Outsiders don't know all about them, + You have to explain the--the--'_horse_.' +Do send me that sweet book of 'pickings,' + I hear you will publish in June." +And thus she gives over her flickings, + And praises the HARVARD LAMPOON. + +S.F. BATCHELDER. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Her Leghorn Hat.~ + +Her leghorn hat has rows on rows + Of ribbon, tied with charming bows. + The crown is wreathed in dainty green, + And from their leaves there peep between +Some rosebuds white as winter snows. + +The brim's so large, whene'er it blows, +Her face is hid from friends and foes, + As all must know who once have seen + Her leghorn hat. + +I wonder why it droops and flows +About her face; howe'er she pose, + It always serves her as a screen; + I cannot guess, and yet I ween +It keeps the freckles from her nose, + Her leghorn hat. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~Equivocal.~ + +On the wealthy Larica's worn features I wrote +In rhyme some extravagant praise. +The verses were spurned (and I'm in the same boat), +For I called them "Some _Lines_ on Her Face." + +BEN JOHNSON. +_Brunonian_. + + +~A Problem.~ + +My love's face is exceeding fair, + With eyes like jewels bright; +Above, a wealth of flowing hair, + A golden crown of light. + +With smiles more radiant than the sun, + My love frees me from care, +And yet, when all is said and done, + I'm driven, to despair. + +And if the reason you'd seek out + Why I should mournful be, +I'll tell you that I'm filled with doubt + Which girl is meant for me. + +And yet I love but one sweet face,-- + Oh, happy he who wins,-- +But I, I'm in an awkward place, + My love, you see, is twins. + +G.P. DAY. +_Yale Record_. + + +~The Outward Shows.~ + +She was the _première danseuse_ of the ballet, +And she tripped the light fantastic like a fay; + She was so sweet and cunning, + And withal so very stunning, +That I was bound to meet her right away. + +I went behind the scenes after the play, +And imagine my surprise as well you may: + This maid so sweet and cunning, + And withal so very stunning, +I'll swear that she was forty if a day. + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~"As Ye Sow."~ + +"What awful debts are these, my son? + Not one cent more, forsooth! +I never was a rake like you + In the hey-day of my youth." + +"Quite right you are," the sport replied; + "And yet you twist the truth, +For once you used to rake the fields + In the hay-day of your youth." + +J. J. MACK, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~On Afric's Golden Sands.~ + +A wild and warlike Zulu chief + Was he; +His costume was as brief as brief + Could be. +He vowed that he would woo and win + A maid, +But she skipped out and left him in + The shade. +At first she liked him; this was how + She ceased-- +He simply _wouldn't_ wear his trou- + Sers creased. + +_University Herald._ + + +~Two Simple Little Ostriches.~ + +Now we can talk. Thank goodness, that old bore +Who took me out is talking business o'er +With some one else. The roses were so sweet, +You reckless fellow. It's such fun to meet +Like ordinary friends, while no one knows +Our precious secret. Do you like my clothes? +They're new. You dear! I'm really looking well? +Why don't you like the sleeves? They're very swell. +"They're more offensive than my buzz-saw hat?" +What do you mean? O Jack! How simply flat! +They sha'n't keep you away, dear. Now take care! +No, keep your hands at home. _You've seen the Fair, +Of course?_ They're listening, Jack. Do try to talk. +_I'm glad they didn't have it in New York, +Aren't you? Two weeks of it was quite enough. +The Ferris Wheel._ You wretch! 'Twas rather rough +To make me do it at all, while you sat back +And howled at me. When we are married, Jack,-- +O dearest, please be careful! They will guess, +If you don't look less interested. Yes, yes, +You know I do. Oh, dearly. By and by +I'll give you three. Well, four. _Will Congress try +To introduce new silver laws?_ Don't laugh! +_I wish they could do something in behalf +Of all the hungry people out of work_. +You make me do it all, you wretched shirk. +Now I must leave you, dearest. Au revoir! +Don't stay forever over your cigar. + +(THEIR VIS-A-VIS.) + +It's not announced, but then we know it's on. +It's simply low--another good man gone! + +JULIET W. TOMPKINS. +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~Continuity and Differentiation.~ + +Whenever in America + A girl is asked to wed, +She straightway says, "Go ask papa," + And coyly droops her head. + +And over in the Fatherland, + Where flows the terraced Rhine, +She whispers, while he clasps her hand, + "Ich liebe dich allein." + +But up in Russia, where the snow + Sweeps hissing thro' the firs, +She simply murmurs soft and low, + "Bhjushkst zwmstk rstk pbjunsk pjbrs." + +_University Herald_. + + +~Deception.~ + +Among her curls with wanton glee +The breezes play caressingly, + Catch up stray locks with cunning grace, + And as she turns aside her face, +Blow them about provokingly. + +Then with a smile that's fair to see +She tries, and most coquettishly, + To stop the breeze's merry race + Among her curls. + +But all in vain, for now one wee +Small lock escapes, and is still free. + And as I peer beneath the lace + I see, stowed snugly in its place, +A tiny switch put secretly + Among her curls. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~George Birthington's Washday.~ + +There was a famous washing day, its action near the Hub; +A nation's raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub. +Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay! +I'll sing of good George Birthington on this, his washing day. + +"The time is come," said Birthington, "when wash we really must, +For, see our country's garments, how they're trampled in the dust; +And Liberty's bright tunic is so sadly soiled, I ween, +That nothing but a washing day will make it bright and clean." + +The morning dawned, the washers came, the washing was begun; +The steam rose high, nor ceased to rise till cleanliness was won. +And now, though good George Birthington is gone to his repose, +The grateful country still recalls how well he washed her clothes. + +FLORENCE E. HOMES. +_Wellesly Lyrics._ + + +~The Freshman's Vacation.~ + +He had fished in the Aroostook, +And he'd trolled in the Walloostook, +And he'd angled in the Mattawamkeag, +He had hunted Lake Umbagog, +And spent weeks on Memphremagog, +For he'd sworn to bring the fish home by the bag. + +All too soon the summer ended, +And his homeward way he wended, +And he left his tent within the shady vale; +But before he reached New Lyddom, +He took all his fish and hid 'em +In an envelope and sent them home by mail. + +_University Herald_. + + +~A Rondel.~ + +"I'd draw the knot as tight as man can draw, +And firm I'd make it fast by every law; +Dearest, you need not speak your fond consent, +Your paleness and your blush so finely blent," +He gently said; "tell me my happy lot: + I'd draw the knot." + +But ere he could the eager phrase repeat,-- +The phrase his manly fancy found so sweet,-- +The modest maiden toward him turned her face: +Her eyes met his a moment's rapturous space,-- +She spoke, her firm glance faltering scarce a jot, + "I'd rather not." + +J.J. MACK, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~The Ladye of the Lab.~ + +He fareth in a joyous wise +Where runs the road 'neath gentle skies-- +How should his canine heart surmise +That where the red-roofed towers rise + The blood is red upon the slab? +His way is warm with sunlight yet, +He knoweth not the sun must set; +And he hath in the roadway met + The Ladye of the Lab. + +How should he read her face aright? +Upon her brow the hair is bright, +Within her eyes a tender light, +Her luring hands are lily-white, + Tho' blood be red upon the slab; +Her calling voice is siren-sweet,-- +He crouches fawning at her feet,-- +It is a fatal thing to meet + The Ladye of the Lab! + +And she hath ta'en him with a string +To where the linnets never sing, +Where stiff and still is everything, +And there a heart lies quivering + When blood is red upon the slab; +O little dog that wandered free! +And hath she done this thing to thee? +How may she work her will with me,-- + The Ladye of the Lab! + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover_. + + +~Our Wrongs.~ + +When girls are only babies, +Their mammas quite insist +That they by us-- +Against our wills-- +Be kissed--kissed--kissed. + +But when those girls +Are sweet eighteen, +Their mammas say we sha'n't, +And though we'd like to kiss them, +We can't--can't--can't. + +C.F.H. +_Williams Weekly_. + + +~A Snare and a Delusion.~ + +Between the trees a hammock swings + On the lawn, at twilight's glow; +Oh, what bliss sweet memory brings + Of the days of long ago! + +A dainty gown of spotless white, + Moulded to a faultless form, +Fashioned like a fairy sprite, + Riding on love's tidal storm. + +In the gloaming, dim discerning, + We can faintly see the book; +Softly stealing, with lore's yearning,-- + Gracious heaven! it's the cook! + +_Yale Record_. + + +~At the Junior Promenade.~ + +The stars were out and the moon was bright + At the Junior Promenade, +But all the glories of starlit night +Were bated before the splendid sight +Of that merry throng--and my lady in white, + At the Junior Promenade. + +Oh, she was tall and wondrous fair + At the Junior Promenade, +Her eyes were stars, and black was her hair, +Her cheeks shone red in the bright light's glare: +I worshiped her quite as I danced with her there, + At the Junior Promenade. + +She waltzed with the grace of a goddess divine + At the Junior Promenade. +I held her close, her hand in mine, +My cheek touched the strands of her hair so fine. +A perfume arose from her lips of wine, + At the junior Promenade. + +Such seeds of love in my heart were sown + At the Junior Promenade, +Till soon came the end--I was left alone, +And then found out--what I cannot disown-- +That I had made love to the chaperone + At the Junior Promenade. + +CAREY CULBERTSON. +_Syllabus_. + + +~El Dorado.~ + +'Twas a youthful would-be poet, + Gazing with enraptured air +Through the starlight, when a comrade + Found him standing silent there. + +"Don't disturb me," was his answer, + When addressed, "Oh, let me be! +I am filled with heavenly raptures, + For I see infinity! + +"Let me gaze until I'm sated, + For at last I've found a place, +Where there's absolutely nothing + Crowded out for want of space!" + +GRANT SHOWERMAN. +_Wisconsin Aegis_. + + +~The Conversion.~ + +She told him surely 'twas not right +To smoke a pipe from morn to night +"Indeed," cried he, "what would you, dear? +'Tis but to aid my thoughts of you." +"Why, then," she whispered, nestling near, +"Why, then, I love your old pipe, too." + +R. W. BERGENGREN. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Were It Only Now.~ + +I'm sitting musing in my room, + The snow is on the ground; +The moon has hid her face to-night, + And darkness is profound. +'Twas somewhat such a night as this, + A little darker, though, +I asked Bess to go sleighing, and + She said that she would go. + +But just as we were starting out, + Said she, "For just us two" +(A smile played round her mouth) "I think + It much too dark, don't you?" +I did not know their wiles as yet, + I was so young and slow; +But thought she really meant it, and + I stammered, "I--think--so." + +She cast at me a pitying glance, + Then in the house we went; +The balance of that evening was + In conversation spent. + + * * * * * + +Since then she's always been polite, + And cordial, too, you know; +But from that time I realize + I've never had a show. + +A. W. BELL. +_Yale Record_. + + +~Her Thanks.~ + +She thanked them all for everything, +From Christmas card to diamond ring; +And as her gifts she gaily flaunted, +She told her friends, "Just what I wanted." + +But I, who had no cash to blow, +Just kissed her 'neath the mistletoe. +She blushed a bit, yet never daunted, +Repeated low, "Just what I wanted." + +M.D. FOLLANSBEE. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~An Idyl.~ + +He stands before his glass in doubt; + His beard by night hath sprouted well. +He needs must scrape,--and yet without + He hears begin the lecture bell. +Too many times he's skipped the course-- + He fears its doors on him may shut: +His blade is dull. Now which is worse, + To cut and shave, or shave and cut? + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~"When?"~ + +When Harvard's crimson cohorts came + From classic Cambridge down, +And Eli's lovers of the game + Forsook their leafy town, +And met on neutral ground to claim + The football victor's crown, + +I carried Rose to see the sight, + The pageant's grand review; +We watched the struggling heroes fight, + The crimson and the blue; +The crowd was yelling with delight, + And fierce the contest grew. + +First Yale rose up, an azure sea, + And shouted through the din; +Then Harvard yelled triumphantly, + And each was sure to win, +When Rosa, smiling, said to me, +"When does the game begin?" + +E. A. BLOUNT, JR. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~An Unfortunate Phrase.~ + +He sent her twelve Jacqueminot roses, + All fragrant and blooming and fair, +That nestled so sweetly and shyly + 'Neath smilax and maidenhair. + +She sent him a letter to thank him, + On paper just tinted with blue-- +"The flowers are still very fresh, John, + When I see them I think of you." + +She posted her letter that morning, + He got it that evening at ten. +She can't understand what has changed him, + For he called on her never again. + +F.S. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Lines to a Monkey.~ + +(_After reading Darwin_.) + +It seems quite funny to reflect, +And yet what else could we expect + (If Darwin's true), +That my primeval grandmamma +And prehistoric grandpapa + Looked just like you. + +How any one could ever see +Relationship 'twixt you and me + I can't explain. +You're such an awkward little beast, +Your features are (to say the least) + So very plain. + +And since the rule's considered poor +That doesn't work both ways, I'm sure + As I can be, +That ages hence, if earth endures, +Some distant relative of yours + Will look like me. + +HENRY RUTGERS CONGER. +_Williams Literary Monthly_. + + +~Hymns Ancient And Modern.~ + +ANCIENT. + +Complexion like the winter snow, +Just tinted by the sunset glow, + Throat white as alabaster, +Teeth of pearl, and hair of gold, +And figure--sure in Venus's mould + Th' immortal gods have east her. + +And I am proud her slave to be, +And deem it high felicity + To die, if she should will it so. +Ye fates! to-night propitious be, +For I approach divinity: + My life depends on "Yes" or "No." + +MODERN. + +Stunning girl, + Out of sight. +Guess I'll pop + Tuesday night. +Bully shape, + Pretty eyes; +Papa's rich, + Quite a prize. + +Sure to have me, + Can't say no; +Lots of rocks-- + It's a go. + +R. L. RAYMOND. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Nightmare Of A Freshman Sign Swiper.~ + +He turned and tossed upon his bed, + Repose he could not find, +For all night long such things as these + Kept coursing through his mind. + +"Keep off the Grass," and "Beer on Draught," + "H-O," and "Pyle's Pearline;" +"Look out for paint," and "Use Pear's Soap," + Were signs which he had seen. + +And in the midst of all of these + A demon seemed to dance, +Who asked him with a fiendish grin, + "I say, 'Do you wear pants?'" + +W.D. FLAGG. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~What the Wild Waves Said.~ + +Do you hear the ocean moaning, + Ever moaning sad and low? +'Tis because that fat old bather + Stepped upon its undertow. + +_University Herald_. + + +~A Decision.~ + + As a maid so nice, + With step precise, + Tripped o'er the ice, +She slipped; her care in vain. + And at the fall, + With usual gall, + The schoolboys call, +"Third down; two feet to gain." + +ARTHUR LLEWELLYN ENO. +_Brunonian_. + + +~The Thorn that Guards.~ + +Far in the corner on the stairs, + We were sitting together, she and I; +The murmuring music was soft and low, + Like zephyrs that float 'neath a summer sky. + +She held in her fingers a deep red rose, + And was plucking the petals, one by one; +Her eyes were filled with the dreamy light + That softens the west when the day is done. + +"Ah, Mildred, you are a bud yourself; + Its blushing sweetness is wholly thine; +Cannot you let me press the flower, + And keep it forever, and call it mine?" + +The fair lips trembled, the dimples smiled, + Her eyes told clearly that I had lost; +But my heart still hoped, till she gently sighed, + "You forget what _American Beauties_ cost." + +T.G.P. +_Cornell Era_. + + +~A Kiss.~ + +"A kiss it is a poeme faire."--_Old Song._ + +A kiss is not like the poems at all + Which I drop through the editor's office door; +For I like it as well "returned with thanks," + As "accepted, with a request for more." + +L. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~The Modern Book.~ + +Extremely small or of giant size, + Bound in vellum or boards antique, +The pages of paper made by hand + With deckle edge and shape unique; +Margins four inches wide, at least, + And straggling o'er the page a line +Or two (no more), of beautiful print + In type advertised as "our own design." +You pay a price exorbitant + This cherished morsel to procure; +You get a gem of the bookman's art + And five cents' worth of literature. + +M.R. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~His Father Took Him Home.~ + +"I was always so poor in Greek," + _He played the guitar_, +"A 'dec' I never could speak," + _He won every race_, +"My Latin I have to 'horse,'" + _In football a star_, +"The German is 'cribbed' perforce." + _He played second base._ + +S.J.R. +_Madisonensis_. + + +~Beautiful Sprig.~ + +Sprig, sweet Sprig, is cobig; + For I feel it id the air, +See, the groud is gedtly thawig, + Bud ad slush are everywhere. + +Dow I doff by widter fladdels, + Ad I dod by subber close; +Thed for weeks ad weeks together + Vaidly try to blow by dose. + +J. P. WELSH. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +III. COLLEGE AND CAMPUS + + +~The Way of It.~ + +A little learning, scattered o'er +A frolic of four years or more. +Then--Presto, change!--and you create +The sober college graduate! + +_Yale Record_. + + +~Comfort.~ + +With pipe and book, an old armchair, +A glowing hearth, what need I care + For empty honors, wealth or fame? + Grant me but this: an honest name, +A cup of ale, a coat to wear, +And then, while smoke wreaths rift the air, +The banquet of the gods I share, + Content to sit before the flame + With pipe and book. + +Above the city's noisy glare, +Yet sweet, tho' humble, is my fare; + For changing not from praise to blame, + These faithful friends are still the same-- +No earthly comforts can compare + With pipe and book. + +CHARLES E. MERRILL, JR. +_Yale Courant_. + + +~O Hero.~ + +Out into the mud and the wet he goes, + My hero, tall and strong; +Under his jersey the muscle shows, +And, Samson-like, his dark hair grows + Delightfully thick and long. + +Out from his feet the black mud flies, + His jacket is far from white; +Bother these boys with their dapper ties, +Who come and compel me to turn my eyes + Away from a nobler sight! + +The hills are red with the western sun, + The twilight comes like a dream; +But until the practice work is done +I strain my eyes for his every run, + And I know he will make the team. + +I envy the fellow who keeps his cap, + With so little appreciation, +While I stroll back with a soft-tongued chap +Whose muscles I know aren't worth a rap, + And whose hair is an imitation. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover_. + + +~To the Faculty.~ + +You tell us in philosophy + That time does not exist, +That 'tis but a film of fancy, + A little mental mist. + +And space--why, space is nothing + More than mere mode of thought, +A sort of mental telescope + Our feeble minds have wrought. + +Well, if that's true, Respected Sirs, + I'll breakfast at my ease, +And think myself in chapel + Just as often as you please. + +H. K. WEBSTER. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly_. + + +~Her Answer.~ + +"Maud, take my heart!" cried Algernon. + (Maud goes to Barnard College.) +She said, "You know I'm wedded to + A noble search for knowledge. + +"I cannot take your heart, Al, but--" + He saw her eyes with pleasure beam-- +"I'm much obliged. You've given me + A subject for a daily theme." + +C.H. +_Columbia Literary Monthly_. + + +~"Give Me the Town."~ + +Give me the town; let others go +Where babbling streams of water flow, + Where soars the lark on daring wing + (I'd rather hear De Reszke sing), +And where sweet-scented breezes blow. + +I love to be where, to and fro, +Weary or eager, fast or slow, + The _human_ tide is eddying; + Give me the town. + +The balls, the theatres, the row, +Who would not find amusement so? + Here's where a man can have his fling, + Can drink the dregs of--everything. +Would you change this for Surrey? Oh, + Give me the town. + +MARY HELEN RITCHIE. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern_. + + +[Illustration: A BRYN MAWR GIRL.] + + +~I Flunked To-Day.~ + +I flunked to-day. "I'm not prepared," +Was all I said. Still less I cared. + No more I strive the depths to try, + Or drink the fount of wisdom dry; +Yet once at learning's court I fared; + +There with the best my work compared; +My weary brain was never spared. + But now,--some one could tell you why + I flunked to-day. + +As once to college I repaired, +A half-veiled glance my heart ensnared. + I felt my love (for knowledge) die; + And thus it was without a sigh + I flunked to-day. + +ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Ring from the Rim of the Glass, Boys.~ + +Ring from the rim of the glass, boys, + Ripples of tinkling tones; +Drink to the heyday of youth, boys, + Mindless of after-moans. + +Over the rim of the glass, boys, + Gaze into eyes that are bright. +Drink with each sip of the wine, boys, + Passionate gleams of delight. + +Sing to the rim of the glass, boys, + Chorus wherever we roam. +Drink in its sparkling-eyed depths, boys, + A love as light as its foam. + +Kiss the rim of the glass, boys, + Blind to its siren-gleam. +Drink in its shading depths, boys, + The wav'ring forms of a dream. + +Then ring from the rim of the glass, boys, + Ripples of tinkling tones. +Drink to the heyday of youth, boys, + Mindless of after-moans. + +JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. +_Brown Magazine_. + + +~Comforting Reflections of a Nonentity.~ + +I cannot boast of learning deep, + Nor can I much to art aspire; +My poetry loses me no sleep, + Nor oratory's burning fire. + +I do not row upon the crew, + Nor on th'eleven glory win; +I am not of the chosen few + Who sing or play the mandolin. + +I am not any social star, + But then--within my certain knowledge, +Like me, unknown to fame, there are + Some fifteen hundred men in college. + +S.M. WILLIAMS. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~When Witherspoon was President.~ + +Their manners had a formal cast + A century or more ago, +Their bow was suited, as they passed + To place in Academic row. + With "honored sir" and "humbly so," +Their speech was truly reverent-- + True learning did true grace bestow, +When Witherspoon was president. + +The clothes they wore would now be classed + At best as but a curio, +Huge buckles held their slippers fast-- + Low cut and pointed at the toe. + Gray powdered hair, small-clothes below, +A long blue coat fresh splendor lent-- + In sooth they made a goodly show +When Witherspoon was president. + +But when the trumpet's warring blast + Had knelled the fate that tyrants know, +They proved no laggards at the last, + And sprang to meet their country's foe. + Their master's words undying glow-- +"To slavery there's no consent, + My fame, my life is on the throw--" +When Witherspoon was president. + + Aye, manners, customs, clothes may flow, +Unchanging is such sentiment-- + We would have done as they, I trow, +When Witherspoon was president. + +DAVID POTTER. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~My Pipe is Out.~ + +My pipe is out; the hour is late, +And sitting lonely by the grate + Sweet thoughts that led their circling train + In puffs cerulean 'round my brain +Have flown, and left me to my fate. + +No more the form of lovely Kate +Floats in the smoke-rings I create; + And this the cause of all my pain, + My pipe is out. + +How can my pen the woes relate +That on these happy moments wait? + With eager eyes I look again + Within my empty pouch,--in vain! +So I must cease to meditate, + My pipe is out. + +HERBERT MULLER HOPKINS. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~At the Race.~ + +She wore a little knot of blue, + He waved a flag of red; +With all her heart she would be true + To Yale--she said. + +And as she spoke a dainty flush + Gave token of her pride; +He thought the crimson of her blush + Her words belied. + +So while he watched her blushes start-- + "Deny it if you will, +Your blood--yes, even in your heart-- + Is crimson still." + +She turned and spoke, her voice was low, + And yet it pierced him through-- +"Sir, pardon me, I'd have you know + My blood is blue!" + +_Yale Record._ + + +~To an "Instructor."~ + +Treat not with such wanton disdain + The title of which you're possessor, +Nor sorrow, because you remain + Instructor instead of "Professor." + +Content you should be to be known + As one of enlightenment's ductors, +Rememb'ring how oft we bemoan + Professors who are not instructors. + +HARRY S. FURBUR, JR. +_Syllabus_. + + +~As Usual.~ + +Oh, the gay and festive Freshman has appeared upon the scene,-- +'Tis not the monster jealousy that makes him look so green, +'Tis not the fumes of rum that give his nose that ruddy glare, +But the boy has caught hay-fever from the hay-seed in his hair. + +The blush upon his cheek is not the bloom upon the rye, +But tells of health and happiness, and johnny-cake and pie. +The firm, elastic tread with which the boy is wont to roam +Comes from running on a steep side hill to drive the heifers home. + +The funny tales he'll have to tell of cows that get astray +Will all be sure to help him in a purely social way; +And all the strength that he's acquired from milking them each trip +Will come in mighty handy when he tries to learn the grip. + +For father will go barefoot, and mother dear will scrub +The neighbors' dirty linen within a sudsy tub, +And Jane will wear no Sunday hat, and Jim no Sunday tie, +So Sam can go to Harvard to adorn the Zeta Psi. + +Then nearly every morning, at the druggist's, for a bluff, +He'll ask the clerk for vichy, to make him think he's tough. +That boy will smoke a cigarette, and quite forget the plow! +And mother will not know her son a year or so from now. + +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Speed.~ + +They tell how fast the arrow sped, + When William shot the apple, +But who can calculate the speed + Of him who's late for chapel? + +_Trinity Tablet._ + + +~A Senior Schedule.~ + +We're a-studying of Literature + As hard as e'er we can; +We dote on Revolutions + And the Brotherhood of Man. + +We're returning to the People + With a truly Lyric Cry; +And for Democratic Spirit + We'd lay us down and die. + +We're a-reading of Philosophy + To find out why we be, +And a-learning that External Worlds + Lie wholly in the Me. + +We don't believe in Matter, + And of Mind we're not quite sure; +We're inclined to think Uncertainties + Most likely to endure. + +We're a-studying Geology + Of Pre-historic Times, +Before the Tides of Primal Sea + Got written into rhymes; + +When the "Old World spun forever," + And the poets never knew it,-- +And all the Rocks, and Stones, and Things, + Were nicely mixed up through it. + +We're a-looking at Fine Pictures + Made by People what are dead; +And we criticize Cathedrals + With a Ruskin at our head. + +We're a-growing awful learnèd,-- + There's lots more of the kind,-- +But we do not mind confessing + That it's all a Beastly Grind. + +MARY HOLLANDS McLEAN. +_Wellesley Lyrics_. + + +~A Change of Heart.~ + +I knew he cut his classes, and I'd heard him flunk in history, +And how he dared say "not prepared" so often was a mystery. +He'd sometimes cram for an exam., but seldom knew a word in it. +His parted hair grew long and fair; I thought he looked absurd in it. + +I felt regret whene'er we met, and bowed with utmost gravity; +I didn't dream he'd joined the team--I thought him all depravity. +So when I found, at Haight Street ground, how great was his agility, +I oped my eyes in marked surprise, amazed at his ability. + +He tackled hard, gained many a yard, place-kicked and charged +successively; +He turned the edge of the flying wedge, and interfered aggressively! + +He bucked the line! I thought it fine, and shouted out excitedly; +He passed the ball behind them all! I saw the scheme delightedly. + +He slipped about the line without a thought of trip or fumbling, +When to the din of tooting tin a crowd on him came tumbling. +I felt a chill, my heart stood still, when those mean boys fell down on +him, +His clothes were torn, his nose cap gone, and streaks of black and brown +on him. + +He scored a touchdown then, and such a frenzy I did never see; +It made the umpire's whistle dumb, and overwhelmed the referee. +Then when he punted out in front, though hoarse with loud admiring, +I with, delight yelled, "He's all right!" for they were all inquiring. + +The game was won, and we'd begun to cheer each man respectively; +We rah! rah! rahed! and blew horns hard, and shook our flags +effectively; +His eyes shone bright, as left and right they called to him vivaciously; +I my disdain recalled with pain, and waved my banner graciously. + +Now let him miss the German quiz, and fail to pass astronomy, +To football lore what's physics or political economy? +To have him bow is rapture now, to be o'erlooked adversity; +To catch his smile is worth the while attending University. + +HENRIETTA L. STADTMULLER. +_Sequoia_. + + +~Drinking Song.~ + +Let sparkling wine o'erbrim the glass, + And kiss its lips in haste to fly; +But though it would to glory pass, + It is not eager as am I. +I fain would drain the utmost drop, + And leave the beaker's hollow bare, +For when I turn its foot atop, + I see my true love's image there. + +Each bubble of the dancing wine + Symbols a love-kiss softly given, +And rising upward is a sign + That earth hath joys to equal heaven. +Ah! were the cup a league in rim, + And deep as is the ocean's blue, +I'd hold its girth were all too slim + And wine of kisses thrice too few. + +B.A. GOULD, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Sour Valentines.~ + +To-morrow is the day for valentines; + Then let me leave my thesis for a space, +Lower the lamplight on these weary lines, + And dream a little in the shadowed place. +In my three years at college, I have named + My Valentine and kept the season thrice; +The jolly saint himself is to be blamed + If I have never had the same one twice. + +In Freshman days, with all about me strange, + And home's sweet halo shining on my way, +My heart had never known the sense of change, + And one dear face was with me day by day; +So, when the time was here, I wrote my verse + And drew the heart and arrow up above, +And, happy in the thought I might do worse, + I sent it off to Mother with my love. + +When I had felt the thrill of Sophomore days, + My thoughts were given to a dainty maid +At college with me, and in woodland ways + And quiet music-rooms my court I paid. +But, with, my Junior dignity, I chose + My Queen abroad, within the city's glare, +Forgot the violet for the gayer rose, + And lost my heart and pocket-money there. + +Saint Valentine, those days were long ago; + Your power is lost upon this penitent, +For, with my Senior gravity, I know + That life means more than your light sentiment. +And yet, this once, your day shall have from me + Some of the old observance, though I scoff; +My thesis waits,--my Valentine shall be + The old-maid sister of my major prof. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~The Banjo Fiend.~ + +There is a fellow across the way +Who plays the banjo night and day, +And all you ever hear him play, +Is plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +He plays along with might and main, +Be it foul or fair, be it snow or rain, +And, oh! it is that constant strain, +That plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +You sit here in your room and swear, +But he can't hear, nor does he care, +Only goes on playing that same old air, +The plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +It is his hope that some fine day +On the Banjo Club they'll let him play, +But he won't if we have aught to say, +With his plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER. +_The Badger_. + + +~Varium et Mutabile.~ + +I saw her going to the game, +Her eyes were bright, her cheeks aflame, +And o'er her shoulders lightly fell +A Princeton scarf, her choice to tell. + +I saw her when the game was o'er, +A loyal Nassau maid no more; +To Yale, the victor, now she's true-- +Her yellow scarf was lined with blue. + +J. P. SAWYER, +_Yale Record._ + + +~In His Own Country.~ + +I made myself a poet in the place, + And blithely sang of college life and ways, +The pleasure of the undergraduate pace, + And all the joy between the holidays; +No care spoke ever in my careless song, + From graver strains I kept my pipe apart, +And played the upper notes; ah, was it wrong + To dream my music reached the student heart? + +Upon a day one said, with kind intent: + "Why sing forever of these trivial things? +For better music was your piping meant; + Will you confess such earth-restricted wings? +Strike some Byronic chord, sublime and deep, + Find in ethereal flight the upper air, +And speak to us some word that we may keep + Within our hearts and ever treasure there!" + +Then, with one pang for wasted hours, I gave + Another meaning to my faltering lay, +And sang of Life and Pain, an early grave, + Hope and Despair, and Love that lives alway; +But when I listened for an echoing heart, + I saw all other lips with laughter curl, +And heard them whisper jestingly apart, +"He's got it bad, poor fool; we know the girl!" + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~His Letter.~ + +"Dear Father: + Please excuse," he wrote, +"The hurried shortness of this note, +But studies so demand attention +That I have barely time to mention +That I am well, and add that I +Lack funds; please send me some. Good-by. +Your loving son." + He signed his name, +And hastened to the--foot-ball game. + +W.R. HEREFORD. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~The Unwilling Muse.~ + +Oh nothing in all life worse is, + For abating superfluous pride, +Than having to scribble on verses + With the editor waiting outside; +I am hearing a lecture on Shelley, + Where I ought to be able to dream, +But my brain is as vapid as jelly. + And I cannot alight on a theme. + +The bell rings. My friend, the Professor, + Is beginning to read out the roll. +How time drags! Am I present? Oh, yes, sir, + But, oh, what a blank is my soul. +I fear that my cunning has left me, + Inspiration refuses to guide, +The rouse of her aid has bereft me, + And the editor's waiting outside. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~A Written Lesson.~ + +I was happy that day, + For I knew what to say, + And I knew how to tell it; +But I found with dismay, +As is always the way, +When I know what to say, + And know how to tell it, +That I know what to say + But I never can spell it. + +S.W. CHAMBERLAIN. +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + + [Illustration: "THE IDEAL CO-ED"] + + +~The Deal Closed.~ + +The ideal co-ed is a thing of books, + A creature of brain entirely; +With stooping shoulders and studious looks, + She digs all day and half the night; + People say she is wondrous bright, + But her figure's an awful sight! +Her thoughts are deep in the classic past, +She only thinks of A. B. at last; + She has fled this world and its masculine charms, + And a refuge found in Minerva's arms. + +Now, the kind of co-ed that I describe + Is a co-ed seen very rarely; +The real co-ed's a thing of grace, +With dainty figure and winsome face; + She walks and rides, and she cuts, mon Dieu! + But every professor lets her through; +For her each year is a round of joy, +A. B. means nothing if not "A Boy," + And you and I must yield to her charms, + And take the place of Minerva's arms, + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Stanford Quad._ + + +~Conditioned.~ + +Dear old pipe, my oldest friend, + Brier of darkest hue, +How I long to smoke and dream-- + I'm in love with you. + +Good old beer, an oft-tried friend, + Best and choicest brew, +How I long for you again-- + I'm in love with you. + +Laughing lips and rosy cheeks, + Eyes of deepest blue, +You I long for most of all-- + I'm in love with you. + +Tempt me not, my dear old friends, + I have work to do-- +Four conditions in a term-- + For I loved but you. + +_Brunonian_. + + +~Evening on the Campus.~ + +Behind a screen of western hills + The sunset color fades to-night; +Along the arching corridors + Long shadows steal with footsteps light. +The banners of the day are furled; + Thro' darkening space the twilight creeps +And smooths the forehead of the world + Until he sleeps. + +The oak-trees closer draw their hoods; + A bird, belated, wings his dim, +Uncertain flight, and far above + A star looks down and laughs at him; +The sky and mountains melt in one; + Tall gum-trees range their ranks around; +The white walk marks its length upon + The velvet ground. + +From out the dusk the chimney points, + Like guiding finger, to the skies; +Down drops the curtain of the night, + And all the plain in darkness lies, + +When, as the college buildings seem + To lose their form in shapeless mass, +The lights shine out as poppies gleam + Amid the grass. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover._ + + +~Philosophy.~ + +Shall I grieve because a maid + Swore to love me--failed to do it? +When we both are old and staid, + I shall laugh--and she shall rue it. +Shall I grieve, if for a prize, + Strive my best--I fail to win it? +In the world where honor lies, + Medal men are seldom in it. + +C.W. CRANNELL. +_Garnet_. + + +~Bed During Exams.~ + +_(With Apologies to Mr. Stevenson.)_ + +I used to go to bed at night, +And only worked when day was light. +But now 'tis quite the other way, +I never get to bed till day. + +I look up from my work and see +The morning light shine in on me, +And listen to a warning knell-- +The tinkle of the rising bell. + +And does there not seem cause to weep, +When I should like so much to sleep, +I have to sing this mournful lay, +I cannot get to bed till day? + +CLARA WARREN VAIL. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~Under Two Flags.~ + + It's all very well + For a boy, who can yell +For his own special college through all, without fail. + How can I be true + To the red or the blue, +When Will is at Harvard, and Tom is at Yale? + + When one comes to call, + I must stop in the hall +To see that his pin's in a prominent place, + They're both on the crew, + And I'm all in a stew, +For I'm pledged as a mascot for both in the race! + + Dear Will's such a swell, + And he dresses so well, +(Tom says that he puts on a great deal of dog), + His tenor is fine + And his waltzing divine. +But you ought to see Tom do his skirt-dance and clog! + +It's all very well + For a boy, who can yell +For his own special college through all, without fail. + Why, I'd gladly be true + To the red or the blue, +If Tom were at Harvard, or Will went to Yale! + +JULIET W. TOMPKINS. +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~After the Soirée ~ + +I beside the blue-gate lying, +Round and round all objects flying, +Just to reach my bed was trying, + After the Soirée. + +Now I hear the music stopping, +Now the corks from champagne popping, +Now the wasted money dropping, + After the Soirée, + +Now I sleep and now awaken, +Find myself by classmates taken +To the bed that I'd forsaken, + After the Soirée. + +When the light of day comes o'er me, +What have I but flunks before me? +Greek and Latin, how they bore me, + After the Soirée. + +F.R.D.B. +_Garnet_. + + +~A Panacea.~ + +If your health is not quite right, +If you have no appetite, +If you cannot sleep at night, + Light your pipe. + +If conditions round you press, +If your stock of cuts grows less, +Spoiling all your happiness, + Light your pipe. + +If your debts upon you weigh, +If your bills you cannot pay, +As they come in day by day, + Light your pipe. + +There's no trouble in this land, +Lack of wealth, or loss of stand, +Loss of health, or lady's hand, +Which can this sure cure withstand! + Light your pipe. + +R.O. RYDER. +_Yale Record._ + + +~A Toast.~ + +What though the storm-king growls in rage, + And the daylight fast is dimming; +We'll add to the score on Mem'ry's page, + While the butt with cheer is brimming. + +And Love shall be the tapster gay, + To draw at nod or winking; +And whether the clouds be gold or gray, + Here's to the cup and its clinking! + +Those moist lips, touched in single bliss, + More constant are than lovers'; +Their foamy depth holds many a kiss, + And many a sigh it smothers. + +Then ho for the blood of youth, say I, + And the mad, glad hopes it bringeth; +For the palsied step of Age draws nigh,-- +"_Sans_ hope, _sans_ joy!" he singeth. + +A. K. LANE. +_Tuftonian_. + + +~A Ballade of College Girls.~ + +What do the dear girls learn nowadays, + At all the colleges where they go? +They've no cane-rushes nor football frays; + Whence can their wealth of wisdom flow? + Up at Wellesley they learn to row; +Gowns and mortar-boards there are swell; + They flirt in the shades of "Tupelo": +I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +The Smith girls had the dramatic craze, + And even the critics puffed their show; +The Amherst men are loud in their praise; + They diet on pickled limes and Poe. + At good Mount Holyoke, which some deem slow, +They learn to cook and to sweep as well; + Along with their Greek they're taught to sew: +I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +Cornell's "co-eds" have flattering ways; + Many a soul they have filled with woe; +Up at Vassar they're prone to stays, + And no girl there can have a beau; +All those beautiful blooms must throw +Their sweetness away where no man may dwell; + Rules can be cheated, sometimes, though: +I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +ENVOY. + +Girls, the Blue and the Crimson know + How a tryst is kept after bedtime bell. +"Hush-sh," you whisper, "be cautious!" Oh, + I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +F.R. BATCHELDER. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Ballade of the Alumna.~ + +How sadly in these latter days, + In search of memories bitter-sweet, +We tread the once-accustomed ways + With step grown slow, and lagging feet,-- + Timed to the pulse's slower beat,-- +And climb the stair and reach the floor, + To find--alas! how time is fleet! +Another's name is on the door! + +We timid knock, and beg to gaze + On all once ours--are shown a seat, +O irony! In sad amaze + We marvel that it looks so neat, + Recalling how we used to meet +At gruesome hours in days of yore,-- + Hours that fate can ne'er repeat: +Another's name is on the door. + +Our ready chaff, our wordy frays, + Conviction backed by young conceit, +Have left no echoes; nothing stays + To mark how once we "led the street;" +But others come with youthful heat, + Nor reck of those who came before, + And play their part--their years complete;-- +Another's name is on the door. + +ENVOY. + +Freshmen, our age with reverence greet, + And warning take, though grieved sore, +No words delay, no prayers entreat,-- + Another's name is on the door. + +EDITH CHILD. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~A Banquet Song.~ + +I. + +Comrades, fill the banquet cup + Brimming up! +Fill it full of love and laughter, +Claret lips and kisses after, + Crown it with a maiden's smiles, + And the foam of magic wiles. +Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, +For the love of loving lasses + Ere it passes! + +II. + +Fill again, the banquet cup + Brimming up! +Overflow it with the roses +Which her timid blush discloses. + With her sparkling eyelight sift it, + Till it flavored is. Then lift it. +Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, +For the love of loving lasses + Ere it passes! + +III. + +Comrades, fill a parting cup + Brimming up! +Flood it in your praise's zest, +For the uninvited guest. + With her charms and graces fill it, + Touch the lips and heartward spill it. +Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, +For the love of loving lasses + Ere it passes! + +EDWIN OSGOOD GROVER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Senior And The Rose.~ + +A few faded rose-leaves-- +A Freshman-year treasure-- +I view you again with a sigh. +Three years have I kept you +In care without measure, +And now must I tell you good-by? + +A rose that a Senior +Once dropped and deserted, +A rose from the bright banquet-hall, +A rose that man gave me, +When madly I flirted +With him at the great Junior Ball. + +Alas for the rose-leaves! +Confusion o'ercomes me! +My cheek is quite crimson with shame! +Which rose were you part of? +And which Senior was she? +And what was that college man's name? + +EVA LINNETTE SOULE. +_Cardinal_. + + +IV. NATURE + + +~The American Partridge.~ + +Neglected minstrel of the single song, + Piping at twilight through the russet fields, +Thy two soft silver notes, one short, one long, + Rich with the careless joy that nature yields, + Rise from the stubble round the well-stocked fields, +Far from the chattering flock or warbling throng: + Bob White! + +American! All hail, my countryman! + Thy treble, sweet or shrill, delights my ear; +A song of freedom ere our race began, + A challenger of conquest loud and clear; +Bespeaking nature pure as God's first plan, + And pride and peace, and quiet ever dear: + Bob White! + +_Southern Collegian._ + + +~To a Chrysanthemum.~ + +Thou beauteous flower, with heart of gold, + Bravely defying winter's cold, +When dreary north winds shrilly whistle +Over the desolate fields of thistle; +Thou comest to bless in beauty's ways, +With memories of summer days, +When at the touch of gentle showers, +Decked were the fields in myriad flowers; + Yet more than all I praise to-day + This blossom bright, + Since on her breast it lay + Only last night. + +JOHN ANGUS THOMPSON. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_ + + +~My Treasures.~ + +My jewels are the drops of dew + That sparkle on the grass, +Or break into a thousand bits + When ruthless footsteps pass. + +My gold bedecks the sunlit cloud, + Untouched by human hand; +My silver is the sleeping sea, + Unshadowed by the land. + +My friend is every wooded hill, + And every singing brook; +For they are always true to me, + And wear a kindly look + +And yet how few would ever think + To count these treasures o'er; +But, dreaming oft of Satan's gold, + Would ask kind Heaven for more. + +Co-heirs of Nature all may be, + Although of humble birth; +And yet, the miser hugs his gold, + While poor men own the earth. + +WILBUR DANIEL SPENCER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly,_ + + +~A Pasture.~ + +Rough pasture where the blackberries grow!-- + It bears upon its churlish face + No sign of beauty, art or grace; +Not here the silvery coverts glow +That April and the angler know. + +There sleeps no brooklet in this wild, + Smooth-resting on its mosses sleek, + Like loving lips upon a cheek +Soft as the face of maid or child-- +Just boulders, helter-skelter piled. + +Ungenerous nature but endows + These acres with the stumps and stocks + Which should be trees, with rude, gray rocks; +Over these humps and hollows browse, +Daily, the awkward, shambling cows. + +Here on the right, a straggling wall + Of crazy, granite stones, and there + A rotten pine-trunk, brown and bare, +A mass of huge brakes, rank and tall-- +The burning blue sky over all. + +And yet these blackberries! shy and chaste! + The noisy markets know no such-- + So ripe they tumble when you touch; +Long, taper--rarer wines they waste +Than ever town-bred topers taste. + +And tell me! have you looked o'erhead + From lawns where lazy hammocks swing + And seen such bird-throats lent a wing? +Such flames of song that flashed and fled? +Well, maybe--_I'm_ not city-bred. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Skating Song.~ + +Moon so bright, +Stars alight, +Clouds adance, adance; +Snow of night, +Fleecy white, +Silver ice agleam, aglance. + High, hey, high, hey, + Skimming the smooth, bright way, + High, hey, high, hey, + Over the ice away. + +Cheeks so bright, +Face alight, +Heart adance, adance; +Eyes of night, +Brow of white, +Silver skates agleam, aglance. + High, hey, high, hey, + Skimming the smooth, bright way, + High, hey, high, hey, + Over the ice away. + +CORA ISABEL WARBURTON. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~A Mystery.~ + +Once, a little while ago, 'twas so warm and still +Down here, in this soft, dark place. Now I feel a thrill +Darting through me. Shivering, quivering, bursts my wrappage brown, +Struggling, striving, something in me reaches up and down. +Ah! it must be death, this anguish that I cannot understand. + +One inch more,--I lift my head above the parted mould, +Oh! what rapture! Falling on me something sweet and gold, +Something humming, singing, moving, growing on each side; +High above me a blue glory stretching far and wide,-- +And I know 'twas life, that anguish that I could not understand. + +MARY E. HOYT. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~The Birch-Tree.~ + +Like a shower, breeze-suspended, + Caught and played with by the air, +April from the sky descended, + Tricked by sunshine unaware, +To a pale green fountain fashioned, + Silver shaft with airy fling, +Tremulous and sun-impassioned + Is the birch-tree in the spring. + +Like the spirit of the fountain-- + Seen when earth was yet a child-- +Leaping, white-armed, from the mountain, + Laughing, beckoning, water-wild, +Sheen of mist her beauty veiling, + Which she only half can hide, +Garments o'er her white feet trailing, + Seems the birch at summer-tide. + +E.A.H. +_Inlander_. + + +~My Quest.~ + +Over the meadow and over the hill, + Over the heath and heather, +I seek for the spot where the dawn-wind sleeps, + And slips from its night-bound tether. + Is it here? Is it there? + Pray tell me where +The morning zephyrs tarry, + That I may bide + Where they crouch and hide, +And sip of the dew they carry. + +Over the billow and over the wave, + Over the vales and valleys, +I seek for the spot where the night-wind dreams, + And rests from its twilight rallies. + Is it here? Is it there? + Pray tell me where +The breath of night lies sleeping, + That I may rest + In its downy nest, +With its breath my eyelids steeping. + +W.T.O. +_Trinity Tablet._ + + +~Lullaby.~ + +Breezes in the tree-tops high, + Sighing softly as you blow, +Sing a restful lullaby; + Sing the sweetest song you know, + Something slow, something low,-- + Lulla-lullaby. + +Barley heads and crested wheat, + Swaying gently to and fro, +Sing the music of the heat, + Sing the drowsiest song you know, + Something slow, something low,-- + Lulla-lullaby. + +Brooklet hidden in the grass, + Murmuring faintly as you flow, +Sing a sleep song while you pass; + Sing the dreamiest song you know, + Something slow, something low,-- + Lulla-lullaby. + +MABEL A. CARPENTER. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +~Our Scarlet King.~ + +He comes along the great highway + In scarlet coat and crown, +And high the shrilling trumpets bray + And fierce his lancers frown. + Bright scarlet is his royal crest; + Bright scarlet shines his royal vest; + Oh! pr'ythee canst thou bring + A knight more nobly known and dressed + Than this, our Scarlet King. + +See how he throws his largess gold + Into the bending trees. +He doth the forest walls enfold + In purple tapestries. + He giveth all a majesty; + He holds in fiel the shore, the sea; + Oh! pr'ythee come and sing + A song, and sing it merrily + To him, our Scarlet King. + +Past crypt and wayside canopy, + Beyond each bloarny throne, +Full fleetly speed his heralds free + To make his advent known. + His scarlet banners bend and blow; + Our scarlet vintages shall flow; + And pr'ythee with us sing, + That proud October all may know + And hail--"our Scarlet King." + +HAROLD M. BOWMAN. +_Inlander_. + + +~Bob White.~ + +At morn, when first the rosy gleam + Of rising sun proclaimed the day, +There reached me, thro' my last sweet dream, + This oft-repeated lay: + (Too sweet for cry. + Too brief for song, + 'Twas borne along + The reddening sky) + _Bob White! + Daylight, Bob White! + Daylight!_ + +At eve, when first the fading glow + Of setting sun foretold the night, +The same sweet call came, soft and low, +Across the dying light: + (Too sweet for cry, + Too brief for song, + 'Twas but a long, + Contented sigh) + _Bob White! + Good Night, Bob White! + Good Night!_ + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~An Evening Song.~ + +O red, red clouds in the westering sky, + That are lit with a lamp of gold, +The hours are faint, they sleep, they die, + The stars are earthward rolled; +Make bright day's burial-place, make bright, + So it crimson-canopied be-- +It dies, and Fancy out of the night + Comes down--comes down to me. + +O red, red clouds with your glory gone, + That are ghostly shapes of gray. +My lady dreams by a moon-lit lawn, + Away from me--away; +Go down--go down from the sky, so the gleams + Of the moon shine over the sea, +And bring the thought of my lady's dreams + Over to me--to me. + +ROBERT L. HUNGER. +_Yale Courant._ + + +~Panacea ~ + +When life proves disappointing, + And sorrow seems anointing + Brows of care, +Take a brace and go a-sailing, +Either dolphin back or whaling, + Anywhere. + +Fling your troubles to the breezes, +Where the salted Ocean sneezes + Spray your face-- +Never mind the moments flying, +There'll be left of care and sighing, + Not a trace. + +ANNIE NYHAN SCEIBNER. +_Wisconsin Aegis._ + + +~The Dive.~ + +One moment, poised above the flashing blue, +The next I'm slipping, sliding through +The water, that caresses, yields, resists, +Wrapping my sight in cooling, gray-green mists. +Another moment, my body swirls, I rise, +Shaking the water from my blinded eyes, +And strike out strong, glad that I am alive, +To swim back to the gray old pile from which I dive. + +CORNELIA BROWNELL GOULD. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~The Robin.~ + +A STUDY. + +Abstracted, contemplative air, + A sudden run and stop, +A glance indifferent round about, + Head poised--another hop. + +A plunge well-aimed, a backward tug, + A well-resisted squirm, +Then calm indifference as before. + But oh, alack, the worm! + +KATHERINE VAN D. HARKEE, +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~A Mountain Brook.~ + +I come from the depths of the mountain, +The dark, hidden, head of the fountain, +I spring from a nook in the ledges, +And bathe the gray granite's rough edges, +I rush over wide mossy masses +To quench the hot thirst of the grasses. +I bathe the cleft hoofs of the cattle, +As o'er the rude ford-stones I rattle. +I glide through the glens deep in shadow; +I flow in the sun-bathed meadow, +And seek, with a shake and a quiver, +The still steady flow of the river, +Then on to the wild rhythmic motion +Of my mother, the sky-tinted ocean. + +CHARLES OTIS JUDKINS. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~In the San Joaquin.~ + +Across the hills the screeching blue-jays fly +In countless flocks, and as they hasten by + The children look up from their merry play + To watch them slowly, slowly fade away; +And night steals up the corners of the sky. + +No silent, trembling star shines there, on high: +The hollow rivers, that were still and dry, + Begin to murmur; falls a gentle spray + Across the hills. + +The stubble colors through the fallen hay, +And infant grasses pin the moistened clay; + The drooping trees shake off their dust and sigh; + And waking nature, with a gladdened eye, +Beholds the summer lose its ending day, + Across the hills. + +NORMAN HUTCHINSON. +_Cornell Magazine._ + + +~Four-o'clocks.~ + +It was that they loved the children, + The children used to say, + For there was no doubt + That when school was out, +At the same time every day, + Down by the wall, + Where the grass grew tall, +Under the hedge of the hollyhocks, + One by one, + At the touch of the sun, +There opened the four-o'clocks. + +It was that they loved the children;-- +But the children have gone away, + And somebody goes + When nobody knows, +At the same time every day, + To see by the wall, + Where the grass grows tall, +Under the hedge of the hollyhocks, + How, one by one, + At the touch of the sun, +Still open the four-o'clocks. + +LILLIAN B. QUIMBY. +_Wellesley Magazine,_ + + +~The Voice of the West Wind.~ + +The Wind of the East and the Wind of the North +From the gates of the Sun and the Cold blow forth: +They wander wide and they wander free, +But never a word do they speak to me; +I hear but the voice I know the best, +Of my brother-in-blood the Wind of the West, +And the word that the West Wind whispers me, +Is a message, Heart of my heart, for thee. + +Heart of my heart, when the skies hang low, +And all day long the light winds blow, +When the South, and the East, and the North, are gray +And the soft rain falls through the autumn day, +Then, Light of my soul, canst thou not hear +The voice of the West Wind, soft and clear? +"Come," he whispers, and "Come," again, +Leave the dull skies and the steady rain, +Leave thou the lowlands and chill gray sea, +Heart of my own heart, and come with me. + +ROBERT PALFREY UTTER. +_Harvard Monthly_ + + +~A Fairy Barcarolle.~ + +My skiff is of bark from the white birch-tree, + A butterfly's wing is my sail, +And twisted grasses my cordage be, + Stretched taut by the favoring gale. + +My cushions are pearly gossamers frail, + My mast is a tapering reed, +My rudder a blush-rose petal pale, + My ballast of wild-flower seed. + +Through forests old and meads remote + We'll sail on the leaf-arched streams, +Down the silver rivers of Fancy float + To the golden sea of dreams. + +WILLIAM HOLDEN EDDY. +_Brown Magazine._ + + +~A Bird's Cradle-Song.~ + + Weary, weary loves! + Day is o'er and past; + Every drooping lily bell + Chimes good-night at last. + Softly! nursing winds + Swing them to and fro +With the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of the rivulet below. + + Even the willow leaves + Brooding silence keep; + All the great, good world is hushed-- + Hushed that you may sleep! + But in heaven two wee, wee stars + Dance and whirl and glow +To the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of the rivulet below. + +EVELYN M. WORTHLEY. +_Mount Holyoke._ + + +~The Wood Orchid.~ + +A butterfly, wing-weary, came to find +A sweet seclusion from the amorous wind, +Deep in the pine woods, where the dusky trees +Shut in the forest's sounding silences +With close-twined boughs from which the breeze has blown +The fragrance-breathing fragments of the cone. +Deeply she drank the nectar of repose. +Spreading her downy wings all veined with rose, +Upon the gray-green mosses, cool and dank, +Languished the sprite, and in a swoon she sank, +While a delicious numbness born of death +Stilled the soft wings that stirred with each faint breath. +One summer morning, while the languid breeze +Strayed with a languid murmur thro' the trees, +It breathed a kiss upon a folded pair +Of pink flushed wings--and found them rooted there. + +_College Folio._ + + +~A Song.~ + +Oh, the hopper grass is clattering and flying all the day + Round the tawny, trembling tassels of the corn, +While the dreamy, drowsy bumblebee goes bumbling on his way, + And the locust in the woodland sounds his horn. + +Above the rattling cottonwoods that line the lisping stream, + The crow is proudly calling to the sun, +And the beetles in the bushes make the summer day a dream, + For they hum and cheep until the day is done. + +When the lotus-flower closes, and the stars are in the sky, + Then the owl awakes and sings a plaintive song, +While the crickets in the thickets sing the soothing lullaby, +And the katydid is chirping all night long. + +S.P. +_Kansas University Weekly_. + + +~The Skaters.~ + +Above the frozen floods +Gay feet keep time, +Steel-shod, their measures beat +Insistent rhyme. +No cares oppress the hearts +Glad youth makes light; +The winter skies and happy eyes +Alike are bright. + +Shores where the summer waves +Have whispered low, +Echo the skaters' song, +As to and fro +Glide flitting forms, +And watch-fire's glow +Leaps into frosty air +And crimsons snow. + +Fly, skaters, with wing'd feet! +The night wears on; +Be your stroke ne'er so fleet, +Night soon is gone. + +With morning's dawn, the fires +In ashes lie, +And mountains keep their ward +Silently by. + +GRACE W. LEACH +_Madisonensis_. + + +~By the Roadside.~ + +Shy violets among the tangled grass; +Red robin, to thine own mate blithely singing, +Among the elm-tree boughs so gayly swinging; +My love, my true love, down this way will pass. + +How shall you know her? By her sunny hair, +Her grave, sweet eyes, all pure, no evil knowing: +Oh, robin! thou wilt turn to watch her going; +There is no maid in all the land so fair. + +Shy violets among the tangled grass, +Shed forth your richest perfumes 'neath her feet! +And gallant robin, when thou seest her pass, +Trill out thy merriest lay her ears to greet; +And elm-tree branches, drooping low above her, +Whisper to her that I came by and love her. + +LOUISE R. LOOMIS. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +[Illustration: A WELLESLEY GIRL.] + + +~"A White Morning"~ + +Many a morning the trees' slim fingers + Lift to the blue their frosted tips; +Winter has paused beside them, passing, + And blown upon them, through icy lips. + +After the day has dawned in earnest, + Comes a blaze from the soul of things. +Some small snow-bird, beneath the window, + Beats out life, from his restless wings. + +Never trust to the cold and silence; + Suns will rise, and the day climb higher. +Under the snows are resurrections; + Under the frost is hidden fire. + +GRACE W. LEACH. +_Madisonensis_. + + +V. IN SERIOUS MOOD + + +~Verses.~ + +What must be must be, little one, + The dark night follow the day, +And the ebbing tide to the seaward glide + Across the moonlit bay. + +What must be must be, little one, + The winter follow the fall, +And the prying wind an entrance find + Through the chinks of the cottage wall. + +What must be must be, little one, + The brown hair turn to gray, +And the soul like the light of the early night + Slip gently far away. + +FORSYTH WICKES. +_Yale Literary Magazine._ + + +~A Little Parable.~ + +Just beyond the toiling town + I saw a child to-day, +With busy little hands of brown + Making toys of clay. + +Working there with all his heart, + Beneath the spreading trees, +He moulded with unconscious art + Whatever seemed to please. + +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. + +Memory, unfaithful, has not kept that strain, +Heard once in the twilight, never heard again. + +Every day brings twilight, but no twilight brings +To my ear that music on its quiet wings. + +After autumn sunsets, in the dreaming light, +When long summer evenings deepen into night, + +All that I am sure of, is that, long ago, +Some one sang at twilight, very sweet and low. + +PHILIP C. PECK. +_Yale Literary Magazine_. + + +~The Truth-Seekers.~ + +They who sought Truth since dawn + And sought in vain, + Now, at the close of day. +Come with slow step and faces drawn + With nameless pain, + To meet the night half-way. + +"She whom we love is not! + Of her no sight + Had we, nor faintest trace!" +"Nay, here am I ye sought!"-- + Beyond the night + They met her, face to face. + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly_. + + +~To-morrow.~ + +There is a day which never comes + To light the morning sky, +But in our thoughts alone it lives, + And there may never die; +It holds our hopes of future bliss, + Our aspirations high, +And life itself is but a point + In that eternity-- + To-morrow. + +Each sunset brings us nearer that + Which earth shall not behold, +Where, far away beyond the hills + And through the clouds of gold, +We see a glimpse of brighter hours + Than tongue of bard has told, +When marks of time will be effaced, + When men will not grow old-- + To-morrow. + +WILBUR DANIEL SPENCER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~From My Window.~ + +I sit within my little room + And see the world pass by, +The merry, youthful, thoughtless world, + That knows not I am I. + +I watch it from my window ledge + Below me, at its play-- +It makes an end of foolish things, + And thinks the sad ones gay. + +And there above I sit, alone, + Behind my curtains long, +And I but peep, and mock a bit, + And sing a bit of song. + +EDITH THEODORA AMES. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~To a Friend.~ + +Your eyes are--but I cannot tell + Just what's the color of your eyes, +I only know therein doth dwell + A something that can sympathize, +When selfish love would fail to see +The depths revealed alone to me. + +JOHN GOWDY. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Love and Death.~ + +_Love and death_ is all of poets' singing, + What sounds else can stir the heavenly breath? +What save these can set the lyre-strings ringing: + Love and death? +What things else in maiden spirit springing? + What words else in all the preacher saith? +What thoughts else in God, the world forthbringing? + +In the moon's pulse and the sea's slow swinging, + Death that draws, and love that sighs beneath: +Yea, life's wine is mingled; sweet, and stinging,-- + Love and death. + +GEORGIANA GODDARD KING. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~Opportunity.~ + +I know not what the future holds-- + But this I know, +Youth is a guest, who on his way + Too soon will go. + +Once gone we call to deafened ears. + All prayers are vain! +For tears of blood, he will not come + Back once again. + +Then spread the board of Life, with wine + And roses drest, +Drink deep and long, greet Joy and Love + While Youth is guest! + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly,_ + + +~To Austin Dobson.~ + +Not unto you the gods gave wings, + To scale the far Olympic height, +But made content with simpler things, + Your Pegasus takes lower flight. + +Yet while into oblivion float + Those vaster songs, sublimely grand-- +All men are listening to your note, + And as they listen, understand. + +Sing on, then, while the heart of youth + In glad accordance answ'ring thrills, +And life and love have still their truth, + As spring has still its daffodils. + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~With a Copy of Keats.~ + +Like listless lullabies of sail-swept seas +Heard from still coves, and dulcet-soft as these, +Such is the echo of his perfect song, + It lives, it lingers long! + +We love him more than all his wonder tales, +Sweeter his own song than his nightingale's; +No voice speaks, in the century that has fled, + So deathless from the dead! + +How many stately epics have been tossed +Rudely against Time's shore, and wrecked and lost, +While Keats, the dreaming boy, floats down Time's + sea + His lyric argosy! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~George Du Maurier.~ + +"Ah, if we knew; if we only knew for certain." + +"Ah, if we only _knew_!" he said, +The master--now laid cold and dead-- +Under the sweetest song joy sang +This, like a burden, ever rang-- + +"Ah, if we only _knew_!" can we, +Now death shows him the certainty, +Now he has won his peace thro' pain, +Wish him back to the doubt again? + +Nay, pass! thou great prince Gentle Heart! +Crowned with the deathless days of Art-- +To that far country--old, yet ever new-- +The land where all the dreams are true. + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Lizy Ann.~ + +"My darter?" Yes, that's Lizy Ann +Ez full o' grit ez any man +'T you ever see! She does the chores +Days when I can't git out-o'-doors +'Account o' this 'ere rheumatiz, +And sees to everything there is +To see to here about the place, +And never makes a rueful face +At housework, like some women do, +But does it well--and cheerful, too. + +There's mother--she's been bedrid now +This twenty year. And you'll allow +It takes a grist o' care and waitin' +To tend on _her_. But I'm a-statin' +But jest the facts when this I say: +There's never been a single day +That gal has left her mother's side +Except for meetin', or to ride +Through mud and mire, through rain or snow, +To market when I couldn't go. + +"She's thirty-five or so?" Yes, more +Than that. She's mighty nigh twoscore. +But what's the odds? She's sweet and mild +To me and mother as a child. +There doesn't breathe a better than +Our eldest darter, Lizy Ann! + +"Had offers?" Wal, I reckon; though +She ne'er told me nor mother so. +I mind one chap--a likely man-- +Who seemed clean gone on Lizy Ann, +And yet she let the feller slide, +And he's sence found another bride. + +The roses in her cheeks is gone, +And left 'em kinder pale and wan. +Her mates is married, dead, or strayed +To other places. Youth nor maid +No longer comes to see her. Yet +You'll hear no murmur of regret. +"My life's a part o' heaven's own plan," +She often says. Thet's Lizy Ann. + +EDGAR F. DAVIS. +_Bowdoin Quill_. + + +~Be Thou a Bird, My Soul.~ + +Be thou a bird, my soul, and mount and soar + Out of thy wilderness, + Till earth grows less and less, + Heaven, more and more. + +Be thou a bird, and mount, and soar, and sing, + Till all the earth shall be + Vibrant with ecstasy + Beneath thy wing. + +Be thou a bird, and trust, the autumn come, + That through the pathless air + Thou shalt find otherwhere + Unerring, home. + +A.G.C. +_Kansas University Weekly._ + + +~God's Acre.~ + +Oh, so pure the white syringas! + Oh, so sweet the lilac bloom +In the Arboretum growing + Near a granite tomb! +By the arching pepper-branches + Let us tender silence keep; +We have come into God's Acre, + Where the children sleep. + +In the trees the quail are calling + To the rabbits at their play, +While the little birds, unknowing, + Sing their lives away; +In the night-time through the branches + Wistfully the young stars peep, +But, with all these playmates round them, + Still the children sleep. + +Once within that leafy shelter + Some one hid herself, to rest, +With another little dreamer + Folded to her breast; +And a sense of consolation + Stealeth unto them that weep, +While that mother-heart lies sleeping + Where the children sleep. + +Year by year the Christmas berries + Redden in the quiet air,-- +Year by year the vineyard changes, + Buds and ripens there; +We give place to other faces, + But the years' relentless sweep +Cometh not into God's Acre, + Where the children sleep. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover._ + + +~Unique.~ + +His presence makes the Spring to blush. + He shines in ample Summer's glow, +He kindles Autumn's burning-bush, + And flings the Winter's fleece of snow. + +_Hamilton Literary Monthly._ + + +~A Letter.~ + +"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul!" + _The Chambered Nautilus._ + + * * * * * + +Self, Soul & Co., Architects: + + _Dear Sirs;_ + I find +Your "ad." in the _Nautilus_ quite to my mind. +Pray build me a mansion (for plans see below) +More stately and lofty than this that I know. +Dig deep the foundations in reason and truth; +I want no pavilion--a fortress forsooth, +Secure against windstorms of doctrine and doubt; +In style--Emersonian--inside and out. +It should, sir, be double, with rooms on each side, +For justice and mercy, for meekness and pride; +For heating and lighting, it only requires +Faith's old-fashioned candles, and Love's open fires. +Write me minimum charges in struggle and stress, +And extras in suffering. + Yours truly, + +C.S. +_Kalends_. + + +~The Record of a Life.~ + +He lived and died, and all is passed away +That bound him to his so-soon-darkened day. +He is forgotten in time's sweeping tide; +This is his history: He lived--and died! + +HENRY DAVID GRAY. +_Madisonensis_. + + +~Who Knows?~ + +If when the day has been sped with laughter, + Mirth and song as the light wind blows, +A sob and a sigh come quickly after-- + Who knows? + +If eyes that smile till the day's completeness + Droop a little at evening's close, +And tears cloud over their tender sweetness-- + Who knows? + +If lips that laugh while the sun be shining, + Curved as fair as the leaf of a rose, +Quiver with grief at day's declining-- + Who knows? + +If the heart that seems to know no aching + While the fair, gold sunlight gleams and glows, +Under the stars be bitterly breaking-- + Who knows? + +JESSIE V. KERR. +_Kalends_. + + +~Inconstancy.~ + +I sighed as the soul of April fled, + And a tear on my cheek +Told of the love I had borne the dead-- +And I signed the cross, and bowed my head-- + And was sad for a week. + +With a carol and catch the May came in + With her wonderful way-- +And I saucily chucked her under the chin, +And tuned me the strings of my violin-- + And was glad for a day. + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~Yesterday.~ + +Thou art to me like all the days-- + They ebb and flow with punctual tides, +Leave driftwood--wreckage on the sands, + Perhaps a shell besides; +Swift, incommunicable, vast, +They poise--then perish in the past. + +And yet I have not all forgot + Those years when every day seemed long, +A separate age of joys and play, + Of wonder-tales and song; +I marvel, Yesterday, to know + Thou still art childhood's Long Ago! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~The Last Word.~ + +Life is a boat that is drifting, + Riding high, rocking low, + While the tide turns. +Love is the sands that are shifting + In and out, to and fro, + While the tide turns, + +Let the boat drift, no oar to lift, + Clear sky above, calm sea below, + Till the tide turns. +Dream on the shore, wander it o'er; + Gold gleam the sands 'neath the sun's glow. + Till the tide turns. + +Time enough, love, to be lifting + 'Gainst the waves, then, thy oar + When the tide turns. +Dreams are sweet, love, e'er the shifting + Shows how false is the shore, + When the tide turns. + +ELIZABETH SANDERSON. +_University of California Magazine._ + + + +"_Whence all these verses?" you ask me. + Would that I knew! + "How came they written?"--You task me, + Who can tell, who! + Stripping a butterfly's pinions + To learn how they grew; + Wasting a violet's dominions + To search for the dew; + Spoiling the odor, the juices, + The flavor, the hue; + Rifling the haunts of the Muses, + For secrets and clue! + + All one can say is: "Sir Quibbler, + Once on a time, + Songs in the heart of the scribbler + Sang into rhyme; + Latin lost all its enchantment; + Logic was worse; + Joy claimed its rights; the result is + Just 'college verse_.'" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Cap and Gown, Selected by Frederic Knowles + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAP AND GOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 10596-8.txt or 10596-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/9/10596/ + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Carol David and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10596-8.zip b/old/10596-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..01dfe54 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10596-8.zip diff --git a/old/10596.txt b/old/10596.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e6f0f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10596.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7779 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cap and Gown, Selected by Frederic Knowles + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cap and Gown + A Treasury of College Verse + +Author: Selected by Frederic Knowles + +Release Date: January 4, 2004 [EBook #10596] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAP AND GOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Carol David and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +CAP AND GOWN + +A Treasury of College Verse + + +Selected by + + +Frederic Lawrence Knowles + +_Editor of "The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics," etc. + + +_1897_ + + + + + +TO THE +REVERED MEMORY +OF A +GREAT SCHOLAR AND GREAT TEACHER +WHOM I WAS ONCE PROUD +TO CALL MY FRIEND, + +Frances James Child, + +THIS LITTLE BOOK +IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. + +_In "Cap and Gown" you look in vain +For epic or heroic strain. +Not ours to scale the heights sublime, +Which hardly masters dare to climb; +We only sing of youth and joy, +And love,--the credo of the boy!_ + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +The gay verses which celebrate undergraduate life must not be taken too +seriously. They seldom pretend to the dignity of poetry. College verse, +if I understand it, is verse suited to the period and point of view of +undergraduate days. Light, graceful, humorous, sparkling,--this it +should be for the most part; serious sometimes, it is true,--for young +men and women about to take upon themselves the responsibilities of +mature life are at heart by no means frivolous, but touching the note of +grief, if at all, almost as though by accident. Life is often sad enough +in the after-years, and for the period of sorrow, sad verse may be in +place. Happy they who have not yet traded cap and bells (never far +hidden under cap and gown) for the + +"Sable stole of cypress lawn." + +Happier still if they never need make such a sorry exchange. + +Yes, like all sound art, college verse must, above all else, be honest. +Let us not say, however, that the thoughtful moods of young men and +women may not sincerely be set to the music of verse. One department in +this collection bears the name "In Serious Mood," and its sentiment +rings as true as that of any other. + +In looking over very many undergraduate papers, I have been struck with +several facts. I will give them for what they are worth, leaving their +explanation to others. First, there seems to be a general fondness for +the sonnet, and a very general lack of success in writing it. Second, +the French forms of light verse are exceedingly popular--particularly +the rondeau, ballade, and triolet. These, more easily lending themselves +to gay moods than does the sonnet, are written with much greater +success. Triolets are perhaps least often, rondeaus most often, +successful. Third, purely sentimental verse is little written in women's +colleges, its place being taken by poetry of nature or of reflection. +Oddly enough, when it _is_ attempted, the writer usually fancies herself +the lover, and describes feminine, not masculine, beauty. College girls +show possibly more maturity of reflective power than do their brothers, +but they are notably weaker in the sense of humor. Fourth, amongst so +much merely graceful verse, there are not wanting touches here and there +of genuine poetry. I shall be disappointed if the reader does not +discover many such in this little book. + +While I have confined myself, for the most part, to verse printed in the +college publications of the past five years, I have overstepped this +limit in a few instances. None of the poems in the present book, +however, were included in the first series published in 1892. + +Thanks are due Messrs. Andrus & Church, of Ithaca, N.Y., for their +generous loan of bound files of the _Cornell Era_, to the assistant +librarian of Harvard University for numerous courtesies, and to the +editors of many college papers, without whose kind cooperation the +second series of "Cap and Gown" would have been impossible. + +F.L.K. + + + +COLLEGE PUBLICATIONS REPRESENTED. + +AMHERST COLLEGE _Amherst Literary Monthly, The_. + +BALTIMORE, WOMAN'S COLLEGE OF _Kalends, The_. + +BOWDOIN COLLEGE _Bowdoin Orient, The._ + _Bowdoin Quill, The_. + +BROWN UNIVERSITY _Brown Magazine, The_. + _Brunonian, The_. + +BRYN MAWR COLLEGE _Bryn Mawr Lantern, The_. + +CALIFORNIA UNIVERSITY _University of California Magazine._ + +CHICAGO UNIVERSITY _University of Chicago Weekly, The_. + +COLGATE UNIVERSITY _Madisonensis_. + +COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY _Columbia Literary Monthly, The._ + _Columbia Spectator, The._ + _Morningside, The_. + +CORNELL UNIVERSITY _Cornell Era, The_. + _Cornell Magazine, The_. + +DARTMOUTH COLLEGE _Dartmouth Literary Monthly, The._ + _Dartmouth Lyrics, 16mo, 1893_. + +HAMILTON COLLEGE _Hamilton Literary Monthly, The_. + +HARVARD UNIVERSITY _Harvard Advocate, The_. + _Harvard Lampoon, The_. + _Harvard Monthly, The_. + +KANSAS, UNIVERSITY OF _Kansas University Weekly_. + +LEHIGH UNIVERSITY _Lehigh Burr, The_. + +LELAND STANFORD UNIVERSITY _Palo Alto, The_. + _Sequoia_. + _Stanford Quad, The_ + _Four-Leaved Clover: Stanford Rhymes, + 16mo, 1896_. + +MASS. INSTITUTE OF +TECHNOLOGY _Tech, The_. + +MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY _Inlander, The._ + _Wrinkle, The_ + +MOUNT HOLYOKE COLLEGE _Mount Holyoke, The_ + +NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY _Syllabus, The_. + +OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY _Makio, The_. + +PENNSYLVANIA, UNIVERSITY OF _Red and Blue_. + +PRINCETON UNIVERSITY _Nassau Literary Monthly_. + +ROCHESTER, UNIVERSITY OF _Campus, The_. + +SMITH COLLEGE _Smith College Monthly_. + +SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY _University Herald_. + +TEXAS, UNIVERSITY OF _University of Texas Magazine_. + +TRINITY COLLEGE _Trinity Tablet, The_. + +TUFTS COLLEGE _Tuftonian, The_. + +UNION COLLEGE _Concordiensis, The_. + _Garnet, The_. + _Parthenon, The_. + +VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY _Vanderbilt Observer, The_. + +VASSAR COLLEGE _Vassar Miscellany, The_. + +VIRGINIA, UNIVERSITY OF _Virginia University Magazine_. + +WELLESLEY COLLEGE _Wellesley Magazine, The_. + _Wellesley Lyrics, 16mo, 1894_. + +WELLS COLLEGE _Cardinal, The_. + +WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY _Wesleyan Argus, The_. + _Wesleyan Literary Monthly, The_. + _Olla Podrida, The_. + _Wesleyan Verse, 16mo, 1894_. + +WESTERN RESERVE UNIVERSITY _College Folio, The_. + +WILLIAMS COLLEGE _Williams Literary Monthly, The_. + _Williams Weekly, The_. + +WISCONSIN, UNIVERSITY OF _Badger, The_. + _Wisconsin Aegis_. + +YALE UNIVERSITY _Yale Courant, The_. + _Yale Literary Magazine, The._ + _Yale Record, The_. + + * * * * * + + +~Soap-Bubbles.~ + +As a little child at play +Blows upon a pipe of clay +Bubbles, evanescent, bright, +With their iridescent light, +So I fling upon the wind +Verses of the bubble kind. + +And my friend with eyes of blue +Looks my dainty verses through, +Pauses from his books awhile, +With an intellectual smile; +For my fancy seems as naught +To this man of deeper thought. + +Still I plead as my excuse: +"Even bubbles have their use. +They are perfect while they live, +And their short career may give, +As they shimmer, and are flown, +Some suggestion for our own. + +"Let their beauty, pure and glad, +Make another soul less sad, +And, as upward they are whirled, +Let them show their little world, +Floating clouds and perfect sky, +Warmly mirrored, ere they die." + +HERBERT MULLER HOPKINS. +_Columbia Literary Monthly._ + + + +I. LOVE AND SENTIMENT + + + +~Love Laughs.~ + +"Love laughs at locksmiths," laughs ho! ho! +Still Thisbe steals to meet a beau, + Naught recks of bolt and bar and night, + And father's frown and word despite. +As in the days of long ago, +In southern heat and northern snow +Still twangs the archer's potent bow, + And as his flying arrows smite, + Love laughs. + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~Where Cupid Dwells.~ + +Way over the seas, is a far, far land, + Where skies are blue and gold; +Where ripples break on a silver sand, + And sunbeams ne'er grow old; +There's a dale where Cupid dwells, they say, +And 'tis there that he rests from his frolic play. + +Oh, there's many a lass and many a swain + That knows of his shafts made there; +For Cupid spares naught of a deep heart-pain. + Though love be all his care. +And I think he should make a reflection or two, +When he rests over there from his play. Don't you? + +ROBERT L. MUNGER. +_Yale Courant_. + + +~To Ruby Lips.~ + +Two ruby lips are hers; a pair +Of eyes a cynic to ensnare, + A tinted cheek, a perfect nose, + A throat as white as winter's snows, +And o'er her brow bright golden hair. + +But, though she's everything that's fair, +My captured fancy's focused where + A saucy smile suffuses those + Two ruby lips. + +Why longer wait their sweets to share? +We're safe behind the portiere. + A moment, then, that no one knows-- + Ah! now she's flown, _couleur de rose_, +With, one might hint (but who would dare?) + _Too_ ruby lips. + +H.A. RICHMOND. +_The Tech._ + + +~A Gift.~ + +My friend holds careless in his palm + A glittering stone. +He does not know a jewel rare + Is all his own. + +But in its flashing lights I see + A diamond shine, +And though he holds it in his hand, + The gem is mine. + +ELIZABETH REEVE CUTTER. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~Jacqueminot.~ + +Are you filled with wonder, Jacqueminot, +Do you think me mad that I kiss you so? +If a rose could only its thoughts express, +I'd find you mocking, I more than guess; +And yet if you vow me a fond old fool, +Just think if your own fine pulse was cool +When you lay in her tresses an hour ago, + Jacqueminot. + +This pale, proud girl, you must understand, +Held all my fate in her small white hand, +And when I asked her to be my bride, +She wanted a day to think--decide; +And I asked, if her answer were _no_, she'd wear +A Marshal Niel to the ball in her hair, +But if 'twere _yes_, she would tell me so + By a Jacqueminot. + +My heart found heaven, I had seen my sign, +And after the dance I knew her mine, +And I plucked you out of her warm, soft hair, +As her stately pride stood trembling there, +And I felt in the dark for her lips to kiss, +And I pressed them close to my own like _this_, +And I held her cheek to my own cheek--_so_, + Jacqueminot! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Don't You Wish You Knew!~ + +Glancing in the moonlight, + Gliding in the dark, +Down the river slowly, + Floats our dainty bark. +Sweetly sound two voices, + Shadows hide the view; +Heard the rushes something? + Don't you wish you knew! + +Gently sigh the zephyrs, + Shine the stars above, +Eyes of brighter lustre + Speak of lasting love. +Quickly pass the hours, + Glides the bark canoe; +Heard the rushes something? + Don't you wish you knew! + +A.H.B. +_Brunonian._ + + +~Prom-Roses.~ + +Only a bunch of roses fair, + A duster of pink and white, +Roses that nod to the music low, + The flowers she wore that night. + +She tenderly lifts each drooping head + That gracefully tosses there, +And the dainty flowers, nestling close, + Smile back at the maiden fair. + +"How beautiful they are," she said, + As she pressed them to her cheek, +"Why, the opened petals almost seem + As if they were trying to speak." + +I wonder why she cannot hear + The song that the flowers sing, +I wonder if she knows or cares + For the message the roses bring. + +JAMES P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record_. + + +~A Lyric.~ + +Beneath the lilac-tree, + With its breathing blooms of white, +You waved a parting kiss to me + In the deepening amber light. + +Your face is always near, + Your tender eyes of brown. +I see your form in dreams; I hear + The whisper of your gown. + +Once more the lilac-tree + With twilight dew is wet; +But, oh, I would that you might be + Alive to love me yet. + +EDWARD M. HULME. +_The Palo Alto._ + + +Pallas + +You say there's a sameness in my style, + You long for the savor of something new, +You tell me that love is not worth while, + You wish for verse that is strong and true. + Well, I will leave the choice to you-- +Prose or poetry, short or long, + Only we'll let this be the cue-- +Love is excluded from the song. + +I'll sing of some old cathedral pile, + Where, as we sit in a carved oak pew, +The sunlight illumines nave and aisle, + And peace seems thrilling us through and through. + No? you don't think that will do? +How would you like a busy throng, + A battle, Elizabeth's retinue? +But love is excluded from the song. + +A journey, a voyage, a tropic isle, + The hush of the forest, the ocean blue, +A lament for all that is false and vile, + A paean for all that is good and true. + Pompadour's fan, or Louis's queue, +Mournful or merry, right or wrong. + Subjects, you'll find, are not so few, +But love is excluded from the song. + + Oh! for a song of yourself you sue! +Do you think you can trap me? You are wrong. + Sing of your eyes and your smile and--Pooh! +Love is excluded from the song. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~How I Love Her.~ + +Dear, I'll tell you how I love you-- +Not by singing sweetly of you-- +Oh, I love you far too much, +For the daintiest rhyme's light touch; +No, it needs no language signs, +It's written here between the lines, +How I love you! You will see +If you look there, loving me. + +C.B. NEWTON. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~Polly.~ + +She fluttered gaily down the hill-- + That merry, dimpled lass-- +She hurried singing down the hill, +And then she loitered by the mill, + And saw the bubbles pass, + Made double in the glass +Of the mirror of the water, greeny still. + +She heard a sparrow pertly cry, + She smelt the new-mown hay, +She felt the sunshine in the sky, +As lightly she went skipping by, + A-down the sunny way-- + 'Twas like a holiday, +The keen, expectant sparkle in her eye. + +And Cupid's wings were on her feet, + As nimbly she ran down; +And Cupid's wings were on her feet: +For pretty Polly went to meet + Her lover in the town. + She wore that lilac gown +That made him say--oh, nothing to repeat! + +CHARLES W. SHOPE. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Under the Rose.~ + +Last night the blush rose clustered,-- + To-day the rough wind blows +In showers her broken petals; + Last night,--yet no one knows,-- +I kissed thee, sweetheart, sweetheart, + Under the rose! + +Last night my fond hope blossomed,-- + To-day December snows +Drift deep and cold above it; + To-day,--ah! no one knows,-- +My heart breaks, sweetheart, sweetheart, + Under the rose! + +CATHERINE Y. GLEN. +_Mount Holyoke._ + + +[Illustration: MT. HOLYOKE GIRL.] + + +~A Bit of Human Nature.~ + +'Tis only a pair of woman's eyes, + So long-lashed, soft, and brown, +Half hiding the light that in them lies, + As dreamily looking down. + +'Tis only the dainty curve of a lip, + Half full, half clear defined, +And the shell-like pink of a finger-tip, + And a figure half reclined. + +'Tis only a coil of rich, dark hair, + With sunlight sifted through, +And a truant curl just here and there, + And a knot of ribbon blue. + +'Tis only the wave of a feather fan, + That ruffles the creamy lace, +Loose gathered about the bosom fair, + By rhinestones held in place. + +'Tis only the toe of a high-heeled shoe, + With the glimpse of a color above-- +A stocking tinted a faint sky-blue, + The shade that lovers love. + +'Tis only a woman--a woman, that's all, + And, as only a woman can, +Bringing a heart to her beck and call + By waving her feather fan. + +'Tis only a woman, and I--'twere best + To forget that waving fan. +She only a woman--you know the rest? + But I am only a man. + +CHARLES WASHINGTON COLEMAN. +_Virginia University Magazine._ + + +~Her Little Glove.~ + +Her little glove, I dare aver, +Would set your pulses all astir; + It hides a something safe from sight + So soft and warm, so small and white, +A cynic would turn flatterer! + +Could Pegasus have better spur? +'Twould almost cause a saint to err-- + A Puritan to grow polite-- + Her little glove. + +'Twill satisfy a connoisseur, +This dainty thing of lavender; + And when it clasps her fingers tight + I think--I wonder if it's right-- +That somehow--well--I wish _I_ were + Her little glove. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Verse_. + + +~Skating Hath Charms.~ + +So cold was the night, + And her cheeks were cold, too, +Though it wasn't quite right, +So cold was the night, +And so sad was her plight, + That I--well, wouldn't you? +So cold was the night, + And her cheeks were cold, too. + +H.H. +_Amherst Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Portrait.~ + +Pearls and patches, powder and paint, + This was her grandmother years ago. +Gown and coiffure so strange and quaint, +Features just lacking the prim of the saint, + From the mischievous dimple that lurks below; + High-heeled slippers and satin bow, +Red lips mocking the heart's constraint, +Free from passion, devoid of taint-- + This was her grandmother years ago. + +Straight and slender, gallant and tall. + Ah, how he loved her, years ago! +Just so she looked at that last dim ball, +When, in a niche of the dusk old hall, + They whispered together soft and low. + She whispered "yes," but fate answered "no:" +Some one listened and told it all, +And the horses might wait by the garden wall, + But none came to answer him, years ago. + +So, standing, fresh as the rose on her breast, + Smiling down on me here below, +Never a care on her brow impressed, +Never the dream of a thought confessed + Of all the weariness and the woe, + Hearts would break were time not so slow. +Swept are life's chambers; comes the new guest. +Old love, or new love--which was the best? + For this was her grandmother years ago. + +_Southern Collegian_. + + +~The Convert.~ + +I wrote lots of trash about Cupid, + And the telling bewitchment of curls, +And that men were excessively stupid + To be madly devoted to girls. +I remarked that true love was unstable, + As compared with position or pelf, +'Till one day I met you, little Mabel, + And learned what it felt like, myself! + +Don't read all the things I have written + When I knew that my heart was my own, +But since I confess I am smitten, + Read these little verses alone. +And sincerely I trust I'll be able + To convince you, you sly little elf, +To grant me your heart, little Mabel, + And learn what it feels like yourself! + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Thief's Apology.~ + +I stole a kiss!--What could I do? +Before the door we stood, we two, + About to say a plain good-by; + She seemed so innocent and shy, +But what she thought, I thought I knew. + +Ah, swift the blissful moments flew, +And when at last I said adieu + (Perhaps you think me bold), but I-- + I stole a kiss. + +The tale is told; perhaps it's true, +Perhaps it was a deed to rue; + But when that look came in her eye + I thought she wished to have me try-- +I don't know how 'twould been with you-- + _I_ stole a kiss. + +ROBERT PORTER ST. JOHN. +_Amherst Literary Monthly._ + + +~A Ballad of Dorothy.~ + +It's "Dorothy! Where's Dorothy?" + From morn to even fall, +There's not a lad on Cowslip Farm + Who joins not in the call. +It's Dolly here and Dolly there, + Where can the maiden be? +No wench in all the countryside's + So fine as Dorothy. + +With tucked-up gown and shining pail, + Before the day is bright, +Down dewy lanes she singing goes + Among the hawthorns white. +Perchance her roses need her care, + She tends them faithfully. +There's not a rose in all the world + As fresh and sweet as she! + +With morning sunshine in her hair + A-churning Dolly stands: +Oh, happy chum, I envy it, + Held close between her hands; +And when the crescent moon hangs bright + Athwart the soft night sky, +Down shady paths we strolling go, + Just Dorothy and I. + +As true of heart as sweet of face, + With gay and girlish air, +The painted belles of citydom + Are not a whit as fair. +Come Michaelmas the parish chimes + Will ring out merrily. +Who is the bride I lead to church? + Why, who but Dorothy? + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Cup and Saucer Episode.~ + +'Twas only coffee, yet we both drank deep, + I won't deny I felt intoxication; +For just to see those roguish moon-eyes peep + Over the cup, I plunged in dissipation. + +She raised her cup, and I raised also mine; + She gave a look, as if "Now are you ready?" +Our eyes met o'er the rims--it seemed like wine, + So sweet, divine, bewitching, almost "heady." + +So cup on cup! The salad, too, was good. + I had of that far more than my fair rations. +Yet served it merely as an interlude + Between the music of the cup flirtations. + +And then to have her say 'twas all my fault! + I fairly blushed, and gazed down at my cup. +I noticed, though, she had not called the halt + Until the pot was empty, every sup. + +BERT ROSS. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Faint Heart Ne'er Won Fair Lady.~ + +"The burn runs swiftly, my dainty lass, + And its foam-wreathed stones are mossy, +An I carry ye ower to yonder shore + Ye will na think me saucy?" + +"I thank ye, sir, but a Scottish lass + Recks not of a little wetting. +Will ye stand aside, sir? I can na bide, sir. + The sun o' the gloamin's setting." + +"Yet stay, my pretty, the stepping-stones + Are a bridge o' my are hands' making. +An ye pay no toll I maun be so bold-- + The sweeter a kiss for taking." + +"Farewell, ye braw young Highlander. + Tho' first ye sought to mask it: +Unceevil 'tis to steal a kiss. + But muckle waur to ask it." + +CHARLES POTTER HINE. +_Yale Literary Magazine_. + + +~A Foreign Tongue.~ + +When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue, +Their words are not like ours, +But full of meanings like the throb of flowers +Yet in the earth, unborn. I think the snow +Feels the mysterious passage and the flow +Of inarticulate streams that surge below. +And it is easy learning for the young; +When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue. + +ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~Ye Gold-Headed Cane.~ + +It stands in the corner yet, stately and tall, +With a top that once shone like the sun. +It whispers of muster-field, playhouse, and ball, +Of gallantries, courtship, and fun. +It is hardly the stick for the dude of to-day, +He would swear it was deucedly plain, +But the halos of memory crown its decay-- +My grandfather's gold-headed cane. + +It could tell how a face in a circling calash +Grew red as the poppies she wore, +When a dandy stepped up with a swagger and dash. +And escorted her home to her door. +How the beaux cried with jealousy, "Jove! what a buck!" +As they glared at the fortunate swain, +And the wand which appeared to have fetched him his luck-- +My grandfather's gold-headed cane. + +It could tell of the rides in the grand yellow gig, +When, from under a broad scuttle hat, +The eyes of fair Polly were lustrous and big, +And--but no! would it dare tell of _that_? +Ah me! by those wiles that bespoke the coquette +How many a suitor was slain! +There was one, though, who conquered the foe when they met +With the gleam of his gold-headed cane. + +Oh, the odors of lavender, lilac, and musk! +They scent these old halls even yet; +I can still see the dancers as down through the dusk +They glide in the grave minuet. +The small satin slippers, my grandmamma's pride, +Long, long in the chest have they lain; +Let us shake out the camphor and place them beside +My grandfather's gold-headed cane. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Hours.~ + +Matchless, melting eyes of brown, +This is but a cheerless town; +You should beam 'neath warmer skies, +Matchless, melting, dark brown eyes. + +Yours should be a land of flowers, +Perfumed air and sunny hours; +Eastern fires within you rise, +Matchless, melting, dark brown eyes. + +Eyes of beauty, eyes of light, +Burning mystically bright, +Prithee here no longer stay, +You will burn my heart away. + +W. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Fickle Heart.~ + +A fickle heart! Let subtler poets sing +Of changeless love and all that kind of thing, +Of hearts in which a passion never dies-- +_My_ heart's as fickle as the summer skies +Across whose face the changing cloud-forms wing. + +Unfailing loves unfailing troubles bring. +I love to touch on Cupid's harp each string, +Though each unto my questioning touch replies +A fickle heart. + +So, 'twixt some thirty loves I'm wavering, +To each the same unstable vows I fling, +Reading the first glad gleam of love's surprise +In thirty pair of brown and azure eyes, +Finding in all the same thought answering; +A fickle heart. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~My Lady goes to the Play.~ + +With the link-boys running on before + To light her on her way, +A-lounging in her sedan goes + Belinda to the play. + +In patch and powder, puff and frill, + From satin shoe to hair, +Of all the maids in London town + I wot there's none so fair! + +From Mayfair down along the Strand + To Covent Garden's light, +Where Master David Garrick acts + In a new role to-night, + +The swinging sedan takes its way, + And with expectant air +Belinda fans, and wonders who + To-night there will be there. + +Sir Charles, perhaps, or, happy thought, + Flushing thro' her powder, +He might come in--beneath her stays + She feels her heart beat louder. + +The place, at last! The flunkies set +Their dainty burden down, +"Lud, what a crowd!" My Lady frowns +And gathers up her gown. + +ENVOY. + +Alack for human loveliness +And for its little span! +Where's Belinda? Here, quite fresh, +Are still her gown and fan! + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Confession and Avoidance.~ + +They say that you're a flirt at best, + And warn me to beware: your glances +Would make, they say, a treach'rous test + By which to gauge a fellow's chances. +And yet--I love you so! a throng + Of passions bid me speak to-day. +Ah! darling, tell me they are wrong! + Are you as heartless as they say? + +Am I? well, so I have been told, + Though never yet have I confessed it; +But you, sir, seem so very bold + That I--well, I admit you've guessed it. +Alas! 'tis true I'm heartless; yes, + They're right, but only right in part; +The reason, dear, is--can't you guess? + Because--because you have my heart. + +JOHN ALAN HAMILTON. +_Cornell Magazine._ + + +~Clarissa Laughs.~ + +Clarissa laughs. I plead in vain, +She hears my suit with sweet disdain, +When I remind her--speaking low-- +That once she did not flout me so, +She asks me--do I think 'twill rain? +Then when in anger I am fain +To leave her, swear I've naught to gain + By staying, save th'increase of woe, + Clarissa laughs. + +Yet when I beg of her to deign +To answer, give it joy or pain, + She smiles. So then I cannot go, + For with her smiles my love doth grow. +Yet when I press my suit again, + Clarissa laughs. + +RUTH PARSONS MILNE. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~'Mid the Roses.~ + +'Mid the roses she is standing, + In her garden, waiting there; +Roses all about her glowing, + Roses shining in her hair. + +May I, dare I, ask the question + Which my heart has asked before? +Then I falter, "Can you love me, + Darling?" I can say no more. + +Now the petals fall more slowly: + One has lodged upon her dress; +Now her eyes she raises gently; + Meeting mine, they answer "Yes." + +F.T. GEROULD. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Society Martyr.~ + +Rustling billows of silk 'neath the foam of old lace, +A half-languid smile upon each listless face,-- +A dreaming of roses and rose-leaf shades,-- +A medley of modern and Grecian maids. + Such clatter and clink + One scarcely can think + Till he spies a shy nook where he lonely can sink,-- +For how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such chatter and gossip at afternoon teas? + +Fair Phyllis's gold lashes demurely cast down, +Her face in sweet doubt 'twixt a smile and a frown,-- +A venturesome rosebud o'ertopping the rest +Now lies all a-quiver upon her white breast, + The curves of her neck + Man's vow often wreck,-- + She has the whole world at her call and her beck. +So how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such variant emotions at afternoon teas? + +Behind sheltering palms, safe from gossips' sharp gaze, +Is acted in mime one of life's dearest plays,-- +Sweet Bessie's brown eyes raised beseechingly up, +Her lips just released from the kiss of her cup, + And Fred, I much fear, + From small sounds that I hear, + Is as bold as the rim of her cup,--and as near,-- +And how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such sights and such sounds at our afternoon teas? + +Shrewd maters watch Phyllis and Bessie and Fred,-- +Each smile and each look and each toss of the head,-- +And wonder and ponder and figure and scheme, +While fortune and fashion 'gainst love tip the beam. + For Bessie's dark locks + And Phyllis's smart frocks + Are but snares to entrap the society fox. +Pray, how can a bachelor be at his ease +With such artful devices at afternoon teas? + +JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. +_Brown Magazine_. + + +~O Mores!~ + +Cupid's bow is lying broken, +Fallen on the ground, +And his arrows all with blunted +Points are strewn around. +For to reach our modern hearts +Powerless are the blind god's darts, +From his rosy shoulders stripped; +Since, to pierce the breasts so cold, +Shafts must always be of gold, +Arrows must be diamond-tipped. + +ALBERT ELLSWORTH THOMAS. +_Brunonian._ + + +~Which?~ + +Blonde or brunette? Shall Ethel fair, +My winter girl, with golden hair, +Or Maud, whose dark brown eyes bewitch,-- +My summer girl,--now govern? +Which? + +Shall cold Bostonianism rule? +Shall Love teach Browning in his school? +Or shall coy glances, passion-rich, +Compel my fond allegiance? +Which? + +And yet the solving's really clear. +For winter's gone and summer's here. +I want no statue in a niche, +So Cupid says, "Let Maud be +'Which!'" + +W.C. NICHOLS. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Then and Now.~ + +When first we met she was three feet high, + And three, I think, was her age as well, +A touch of the heaven was in her eye; +I cannot say she was very shy, +(As you'll see by her actions by and by), + But the way I behaved I blush to tell. + +We met at a party, on the stair; + She was decked in ribbons and silk galore, +She smiled with a most bewitching air, +And then, I'm afraid, I pulled her hair. +You know you can't expect savoir-faire + Of a cavalier of the age of four! + +She only laughed with her subtle charm, + And took it more sweetly than you'd have believed, +But later she really took alarm-- +When she wanted to kiss me I pinched her arm, +And she ran away to escape from harm; + At which, no doubt, I was much relieved. + +She did not offer to kiss again; + I saw her go off with another beau. +She pretended to hold up her ten-inch train, +And whispered low to her new-found swain. +I was eating ice-cream with might and main,-- +And that was some seventeen years ago. + +I see her to-night on the winding stair, +She replies with a smile to my sober bow; +The palms lean lovingly toward her hair, +And her foot keeps time to a distant air. +I'm afraid she does not recall or care-- +She does not offer to kiss me now! + +Heigho! What a sad, what a sweet affair, +What a curious mixture life seems to be! +I am fast in the net of love, and there, +With another man on the winding stair, +Is the girl I love,--and I pulled her hair +When she wanted a kiss at the age of three! + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~A Toast.~ + +Clink, clink, + Fill up your glasses. +Drink, drink, + Drink to the lasses. +Eyes that are blue, + Lips that are sweet, +Hearts that are true, + Figures petite. +Clink, clink, + Fill up your glasses. +Drink, drink, + Drink to the lasses. +Drink, for there's nothing so sweet as a maid is; + Drink to the dearest of mortals, The Ladies. + +HENRY MORGAN STONE. +_Brunonian_. + + +~A Bit of Lace.~ + +It lay upon a pillow white, +The framework of a beauteous sight +Wherein its mistress laid a bright + Ecstatic face, +And when each night it proudly bore +Her wavy wealth of "cheveux d'or" +It seemed a very Heaven for + The bit of lace. + +But lace can from a pillow part +And by a touch, of cunning art +Adorn the casket of the heart, + Where every grace, +Half hidden by its witching fold, +Seeks to betray a charm untold-- +How envies each admirer bold + The bit of lace! + +Still maidens' mind and garments change, +And so there comes a new exchange; +The real Valenciennes finds a strange + New resting-place, +Where tiny feet and ankles hide, +And where but for a shoe untied +No human eye had e'er espied + The bit of lace. + +A crowded street, a sudden scare, +A little rush, a lengthy tear, +A snowy skirt that needs repair, + Decides the case. +And what each morn her footman missed +Hung from a dainty, dimpled wrist, +And ardent lovers fondly kissed + The bit of lace. + + * * * * * + +This tale is incomplete, I know, +But where else could the traveller go? +Ah, it was fifty years ago + All this took place. +And nodding, in her noonday nap, +Secure from every sad mishap, +I see in Grandma's dainty cap + The bit of lace. + +_Red and Blue._ + + +~A Song to Her.~ + +A song to a maid with eyes like stars; +Lad, you can sing it. +Any old tune to trip the bars, +Any old voice to ring it; +Love will wend it away to her; +Love will mend it and pray to her; +Love with his love will wing it. + +A song to a maid, a song of songs +Born in the singing +Ever, oh! ever to love belongs; +Ringing, ringing, ringing! +Holly berry, a winter theme, +Bursting cherry, a summer's dream, +Love on love's pinions winging. + +_Wrinkle_. + + +~Circe.~ + +Merry smiles and entrancing eyes, + Words that are light as passing air. +Lips that never disown disguise, + Hearts that endeavor hearts to snare, + Tongues that know not the way to spare, +Babbling on in a thoughtless whirl; + Would-be worshippers, O beware! +These are the ways of the modern girl. + +Faces fickle as April skies, + Eyes where Cupid has made his lair; +When they tempt you to idolize, + Then for a broken heart prepare. + What does she care for your despair, +Striving peace from your life to hurl? + Would-be worshippers, O take care! +These are the ways of the modern girl. + +Ribbons and laces, smiles and sighs, + A knot of vermilion in her hair, +Glances where veiled deception lies, + A kiss, perchance, on the winding stair, + Exquisite gowns and roses rare, +Shimmer of silver, gloss of pearl-- + Where is the heart, O woman, where? +These are the ways of the modern girl. + +ENVOY. + +Fashion and pique her hours share, + Nature and truth their standards furl, +Fair as fickle, and false as fair, + These are the ways of the modern girl. + +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~A Wish.~ + +Cupid laughs, nor seems to care +How his shafts are wont to harrow. +Ah! that I could unaware, +Wound him with his golden arrow. + +A. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~To Phyllis.~ + +I said your beauty shamed the rose's blush; + You thought the simile was trite, untrue; +But, oh, I saw each rose for pleasure flush + To hear itself compared, dear heart, to you! + +ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~L'Amour, L'Amour.~ + +We catch the fleeting perfume of roses + As the evening closes the golden day, +And the rhythmic beating of waves in motion + Comes from the ocean a mile away; +In the west is dying the sunset's splendor, + And twilight tender enfolds the land; +Where the tide is flying a-down the river, + And the grasses quiver, we silent stand. + +In your radiant eyes the sun unknowing + Has left his glowing to deeper glow, +And your tender sighs sound far more sweetly + Than the winds that fleetly and blithely blow +And first all shyly your small hand lingers + With trembling fingers within my own, +The blushes slyly and swiftly starting, + And then departing like rose-leaves blown. + +Alas, the envious time is fleeting, + But your heart is beating in time with mine, +And Cupid's rhyme rings louder--clearer, + As I draw you nearer, my love divine! +In the twilight dim we have found love's tether, + And are linked together, no more to part; +While the white stars swing in a maze of glory, + To hear the story that bares your heart. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~Lines on a Ring.~ + +Oh, precious drop of crystal dew, +Set in a tiny band of gold, +Which doth within its little grasp +A blue-veined finger softly hold-- +Thou failest if thy radiant rays +Are seeking--bold attempt 'twould be!-- +To show a fraction of the love +That beams from Edith's eyes on me. + +LOREN M. LUKE. +_Nassau Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Memory.~ + +Shadows up the hillside creeping, +Gold in western sky, +Meadow-brook beneath us keeping +Dreamy lullaby. + +Soft stars through the pine-trees gleaming-- +Gems in dark robes caught-- +Everything about us seeming +With hidden meaning fraught. + +Sweet dark eyes, upon me turning, +Challenge if I dare, +Vie with amorous sunbeams burning +O'er her face and hair. + +But a truce to idle musing-- +That was long ago. +Was she gracious or refusing? +You may never know. + +Winter's snows those fields are hiding +'Neath a robe of white, +For another she is biding +Tryst of love to-night. + +I was only glancing over + A book beloved of yore, +When a sprig of mountain clover + Fluttered to the floor. + +IRVILLE C. LECOMPTE. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +[Illustration: A WESLEYAN GIRL.] + + +~The Soul's Kiss.~ + +Not your sweet, red lips, dear, +Tremulous with sighs, +Lest their passion dull love's rapture; +Kiss me with your eyes. + +Gleam on Cupid's wing, dear, +At the least touch flies, +Even lips may brush to dimness; +Kiss me with your eyes. + +Pain within the bliss, dear, +Of those soft curves lies; +Only love the soul's light carries; +Kiss me with your eyes. + +MAUD THOMPSON. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +~A Portrait.~ + +A slim, young girl, in lilac quaintly dressed; +A mammoth bonnet, lilac like the gown, + Hangs from her arm by wide, white strings, the crown +Wreathed round with lilac blooms; and on her breast +A cluster; lips still smiling at some jest + Just uttered, while the gay, gray eyes half frown + Upon the lips' conceit; hair, wind-blown, brown +Where shadows stray, gold where the sunbeams rest. + +Ah! lilac lady, step from your gold frame, +Between that starched old Bishop and the dame + In awe-inspiring ruff. We'll brave their ire +And trip a minuet. You will not?--Fie! +Those mocking lips half make me wish that I, + Her grandson, might have been my own grandsire. + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~A Picture.~ + +On spinet old, Clarissa plays +The melodies of by-gone days. +Forgotten fugue, a solemn tune, +The bars of stately rigadoon. +With head bent down to scan each note, +A crimson ribbon round her throat, +The very birds to sing forget +As some old-fashioned minuet +Clarissa plays. + +King George long since has passed away, +And minuets have had their day. +Within a hidden attic nook +Covered with dust, her music-book. +Gone are the keys her fingers pressed. +The bunch of roses at her breast. +But still, unmindful of time's flight, +With face so fair and hands so white, +Clarissa plays. + +EDWARD B. REED. +_Yale Literary Magazine._ + + +~Tildy in the Choir.~ + +Lines that ripple, notes that dance, +Foreign measures brought from France, +Reaching with a careless ease +From high C to--where you please, +Clever, frivolous, and gay-- +These will answer in their way; +But that tune of long ago-- +Stately, solemn, somewhat slow +(Dear "Old Hundred"--that's the air)-- +Will outrank them anywhere; +Once it breathed a seraph's fire. +(Tildy sang it in the choir.) + +How she stood up straight and tall! +Ah! again I see it all; +Cheeks that glowed and eyes that laughed, +Teeth like cream, and lips that quaffed +All the genial country's wealth +Of large cheer and perfect health, +Gown--well, yes--old-fashioned quite, +_You_ would call it "just a fright," +But I love that quaint attire. +(Tildy wore it in the choir.) + +How we sang--for _I_ was there, +Occupied a singer's chair +Next to--well, no prouder man +Ever lifts the bass, nor can, +Sometimes held the self-same book, +(How my nervous fingers shook!) +Sometimes--wretch--while still the air +Echoed to the parson's prayer, +I would whisper in her ear +What she could not help but hear. +Once, I told her my desire. +(Tildy promised in the choir.) + +Well, those days are past, and now +Come gray hairs, and yet somehow +I can't think those years have fled-- +Still those roadways know my tread, +Still I climb that old pine stair, +Sit upon the stiff-backed chair, +Stealing glances toward my left +Till her eyes repay the theft; +Death's a dream and Time's a liar-- +Tildy still is in the choir. + +Come, Matilda number two, +_Fin de siecle _maiden you! +Wonder if you'd like to see +Her I loved in fifty-three? +Yes? All right, then go and find +Mother's picture--"Papa!"--Mind! +She and I were married. You +Were our youngest. Now you, too, +Raise the same old anthems till +All the church is hushed and still +With a single soul to hear. +Do I flatter? Ah, my dear, +Time has brought my last desire-- +Tildy still _is_ in the choir! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Memory.~ + +We sat in the lamplight's gentle glow, +Alone on the winding stair, +And the distant strains of a waltz fell low +On the fragrance-laden air. +I caught from her lips a murmured "yes," +And the stately palms amid +There came a blissful, sweet caress-- +I shouldn't have--but I did! + +I might forget that joyous night, +As the months slip swiftly by; +I might forget the gentle light +That shone in her hazel eye; +But I can't forget that whispered "yes" +That came the palms amid, +I can't forget that one caress-- +I shouldn't have--but I did! + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~The American Girl.~ + +The German may sing of his rosy-cheeked lass, + The French of his brilliant-eyed pearl; +But ever the theme of my praises shall be + The laughing American girl, + Yes, the jolly American girl. + +She laughs at her sorrows, she laughs at her joys, + She laughs at Dame Fortune's mad whirl; +And laughing will meet all her troubles in life, + The laughing American girl, + Yes, the joyous American girl. + +You say she can't love if she laughs all the time? + A laugh at your logic she'll hurl; +She loves while she laughs and she laughs while she loves, + The laughing American girl, + Oh, the laughing American girl! + +S.F.P. +_Campus_. + + +~Ballade of Justification.~ + +A jingle of bells and a crunch of snow, + Skies that are clear as the month of May, +Winds that merrily, briskly blow, + A pretty girl and a cozy sleigh, + Eyes that are bright and laughter gay, +All that favors Dan Cupid's art; + I was but twenty. What can you say +If I confess I lost my heart? + +What if I answered in whispers low, + Begged that she would not say me nay, +Asked if my love she did not know, + What if I did? Who blames me, pray? + Suppose she blushed. 'Tis the proper way +For lovely maidens to play their part. + Does it seem too much for a blush to pay +If I confess I lost my heart? + +What if I drove extremely slow, + Was there not cause enough to stay? +Such opportunities do not grow + Right in one's pathway every day; + Cupid I dared not disobey, +If he saw fit to cast his dart; + Is it a thing to cause dismay +If I confess I lost my heart? + +ENVOY. + +What if I kissed her? Jealous they + Who scoff at buyers in true love's mart. +Who can my sound good sense gainsay + If I confess I lost my heart? + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Perdita.~ + +'Twas only a tiny, withered rose, + But it once belonged to Grace. +The goody didn't know that, I suppose-- +'Twas only a tiny, withered rose, +No longer sweet to the eye or nose, + So she tossed it out from the Dresden vase.-- +'Twas only a tiny, withered rose, + But it once belonged to Grace. + +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Strategy.~ + +Some, Cupid kills with arrows, +Some, with traps; +But this spring the little rascal +Found, perhaps, +That he needed both to slay me; +So he laid a cunning snare +On the hillside, and he hid it +In a lot of maidenhair; +And I doubt not he is laughing +At the joke, +For he made his arrows out of +Poison-oak. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~Canoe Song.~ + +Dip! Dip! Softly slip +Down the river shining wide, +Dim and far the dark banks are; +Life is love and naught beside. +Onward, drifting with the tide. + +Drip, drip, from paddle tip +Myriad ripples swirl and swoon; +Shiv'ring 'mid the ruddy stars, +Mirrored in the deep lagoon, +Faintly floats the mummied moon. + +Soft, soft, high aloft,-- +Ever thus till time is done,-- +Worlds will die; may thou and I +Glide beneath a gentler sun, +Young as now and ever one. + +E. FRERE CHAMPNEY. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~A Rambling Rhyme of Dorothy.~ + +When ye Crocuss shews his heade + & ye Wyndes of Marche have flede, +Springe doth come, and happylye + Then I thinke of + Dorothy. + +Haycockes fragrante in ye sun +Give me reste when taskes are done: + Summer's here, & merrylye + Then I dreame of + Dorothy. + +Scarlette leaves & heapinge binne; +Cyder, ye cool Tankard in; + Autumn's come. Righte jollylye + Then I drinke to + Dorothy. + +When ye Northe Wynde sweeps ye snowe +& Icyclles hange all belowe, + Then, for soothe, Olde Winter, he + Letts me dance with + Dorothy! + +ARTHUR CHENEY TRAIN. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~The Prof.'s Little Girl.~ + +She comes to the Quad when her Ladyship pleases, + And loiters at will in the sun and the shade; +As free from the burden of work as the breezes + That play with the bamboo is this little maid. +The tongues of the bells, as they beat out the morning, + Like mad in their echoing cases may whirl +Till they weary of calling her,--all their sharp warning + Is lost on the ear of the prof's little girl. + +With a scarred-over heart that is old in the knowledge + Of all the manoeuvres and snares of the Hall, +Grown wary of traps in its four years at college, + And able at last to keep clear of them all,-- +Oh, what am I doing away from my classes + With a little blue eye and a brown little curl? +Ah me! fast again, and each precious hour passes + In slavery sweet to the prof's little girl. + +She makes me a horse, and I mind her direction, + Though it takes me o'er many a Faculty green; +I'm pledged to the cause of her pussy's protection + From ghouls of the Lab and the horrors they mean; +I pose as the sire of a draggled rag dolly + Who owns the astonishing title of Pearl;-- +And I have forgotten that all this is folly, + So potent the charm of the prof's little girl! + + Yet, spite of each sacrifice made to impress her, +She smiles on my rival. Oh, vengeance I'd gain! + But he wears the same name as my major professor, +And so in his graces I have to remain; + And when she trots off with this juvenile lover, +Leaving me and the cat and the doll in a whirl, + It's pitiful truly for us to discover +The signs of her sex in the prof's little girl. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover._ + +~Gertrude.~ + + +Fair Gertrude lives at Farmington, +Perhaps you've seen her there; +Her eyes delight in laughing light, +Let gods describe her hair; +Her figure--well, grave Juno ne'er +Had half the supple grace +Of Gertrude fair of Farmington-- +Perhaps you know that place? + +Beneath her lips there gleam two rows +Of greed-inspiring pearls; +Such rows of teeth the gods bequeath +To but their choicest girls. +For other things at Farmington +I do not care a rap, +Although it is a lovely place-- +I've seen it (on the map). + +I would the gods had given me +Some mild poetic skill; +In Gertrude's praise I'd sing for days, +And volumes I could fill. +Perhaps you think I love this maid-- +In sooth perhaps I do; +Well, If I did, I'd tell her-- +But, by Jove, I'd not tell _you._ + +J.H. Scranton +_Yale Record._ + + +~My Politics.~ + +I am for gold--her golden hair +Whose mesh my soul entrances; +Caressing this, what do I care +For national finances? + +For silver, too--those silver tones +That with her laughter rise; +This wealth, thank God. no law or thrones +Can e'er demonetize. + +G.W. PIERCE. +_University of Texas Magazine._ + + +~The Summer Girl.~ + +A half-reclining form +In a "sleepy-hollow" chair, +A cloud of curls that storm +About her beauty fair, +Two laughing eyes that tell +A shyly answered "Yes." +A dainty hand to--well, +Say simply to caress. + +An airy little sprite +In a billowy flood of lace, +Which flutters in its flight +In the galop's tripping grace. +And, oh, the broken hearts +Which follow the rapturous whirl! +Oh, the Redfern gown, and the arts +Of the annual summer girl! + +EDWIN OSGOOD GROVER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~Love's Token.~ + +The frost and snow of mistletoe, +The warmth of holly berry, +These I combine, O lady mine, +To make thy yule-tide merry. +And shouldst thou learn, sweet, to return +My love, nor deem it folly, +Twined in thy hair the snow fruit wear, +And on thy breast the holly. + +ALICE R. TAGGART. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~A Passing Song.~ + +Ah, only love I have ever known, +Ah, only love I shall ever know, +The careless hours of youth have flown +And the light-hearted past to the winds is thrown, +And faster and faster the hours go. + +To your heart and mine there's a secret lying +While the spring's breath thrills in the air of May, +While life seems ever to be defying +The flight of time and the thought of dying, +And the great world runs on its careless way. + +Yet one dear thought in my heart is resting +As I face the path I must tread ere long, +When wearied with life's unending questing, +Its tawdry joys and its idle jesting, +I shall pass to the midst of the missing throng. + +That here I have known your heart's dear thrilling, +Your helping hand and your watchful eye, +My life with your tender love fulfilling. +I know but this, and am strangely willing +To learn your love and in learning--die. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Safe.~ + +When I picked up her glove + I let Fate decide it. +So great was my love, +When I picked up her glove; +'Twas as soft as a dove + _And her hand was inside it._ +When I picked up her glove + I let Fate decide it. + +W. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~Her Winsome Smile.~ + +Her winsome smile! It beams on me +From where the choir makes melody, + Behind the parson; maid demure, + Her witching eyes my thoughts allure, +Although, in church, this should not be. +Pale Luna's light, the dimpling sea, +Are very taking, I'll agree; + But to her smile all else is poor-- + Her winsome smile. + +The preacher, in a mournful key, +Shoves on the Year of Jubilee, + Shows present times without a cure, + With pessimistic portraiture-- +His back is turned, he cannot see + Her winsome smile. + +HARRY KEISER MUNROE. +_Wesleyan Argus._ + + +~The Summer Girl.~ + +I wooed her in the summer months, + When all the world was gay, +And on the hillside, in the sun, + The yellow harvest lay, +And late, across the level lawns, + The twilight met the day. + +Together, in the garden walks, + At early morn we went; +Together, in the deep green groves, + The drowsy noontide spent; +And in the evening watched how well + The sunset glories blent. + +Oh, happy morn! The trysting oak + Hung o'er the orchard gate. +I waited for her in the shade--- + I had quite long to wait, +For with the coachman she eloped + And left me to my fate. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~Phyllis's Slippers.~ + +Before the firelight's genial glow + She sits, and dreams of waltzes sweet, +Nor heeds the curious gleams that show + Grandmamma's slippers on her feet. + +Ah, happy slippers, thus to hold + So rare a burden! It were meet +That you should be of beaten gold + To clasp so close such dainty feet. + +H. A. RICHMOND. +_The Tech_. + + +~Vindication.~ + +Pray, why do maidens ever stand beneath + The mistletoe? +And why was ever hung the mystic wreath-- + Why should it grow? +And why were laughing eyes and lashes made, + If not to tease? +And such an opportunity displayed, + If not to seize? +Why, pouting lips should always ready be + To catch a kiss. +If cheeks will blush, why, it is plain to see + 'Tis not amiss. +And when a maiden sweet, and roguish eyes, + And mistletoe, +And madd'ning lips, while telltale blushes rise, + A-teasing so-- +Think you that I all idle waiting sat + To see her go? +Did I believe when she insisted that + She didn't know? + +ARTHUR MAURICE SMITH. +_Wrinkle_. + + +~To an Imaginary One.~ + +Say, darling, do you love me true? + Return you my affection? +Pray answer as I want you to, + And speak with circumspection. + +Don't blurt me out a _yes, cherie_, + And throw your arms around me: +A lack of maiden modesty + Would shock me and confound me. + +Be distant as the morning star, + Nor let me know how real, +How most material you are-- + My love is too ideal. + +Yes, be a little bit afraid, + And make a sweet resistance; +So near, a maid is but a maid, + A goddess at a distance. + +Still deign to play the charmer, dear, + Blush while you're thinking of me, +Breathe coyest wordlets in mine ear, + But _don't_ confess you love me! + +HENRY B. EDDY. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~When Gladys Plays.~ + +When Gladys plays in gladsome glee, + All men and gods might wish to see. +With flushing cheek and flashing eye + She strokes the ball or lobs it high, +With cuts of great variety. + +The ball hides in some blooming tree, +And sorely tries poor patient me; + But I swear not, oh, no! not I, + When Gladys plays. + +When whist with all propriety, +As Foster, Hoyle, or Pole decree, + We play together, although my + Good ace she trumps, I merely sigh +And grant the points to the enemy, + When Gladys plays. + +FERRIS GREENSLET. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~At the Club.~ + +When a pretty maiden passes + By the window down the Street, + Cards and billiards lose their sweet; +Conversation on old brasses +Languishes; up go the glasses: + "Nice complexion!" "Dainty feet!" +When a pretty maiden passes + By the window down the street + +Smith forgets the "toiling masses," + Robinson, the fall in wheat; + All the club is indiscreet. +Ah, the wisest men are asses +When a pretty maiden passes + By the window down the street! + +RICHARD HOVEY. +_Dartmouth Lyrics._ + + +~Friends.~ + +The wintry sky may be chill and drear, + And the wind go sighing in mournful strain, +Or it may be the spring of the waking year, + When flowers and birds return again. +Be it March or May, it matters not, + Snow or violets on the ground, +I know a little bewitching spot, + Where it is fair the whole year round. + +A low tea-table set out for two, + A divan with cushions piled on high, +Dresden tea-cups of pink and blue, + A fat little kettle simmering nigh, +In winter a fire that cracks and roars, + In summer a window where breezes play. +What if it hails or snows or pours, + In that little spot it is always May. + +A girl--of course, you will say, when one + Describes such a haven from life's mad whirl. +There must be a--wait till my song is done. + This is _such_ an entrancing girl! +Cheeks as fresh as a summer rose, + Eyes that change like the changing sea, +Lips where a smile first comes, then goes. + And, oh! but she makes delicious tea. + +So we sit and talk while the kettle sings, + And. life seems better at least to me, +The fleeting hours have golden wings, + When in that little spot I'm drinking tea. +Love? Ah, no, we are far above + Such folly. Our time we can better spend. +This world is brimming with loveless love, + But 'tis rarely enough one finds a friend. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~Another Complaint Against Cupid.~ + +Wherever maidens may be found +Dan Cupid's sure to wander round, +I found him once, the little fool, +Attending on a cooking-school. +The scholars only laughed and smiled, +And cried: "How sweet, how smart a child!" +He kept his wings close hid, yet I +Remembered him from days gone by, +And, stepping up, I whispered this: +"My boy, compound for me a kiss." +His face grew thoughtful, then the rogue +Lisped out: "Well, _this_ is most in vogue: +An acorn-cup of sugar first, +Sprinkle quite well with bubbles burst, +Then add a pinch of down that lies +All over June's brown butterflies. +Mix well, and take, to stir it up, +The stem of one long buttercup. +But, sir, you ne'er can taste a mite +Until I add the appetite." +Whereat, ere I could turn to start, +I saw--I _felt_ the flashing dart. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Olla Podrida._ + + +~Sub-Mistletoe.~ + + We two stood near + The chandelier, +With mistletoe upon it. + A lovely girl, + My head awhirl, +Her wrap--I'll help her don it. + + A button caught; + I surely ought +To help, when she'd begun it. + A pause, a hush, + A kiss, a blush, +And now, by Jove, I've done it! + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~She Sayeth "No."~ + +She sayeth "No"--my lady fair-- +And lightly laughs at my despair. + She quick evades my least caress, + Nor grants to me a single tress +From out her wealth of golden hair. + +Yet to her cheeks creeps crimson rare, +When I for her my love declare. + But while her blue eyes tell me "Yes," + She sayeth "No." + +The maid well knows I would not dare +Try to escape her gentle snare. + And, if I really must confess, + I own I trust her lips far less +Than her blue eyes beyond compare. + She _sayeth_ "No." + +BERTRAND A. SMALLEY. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~Silhouettes.~ + +Grandma's shadow on the wall, +Graceful figure, slim and tall, +Shadow of a maiden fair, +Lofty head, with rippling hair, +Nose "la Grecque" from Hebe stole: +Charming, very, on the whole, +Is this shadow on the wall, +Fifty years ago,--that's all. + +Grandpa's shadow on the wall, +Straight this shadow is, and tall; +(Nose "la Roman," we might say) +Stately mien, and courtly way; +Now it's deeply bowing, oh! +But see! for kneeling low +Is this shadow on the wall, +Fifty years ago,--that's all. + + * * * * + +Grandma's shadow on the wall, +Bent this figure is, not tall; +Shadow in a rocking-chair, +Rocking gently,--now with care; +Now it nodding, nodding seems. +Do you think this shadow dreams +Of some shadows on the wall +Fifty years ago,--that's all? + +ANNIE KNOWLTON PILLSBURY. +_Mount Holyoke_. + + +~Bread and Wine.~ + +All day work in the shops, + The weary tread +Of toil that knows no change. + And this is bread. + +At night when work is done, + Her hand in mine, +The hope of happier days, + And this is wine. + +ELIZABETH REEVE CUTTER. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~A Song.~ + +This I learned from the birds, + Dear heart, +And they told me in woodland words, + Apart, + And they told me true, +That all their singing the summer through + Was of you, of you. + +This I learned from the flowers, + Dear heart, +In the dewy morning hours + Apart, + And they sware it, too, +That all their sweetness the summer through + Was for you, for you. + +This I learned from the leaves, + Dear heart, +On stilly, starry eves + Apart, + Though their words were few, +That all their sighing the summer through + Was for you, for you. + +This I learned from the stars, + Dear heart,-- +From the Seven Sisters, and Mars, + Apart + In the boundless blue,-- +That their light the lingering summer through + Was for you, for you. + +This I learned from my life, + Dear heart, +'Mid its storms, and stress, and strife, + Apart, + (God knows it's true!) +That I need to love me my long way through, + Only you, dear, you. + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~Drifting.~ + +Drifting in our frail canoe +On the dusky, silent stream, +Dearest, see! The sunset-gleam +Fires love's torch for me and you. + +Coral clouds and pearly sky, +Flaming in the farthest west, +Softly whisper peace and rest, +Peace and rest that never die. + +Let us shun the sable shore, +Frowning at us slipping by. +Let's be happy, you and I, +Drifting, drifting evermore. + +H. H. CHAMBERLIN, JR. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~Cloudland.~ + +Over the hills, at the close of day, + Gazing with listless-seeming eyes, +Margery watches them sail away, + The sunlit clouds of the western skies. + +Margery sighs with a vain regret, + As slowly they fade from gold to gray, +Till night has come, and the sun has set, + And the clouds have drifted beyond the day. + +What are you dreaming, my little maid + For yours are beautiful thoughts, I know; +What were the words that the wild wind said, + And where, in the dark, did the cloud-ships go? + +Come through the window and touch her hair, + Wind of the vast and starry deep! +And tell her not of this old world's care, + But kiss her softly and let her sleep. + +_Columbia Literary Monthly._ + + +~Two of a Kind.~ + +HE: + + Down in the glen + By the trysting tree, + Somebody's sister is waiting for me. + Under the stars, + In the dewy grass +Waiting for me--the poor little lass! + + And I sit alone + In my cozy den, + A much better place than that clammy glen, + And I think of her tears + As she waits in vain +Till it seems almost cruel to give her such pain. + +SHE: + + Down in the glen + By the trysting tree, + Somebody's brother is waiting for me; + Waiting in vain, + Though it may seem cruel, +But how can I help it--the poor little fool! + +I know I'm not faithful + As he is--but then, +Women are never as constant as men. + He'll never forgive me; + I know I'm to blame, +But he might have treated me some day the same. + +WALTER TALLMADGE ARNDT. +_The Badger._ + + +~To the Cigarette Girl.~ + +Your motions all are sweet and full of grace + As daintily you roll your cigarette; +You smoke it with a pretty puckered face + That I, a mortal man, can ne'er forget. + +It's jolly fun when you adopt our sins; + Pray never fear of being thought a "poke." +Your every mood sincerest worship wins, + And yet I wish, my dear, you didn't smoke. + +H. F. H. +_Amherst Literary Monthly,_ + + +~A Game of Chess.~ + +We played at chess one wintry night +Beside the fire, that warm and bright + Was mirrored in her hazel eyes; + Methought a gleam from Paradise +Outshone the back-log's flickering light. + +The hand that took my queen was white, +I trembled at its gentle might; + Nor sweeter game could Love devise-- + We played at chess. + +I scarce could see to play aright, +I took a pawn and lost a knight, + And then she gazed with mild surprise-- + She said I was not shrewd nor wise; +And yet, to me, with strange delight + We played at chess. + +ROBERT PORTER ST. JOHN. +_Amherst Literary Monthly_. + + +~When Margaret Laughs.~ + +When Margaret laughs the world is gay, +All care is driven far away; + Her hat aslant, with roguish air, + A red carnation in her hair-- +True daughter of the merry May. + +The rosebuds of a summer's day, +The modest flowers along her way, + All seem to have a grace more fair, + When Margaret laughs. + +Oh, youth! for her so bright and gay, +Oh, years! that slip so fast away, + Keep her, I pray thee, fresh and fair, + Dainty, bewitching, debonair, +For life is but a holiday + When Margaret laughs. + +GEORGE B. KILBOURNE. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Captive.~ + +I've sought for Cupid by day and night, + But he always contrived to elude me, +And kept discreetly out of my sight, +Nor showed his face, the crafty wight, + Nor e'er for a moment sued me. + +And often while for his face I sought + I thought with a thrill I had found him, +By my little wiles and my coaxing caught, +Or even for gold ignobly bought, +With his arrows and bow around him. + +But now my pulse gives a fresh, wild start, + And a throb of joyous surprise, dear, +As I see him, armed with his subtle dart, +A fellow prisoner with my heart, + In the depths of your hazel eyes, dear. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator_ + + +~The Difference.~ + +All in the days of long ago, + When Grandfather a-wooing went, +He looked a gallant, dashing beau, + And with his looks was well content + +He rode beside My Lady's chair + With gracious salutation, +He vowed she was divinely fair + And told his adoration. + +But now, alas, poor Grandfather + Would stand but sorry chances +Of passionately telling her + His bosom's sweetest fancies. + +For since a wheel My Lady rides, + The bravest, gayest courtier +Would lose her, if he weren't besides + A fairly rapid scorcher. + +H.K. WEBSTER. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Lenten Maid.~ + +Her wonted smiles are turned to frowns, + Her laugh a sigh, +Sackcloth and ashes for ball gowns-- + Ah, luckless I. + +While worldly thought! away are gone,-- + Her Lenten part,-- +Does Cupid blunt his darts upon + A stony heart? + +Ah, though her mirth and jollities + She puts aside, +The silent laughter of her eyes + She cannot hide. + +S. R. KENNEDY. +_Yale Record_. + + +~Wealth.~ + +I like pretty maids flushed with joy, + With glad hair blowing free. +They smile right kind on many a boy, + But only one on me. +But I have a penny, a fiddle, and Joan, + And my sweet Joan has me. + +Meadow and flock, the wise folk said, + It never were right to miss, +But my maid Joan has a kirtle red + And a merry mouth to kiss. +And I can fiddle and Joan can sing, + And what were better than this? + +The young men talk of getting and gold, + And lands far over the sea. +But I and my fiddle will never grow old, + And this is the life for me. +I have a penny, my fiddle, and Joan, + And my sweet Joan has me. + +ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~Jamie's Word wi' the Sea.~ + +(A-WAITIN' FER JINNIE.) + +Ye'll no fret ye mair the noo, + Wull ye, sea? +Like ye've dune the winter through, + Roarin' at the sands and me. + +Ye were wearyin' yersel' + Till her bit, +Wee, licht fuitstep by ye fell. + Ay, but lookee noo! an' quit! + +Ken ye no the way she rins? + Hoo her hair, +Ower-muckle fer the pins, + Blaws aboot her everywhere? + +Ye'll no stop yer clatt'rin' din? + Puir blin' thing! +Ye'll no see her happy rin; + "Jamie!" ye'll no hear her sing. + +Hoots! Awa', ye loupin' sea, + Doon yer sands, +Jinnie's callin' doon tae me! + Jinnie's haudin' oot her hands! + +ROBERT JERMAIN COLE. +_Columbia Literary Monthly._ + + +~Lent.~ + +Priscilla is a maid devout + In this repentant season, +And to the world and all its ways + Has vowed a pious treason. + +Sweet little saint, so shy, demure!-- + Though long I've tried to win her +I fear that I'm not in it with + Some other lucky sinner. + +For when I begged she'd trust her heart + To me, and o'er her bent, +She blushed and softly murmured, + "How can I when it's Lent." + +T. L. CLARKE. +_Yale Record._ + + +~I Dream of Flo.~ + +I dream of Flo, and memory, fleeting light, +Calls up the happy bygone days to-night, + The scent of lavender is faint in air, + (Ah, well-remembered flowers she loved to wear!) +My senses float afar in rapt delight. + +How can I e'er forget that summer night! +'Tis not because her black eyes shone so bright, + Nor is it for the witchery in her hair, + I dream of Flo. + +She promised me a cushion well bedight +With ruffles blue, and I, oh, luckless wight, + Must send to her--she said, exchange is fair-- + My college pin in gold. Her cushion's where +With half-closed eyes I lie. Is't not aright + I dream of Flo? + +ALBERT SARGENT DAVIS. +_Yale Courant._ + + +~A Humble Romance.~ + +Her ways were rather frightened, and she wasn't much to see, +She wasn't good at small talk, or quick at repartee; +Her gown was somewhat lacking in the proper cut and tone, +And it wasn't difficult to see she'd made it all alone. +So the gay young men whose notice would have filled her with delight +Paid very small attention to the little girl in white. + +He couldn't talk the theatre, for he hadn't time to go, +And, though he knew that hay was high, and butter rather low, +He couldn't say the airy things that other men rehearse, +While his waltzing was so rusty that he didn't dare reverse. +The beauties whom he sighed for were most frigidly polite, +So perforce he came and sat beside the little girl in white. + +She soon forgot her envy of the glittering _beau monde_, +For their common love of horses proved a sympathetic bond. +She told him all about the farm, and how she came to town, +And showed the honest little heart beneath the home-made gown. +A humble tale, you say,--and yet he blesses now the night +When first he came and sat beside the little girl in white. + + +JULIET W. TOMPKINS. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~Mendicants.~ + +"Foot-sore, weary, o'er the hills + To your friendly door I come. +I'm a mother; in my breast + I have wrapped my only son. +Lady, blessed of the Three, + Give us shelter for a night. +Pure and wise they say thou art, + Pity one by fate bedight." + +Calm and grave the maiden stood; + Eyed that weary mother long, +Drooping form, despairing face, + Eyes pathetic with great wrong. +"Enter," gently then she spake, + "Peace be thine from skies above, +Only I have closed my door, + Closed and barred it fast from Love." + +By the hearthstone warm and bright + Sits the mother crooning low; +Ah! an arrow's silver gleam, + Flashes of a golden bow! +Soft she sways a dimpled child + Winged with down, and innocent; +"Hush thee, Eros,--sleep, my son," + Sings her voice in glad content. + +M. E. H. EVERETT. +_Madisonensis_. + + +~With My Cigar.~ + +With my cigar I sit alone, +Alone in twilight's undertone, + With wav'ring shadows growing deep, + While long-forgotten faces peep +Midst curling mists of smoke, now blown +Into a frame that doth enthrone +A face that from my heart hath grown. + Sweet mem'ries o'er my being creep, + With my cigar. + +Those hazel eyes on me have shone, +Those roguish lips have pressed my own, + And this the harvest that I reap! + And this the sweetness that I keep, +To wake, to find the vision flown + With my cigar! + +JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. +_Brunonian_. + + +~To Waltz with Thee.~ + +To waltz with thee, my pretty belle, +To silver music's magic spell, + Was such a strange unmixed delight + That I had wished the merry night +Into eternity might swell. + + * * * * + +Terpsichore ne'er danced so well! +Can all the Graces in thee dwell? + My soul was raised to such a height + To waltz with thee. + +Enchanting strains now rose, now fell, +Thy charms what raptures would compel! + Thy feet were winged, thy figure slight, + Thy winning tread, entrancing, light,-- +What bliss to me that night befell, + To waltz with thee! + +GEORGE B. ZUG. +_Amherst Literary Monthly._ + + +~To Maude's Guitar.~ + +Sweet guitar, so old thou art + Thou seemest strange to modern eyes, +Yet in thy broad-backed cavern-heart + The softest music hidden lies. + +Whene'er thy strings with gentle hand + I lightly sweep in deep-bassed chords, +There comes a breath of foreign lands + That seems to sing soft Spanish words. + +Was Caballero's passion deep + E'er sung to thy rich-chorded bass? +Didst ever break senora's sleep + By music 'neath her window-case? + +Somewhere--sometime, a song was sung + By lover bold or maiden fair, +So sweet, thou hid'st it deep among + Thy soulful strings, and kept it there. + +Whoe'er it was, that distant day, + That loved to strike thy mellow strings, +Whoever sang that sweet love-lay, + Its echo still within thee rings. + +Though Maude may vow she loves me not, + And jolly glees may lightly play, +I look beyond the surface thought, + And hear that echoing old love-lay. + +L. C. STONE. +_Amherst Literary Monthly_. + + +[Illustration: A BROWN GIRL.] + + +~Tantalizing.~ + +Her rosy cheeks are pressed to mine, + Her gleaming hair lies on my shoulder, +Her arms are clasped about my neck, + And yet my arms do not enfold her. + +Her throbbing heart beats loud and fast, + Her wistful eyes are gently pleading. +Her blushing lips are pursed to kiss, + And yet my lips are all unheeding. + +I coldly loose her clinging arms, + And roughly from my side I shove her. +It's amateur theatricals, + And I must play the tyrant lover. + +HENRY MORGAN STONE. +_Brunonian_ + + +~Phantasy.~ + +Her beaming eyes of deepest blue +Enthralled all who to Yale were true. +Her crimson lips, too, conquests made: +Fair Harvard's sons their homage paid, +And many a suitor came to woo + Petite Elaine. + +I begged a kiss awhile ago; +The crimson lips, 'tis true, said "No," +But in her eyes turned up to me +I read the answer differently-- +The crimson never had a show, + Yale won again. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~Rosebuds.~ + +She plucked a rosebud by the wall + And placed it in his outstretched hands; +It was love's token, that was all, + And he rode off to foreign lands. + +He kept the rosebud in his breast, + And when the battle charge was led, +They found him slain among the rest, + The rosebud stained a deeper red. + +But she, beside the wall that day, + A rosebud gave to other hands; +Nor thought of that one borne away + By him who rode to foreign lands. + +_Bowdoin Orient._ + + +~Bashful Johnny.~ + +Young bashful Johnny loved sweet May, +And went to court her every day, +But his tongue could never swear + He loved her true. +It seems to me, had I been there, + I'd vowed my love--now wouldn't you? + +Sweet May would sit by Johnny's side +And all her thoughts to him confide, +Yet take her hand he'd never dare-- + So near his, too. +It seems to me, had I been there, + I'd clasped it tight--now wouldn't you? + +And May's red lips seemed to invite +Sweet kisses, but so bold a flight +He thought--yet wondered if she'd care-- + Would never do. +It seems to me, had I been there, + I would have kissed her--now wouldn't you? + +GEORGE G. GILLETTE. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Cupid's Blunder.~ + +Poor Cupid froze his wings one day, +When winds were cold and skies were gray, + And clouds with snow were laden. +A little maid was passing by; +She caught the rogue,--he could not fly,-- + O naughty little maiden! + +She sent him off with sharpen'd dart, +To steal for her a certain heart; + But, oh, the mishap stupid! +Since Cupid's blind, and cannot see. +He went astray, and came to me. + O naughty little Cupid! + +So that is why my heart is gone, +And I am dreary and forlorn, + With tears my eyes are laden. +She does not want my heart--ah, no! +I did not wish to have it go; + O Cupid, and O maiden! + +GERTRUDE JONES. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +~As Toll.~ + +Lovely Mabel, were you dreaming? + Glad the day you said to me, +Dancing eyes so brightly beaming, + "Give my love to dear Marie!" +What a strange exhilaration + To be bearer of your heart, +What a wonderful temptation + For a part. + +For I have not tried to find her + Since you sent your love by me; +Day by day I think I'm blinder,-- + Fruitless search, as you might see. +I wonder, if in sending, + If you choose your slave by chance, +What that twinkle was portending + In your glance? + +Tell me, when I bear the treasure, + Would you very angry be +Should I keep a trifling measure + That was hardly meant for me? + +For it's common in commissions + Some percentage of the whole +To extract from you patricians. + Just for toll. + +JOHN BARKER. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Chansonette.~ + +Dimpled cheeks and scarlet lips, +Pink and dainty finger-tips, +Glowing blushes, fragrant sighs, +Looks dove-sweet from starry eyes, +These do show this saying true-- +Maidens all were meant to woo! + +Guerdon dear shall be his meed +Who will be Love's thrall in deed: +Strollings 'neath a mellow moon, +Whispers soft as rain in June, +Kisses, maybe, one or two-- +Maidens all were meant to woo! + +WILL L. GRAVES. +_Makio_. + + +~Triolet.~ + +He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe! + Of course I said it wasn't fair +To take advantage of me so, +And kiss me 'neath the mistletoe,-- +But then, 'twas only Jack, you know, + And so I really didn't care! +He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe, + Although I said ft wasn't fair! + +GERTRUDE CRAVEN. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~Song.~ + +The April sun smiles bright above, +The skies are deep and blue, +I walk among the growing fields +And dream, sweetheart, of you. +And as I go, from out the wood +A mocking-bird calls clear, +"Sweetheart, sweetheart," and I turn, +Half hoping thou art here. + +Alas! the sunlight floods the earth, +Yet all is dark to me; +The flowers may gaily bud and bloom, +The earth be fair to see; +And "sweetheart, sweetheart," evermore +The mocking-bird may sing, +But in a fairer land thine eyes +Are opening to the spring. + +R.L. EATON. +_Morningside_. + + +~The Effigy.~ + +And so she smiles!--Nor frown nor pout +That look divine can put to rout. + +I would, my love, thou wert half +So constant as thy photograph! + +P.P.S. +_Parthenon_. + + +~Sotto Voce.~ + + Sing we of the summer, + Of the old, old days, + Of the reed songs and the murmur + Of the waterways. +Let thy song be merry, ever mine be sad; +Let thy sigh be airy, even ofttimes glad; +For then comes a sadness I cannot explain, +Like the deep-plunged echo of a sea's refrain; + And it dooms the sweetness + Of her winsome ways + To the dead completeness + Of the old, old days. + + Sing, Oh! then with joyance, + Thou, my mandolin; + Drown each dread annoyance + Deep, thy soul within; +Whisper ever lowly of her glad, true eyes; +Sing her name, love, slowly, thou can'st sympathize; +Teach my heart, my wilful heart, the faith of peace, +Promising her constancy with time's increase. + Bar, Oh! break the sadness + Of the doubter's sin; + Sing eternal gladness, + Thou, my mandolin. + +HAROLD MARTIN BOWMAN. +_Inlander_. + + +~On Tying Daphne's Shoe.~ + +Tying her shoe, I knelt at Daphne's feet; +My fumbling fingers found such service sweet, +And lingered o'er the task till, when I rose, +Cupid had bound me captive in her bows. + +J. STUART BRYAN. +_Virginia University Magazine_. + + +II. COMEDY + + +~Chappie's Lament.~ + +I walked one day with Phyllith +Ovah in Bothton town, +I in me long Pwinth Albert, +She in a new Worth gown, + +I talked that day with Phyllith, +Ovah in Bothton town, +Of things intenth and thoulful, +Begged her me love to cwown. + +I pawted that day fwom Phyllith +Ovah in Bothton town; +She'd be a bwothah to me, she said, +But wouldn't be Mitheth Bwown. + +FERRIS GREENSLET. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~Marigold.~ + +I love confinement in thy bonds, +I love thy little stock to hold, + Thy very scent, + Aye, marigold! + +I'll love confinement of thy bonds, +I'll love thy little stocks to hold, + Thy every cent, + _I_ marry gold! + +HENRY SAFFORD CANDEE. +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~An Idyl of the Strap.~ + +She spoke to me, her voice was low + And sweet, +With hidden thought I could not know + Replete. +She cast on me a lingering look +That all my inmost being shook, +And, as our glances mixed, she took + My seat. + +_Red and Blue._ + + +~The Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous.~ + +AN ARABIAN LEGEND. + +_Translated from the Arabic._ + +Far off in the waste of desert sand, +The Jim-jam rules in the Jou-jou land: +He sits on a throne of red-hot rocks, +And moccasin snakes are his curling locks; +And the Jou-jous have the conniption fits +In the far-off land where the Jim-jam sits-- +If things are nowadays as things were then. +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +The country's so dry in Jou-jou land +You could wet it down with Sahara sand, +And over its boundaries the air +Is hotter than 'tis--no matter where: +A camel drops down completely tanned +When he crosses the line into Jou-jou land-- +If things are nowadays as things were then. +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +A traveller once got stuck in the sand +On the fiery edge of Jou-jou land; +The Jou-jous they confiscated him, +And the Jim-jam tore him limb from limb; +But, dying, he said: "If eaten I am, +I'll disagree with this Dam-jim-jam! +He'll think his stomach's a Hoodoo's den!" +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +Then the Jim-jam felt so bad inside, +It just about humbled his royal pride. +He decided to physic himself with sand, +And throw up his job in the Jou-jou land. +He descended his throne of red-hot rocks, +And hired a barber to cut his locks: +The barber died of the got-'em-again, +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +And now let every good Mussulman +Get all the good from this tale he can. +If you wander off on a Jamboree, +Across the stretch of the desert sea, +Look out that right at the height of your booze +You don't get caught by the Jou-jou-jous! +You may, for the Jim-jam's at it again. +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen! + +ALARIC BERTRAND START. +_Tuftonian_. + + +~Love up to Date.~ + +I know she loves me, though with scorn + She treats my adoration; +I know she loves me, though my suit + She checks with strong negation. + +And this I know, with proof as sure + As though her lips had said it: +Her heart I have before my eyes, + And there I've plainly read it. + +For cathode rays have stolen through + This maiden so deceiving; +And thus her heart I've photographed, + And seeing is believing. + +S. L. HOWARD. +_The Tech._ + + +~Miss Milly O'Naire.~ + +She is not young and fair, +Nor has she golden hair, +Nor a dimple in each cheek, +If that is what you seek; +Hers is a gift more rare, + Miss Milly O'Naire. + +She has not laughing eyes, +Blue as the summer skies, +Nor lips of cherry red, +On kisses to be fed; +No, it's not for these I care, + Miss Milly O'Naire. + +She is not wondrous wise, +Seeks not for learning's prize. +'Tis true she knows no Greek, +And her English grammar's weak, +But why should I despair, + Miss Milly O'Naire. + +So woo and win her I will, +For there's my tailor's bill, + And creditors by the score; + But they'll trouble me no more, +For she has a million to spare, + Miss Millionaire. + +WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER. +_The Badger._ + + +~A Shy Little Maid.~ + +A love-lorn lad wooed a coy maid once, +All of a summer's day he plead; +Oft he spoke of the bonds of love--the dunce! +And she shyly shook her head. + +When from his heart hope had almost fled, +He spoke of bonds he had in town. +Still the shy little maiden shook her head-- +But she shook it _up and down_. + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~My Mistake.~ + +I met her on a Pullman car, + In section number nine; +Each eye shone like a morning star, + With radiance divine. +So when I placed my bags and traps + In section number ten, +She looked so tempting 'mid her wraps + I sought her face again. + +She glanced at me with roguish pose, + Yet innocent of guile, +Then colored like a blushing rose, + And tried to hide a smile; +The sweet confusion but enhanced + Her dainty tint of pink, +And quite by accident she chanced + The nearest eye to wink. + +When she refused my proffered card + With scorn and proud disdain, +I tried my best, and pleaded hard + My error to explain. +She listened to my mumblings crude, + Then tossed her nose on high; +"I think," she said, "you'd wink, if you'd + A cinder in your eye." + +E. P. G. +_The Tech._ + + +~Sic Semper.~ + +I sent her a spoon, + She is married to-day; +The wedding's at noon. +I sent her a spoon-- +And she loved me in June! + But that's always their way. +I sent her a spoon, +She is married to-day. + +WILL L. GRAVES. +_Makio_. + + +~A Modern Instance.~ + +Her little hand in his he took, +All hot and quivering it was; +And noted how her eyes did look +Bright as a lucent sapphire does. + +Within her dainty little wrist +Her pulse throbbed quick, as if her heart +Beat love's glad summons to be kissed, +Heart's first reveille since life's start, + +Her oval cheeks were flushed with rose; +Her red lips parted for such breath +As hot from tropic spice lands blows; +Enough 'twas to have warmed old Death! + +He gazed at her; he spoke--and she +Stuck out at him a small tongue's tip: +The family doctor old was he, +And she--he said she had _la grippe_. + +_Red and Blue_. + + +~The Echo from the 17th.~ + +Who builds de railroads and canals, + But furriners? +Who helps across de street de gals, + But furriners? + +Who in de caucus has der say, +Who does de votin' 'lection day, +And who discovered U.S.A., + But furriners? + +FRANK TOURTELLOT EASTON. +_Brunonian_. + + +~Ballade of Laura's Fan.~ + +It was never imported from France + With a dainty Parisian frou-frou, +Nor upon it do bull-fighters prance, + As only the Spaniards can do. +It was stencilled by no one knows who, + Yet _I'd_ give all my coupons and rents +For that one precious keepsake from you-- + The fan that cost $0.63. + +On the staircase we sat out a dance, + Or twenty, for all that I knew; +At times on the bliss of my trance + The breath of the roses stole through. +But redder than rose-petals grew + Your cheeks, at my swift compliments; +So the softest of breezes it blew-- + The fan that cost $0.63. + +It all seemed like a fairy romance, + Below us the laughter and mu- +Sic, while now and again, such a glance + As is given on earth but to few +From the depths of your eyes, fond and true, + Set me dreaming of all their contents, +Till I woke,--something hid them, from view,-- + The fan that cost $0.63! + +ENVOY. + +My queen, for your favor I sue; + If your heart through my pleading relents, +To your feelings pray send me one clue-- + The fan that cost $0.63. + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Apparent.~ + +When I questioned young Smithson, a short time ago, + Why no longer he courted Miss B., +He looked at me strangely, and smiled just a bit-- + "The reason's a parent!" cried he. + +ALBERT ELLSWORTH THOMAS. +_Brunonian_. + + +~The Call of Duty.~ + +At early morn, a valiant knight, +On prancing charger, richly dight, +With helm and lance and armor bright, + Rose from his lordly halls: +"Now, in this region, round about, +There dwell three outlaws, strong and stout: +If luck be mine, I'll find them out! + For duty calls." + +Friday, at three, another knight +(Knowing that ladies all delight +In music), shod with patents bright, + Steers clear of Music Halls: +"In Boston's Back Bay, round about, +There dwell three matrons, plain and stout: +If luck be mine, I'll find them out-- + For 'duty calls.'" + +R. C. ROBBINS. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~A Paradox.~ + +'Tis a curious fact, but a fact very old; +You can keep a fire hot by keeping it coaled. + +HERBERT ERNEST DAY. +_Brunonian_. + + +~St. Valentine's Eve.~ + +HE. + +"I will write little Ethel some verses, + The love that I bear her to tell; +I've no money for tokens more costly, + I'm sure these will do quite as well. + +"How pleased she will be when she gets them! + What a sweet little note I'll receive +In acknowledgment of the verses + I sent her St. Valentine's eve." + +SHE. + +"What a miserable jumble of phrases! + What chaotic verse do I see! +I wonder what could have possessed him + To send these effusions to me! + +"Never mind, though, I'm sure they'll be useful, + And I think I know just about where." +So she took them, and twisted, and placed them + In the newly made curls of her hair. + +E.W. BURLINGAME. +_Yale Record_. + + +~Evidence.~ + +Of all the lines that volumes fill, + Since Aesop first his fables told, + The wisest is the proverb old, +That every Jack must have his Jill. + +But when the crowd that nightly fills + The down-town places, hillward goes, + To hear them sing, one would suppose +That every Jack had several gills. + +B.O.H. +_Cornell Magazine_. + + +~The Widow's Mite.~ + +She was a widow stern and spry, + And brimming with lots of fight; +She married a little man five feet high, + And he died from the widow's might. + +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Lines to Her.~ + +There are other fellows nearer,-- + And some of them are dearer,-- +Of those sad thoughts my heart has + not + a + doubt. + +But I want to get in line +With my little Valentine, + So's not to let those fellows + cut + me + out. + +CHARLES FLOYD McCLURE. +_Wisconsin Aegis_. + + +~A Sensible Serenade.~ + +I sing beneath your lattice, love, + A serenade in praise of you; +The moon is getting rather high, + My voice is, too, my voice is, too. + +The lakelet in deep shadow lies, + Where frogs make much hullabaloo, +I think they sing a trifle hoarse, + And I do, too, and I do, too. + +The blossoms on the pumpkin vine + Are weeping diamond tears of dew; +'Tis warm, the flowers are wilting fast, + My linen, too, my linen, too. + +All motionless the cedars stand, + With silent moonbeams glancing through, +The very air is drowsy, love, + And I am, too, and I am, too. + +Oh, could I soar on loving wings, + And at your window gently woo! +But then your lattice you would bolt, + So I'll bolt, too, so I'll bolt, too. + +L.M.L. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Love's Secret.~ + +Well I know she is not handsome, + She can neither sing nor dance, +But I strangely am attracted + By each careless nod and glance + Of my Madeline. + +Quite a philanthropic feeling + Is my love, so true and rare, +For she's burdened with great riches; + In which burden I would share + With my Madeline. + +From such heavy care to shield her, + Each and every purpose tends. +I will help to clip the coupons, + And I'll draw the dividends + Of my Madeline. + + +ROBERT PECK BATES. +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~Pity 'tis, 'tis True.~ + +I sat me down at leisure; +The ready waiter flew, +My order took suavely, +And shouted, "_Oyster stew_!" + +The steaming dish was waiting, +The ready waiter flew, +Then, rose I up in anger, +And left,--'twas "oysters two!" + +HERBERT WELCH. +_Wesleyan Argus._ + + +~Broken Chains.~ + +He was tired of being shackled; + She was faithless, that was plain; +So his lawyer filed the papers, + And the papers filed his chain. + +EUGENE A. COX. +_Vanderbilt Observer._ + + +~Gory Gambols.~ + +I love my adversary's leg to kick, + To frisk upon his features with my feet, +Or bunt him in the stomach till he's sick-- + All this is sweet. + +I smile to hear his collar bone collapse, + Accompanied by his expiring screech; +To crack his ribs is happiness, perhaps, + Beyond all reach. + +I laugh aloud when, in the scrimmage wild, + I smash the thigh bone of some lusty boy, +And see him borne off, helpless as a child-- + That, that is joy. + +My sturdy heel into his spine I jam, + To beat his mouth until he pouts at fate, +To punch him sternly in the diaphragm + Is rapture great. + +Than to perceive his manly blood run red + No greater joy can unto me be given; +But at one kick to kick him down stone-dead-- + That, that is heaven, + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~The Man without a Country.~ + +The "man without a country" was in such a sorry plight, +There wasn't any place on land where he might pass the night, +But if you'd like to see a man as badly off as he, +Who hasn't any place at all to stay on land or sea, +Who has no spot he may enjoy to any great extent, +Just wait until you see some time the man without a cent. + +H.F.H. +_Amherst Literary Monthly_. + + +~She Shook Her Head.~ + +"May I kiss you, dear," a youth once cried, + Although scarce hoping what he said; +But the maiden turned away her eyes + And slowly, sadly, shook her head. + +"But would you mind," he still went on, + "Now would you really care," he said, +"If I should kiss you?" and again + She turned aside--and shook her head. + +J.P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record._ + + +~Priscilla.~ + +Priscilla in the garret loft + +Of rare old silks and velvets soft +A heap espying,-- +Forgotten hues of a by-gone day!-- +The little maid in deft array +Carefully folds and lays away +With envious sighing. + +Did they some rustic beauty grace, +A comely form and winsome face. +With footsteps flying? +Or does she sigh because a bride +They once adorned; now cast aside, +Left in the garret there to hide, +The dust defying? + +Perchance her great-grandmother wore +Them hundred years ago and more-- +Priscilla's crying! +"Come little maid, why this despair? +What makes those big tears standing there?" +"Ah, sir! because they will not bear +Another dyeing." + +_Yale Record_. + + +~Hard to Beat.~ + +Last night I held a little hand + So dainty and so neat, +Methought my heart would burst with joy, + So wildly did it beat. +No other hand into my soul + Could greater solace bring, +Than that I held last night, which was + Four aces and a king. + +WILLIAM A. THOMPSON. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +[Illustration: "THAT SWEET GIRL GRADUATE."] + + +~That Sweet Girl Graduate.~ + +So stately and so dignified + She looks in cap and gown, +I hardly dare to speak to her, + This grad. of great renown. + +I scarcely can believe my eyes! + It surely can't be she +Who always seemed so very shy, + So very coy to me! + +But suddenly the spell departs, + And I give thanks to Fate; +For anxiously she asks me if + Her mortar-board's on straight. + +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Faint Heart.~ + +My lady fair +Her golden hair +Lets fall a-down her shoulder. +I'd steal a tress,-- +She's no redress,-- +Were I a little bolder. + +From her sweet lip +A bee might sip, +Sweeter than rose-leaf's savor. +A kiss I'd take,-- +No cry she'd make,-- +Were I a little braver. + +Her neat, trim waist +Just suits my taste; +Close in my arms I'd fold her, +And clasp her tight,-- +She'd feel no fright,-- +Were I a little bolder. + +She's waiting now +'Till I find how +To ask of her a favor. +She'll be my wife,-- +I'd stake my life,-- +When I'm a little braver. + +HARLAN COLBY PEARSON. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly_. + + +~A Spring Lament.~ + +The spring is come; warm breezes blow; +It doesn't make me happy, tho';-- +For seasons' changes only bring +To me the pain of ordering +Another suit. Style changes so! + +This hat I'll hardly dare to show +Near "Easter bonnets;" it's too low; +I fear I must be purchasing; +The spring is come. + +I'm glad to have the winter go; +I don't like ice, I don't like snow. +Green fields, bright flowers, and birds to sing, +Of course I like that sort of thing; +But still--it makes me blue to know +The spring is come. + +LOUIS JONES MAGEE. +_Wesleyan Argus_. + + +~A Street-Car Romance.~ + +I write to offer you my heart, +O maiden, whom I do not know. +Pray do not think me premature +In making known my feelings so, +For I have loved you steadfastly, +O damsel of the unknown name, +And all last night and half to-day +My passion has been in a flame. + +'Twas not your face, though that is fair, +Nor yet your voice bewitched me so: +(I heard you ask the motor-man +How long before the car would go.) +I saw you on the car that went +From Harvard Square on Tuesday noon; +I don't believe that you saw me, +For you were reading the _Lampoon_. + +And this is why I write to you: +To say that I am wholly thine, +I love you, for that first-page joke,-- +The one you laughed at,--_that was mine._ + +W. AMES. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Applied Mathematics.~ + +"My daughter," and his voice was stern, + "You must set this matter right; +What time did the Sophomore leave, + Who sent in his card last night?" + +"His work was pressing, father dear, + And his love for it was great; +He took his leave and went away + Before a quarter of eight." + +Then a twinkle came to her bright blue eye, + And her dimple deeper grew. +"'Tis surely no sin to tell him that, + For a quarter of eight is two." + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~The District Telegraph Boy.~ + +Hear the clatter of those feet; +See him coming up the street + On the trot! +He is going to the Greens; +No, he's going to the Dean's, + Is he not? + +See the uniform of blue, +And the shiny letters, too, + On his cap. +I imagine he is quite +An intelligent and bright + Little chap. + +What a careless tune he hums, +And how innocently comes + Hurrying. +Ah, how little does he know +Of the happiness or woe + He can bring! + +Now he brings a hopeless sigh. +Now a sparkle to the eye, + Now a tear. +More of griefs, I think, than joys-- +Why! the fateful little boy's + Coming here! + +Goodness, how he pulls the bell! +He has some bad news to tell, + I'm afraid. +Oh, I hope it's not for me! +Alice, sign for it, and see + If it's paid. + +It is surely not from Will, +For his morning smoke is still + In the air. +Has poor uncle breathed his last? +Has his weary spirit passed + From all care? + +Then poor auntie is bereft, +And that sunny home is left + Fatherless. +Or old cousin Ed and May +'Ve gone and had another ba- + By, I guess. + +What if John has lost, poor man, +Little Clementine or Nan, + Or his wife! +Oh, the hopefulness, the fears! +Oh, the rapture! Oh, the tears! + Of this life! + +I don't like the thing a bit; +I don't dare to open it; + How I shake! +Why, It's from that man of mine: +"_Will bring partner home to dine; + Get a steak."_ + +LOUIS JONES MAGEE. +_Wesleyan Argus_. + + +~Relapse.~ + +I study Evolution, +And hear the teacher tell +How we have all developed +From an isolated cell; +And in the examination +Some fellows make it plain +Their principles will bring them +To the starting-point again. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~Yale, A.D. 2000.~ + +Far from the ball-room's crowded throng +These two had strolled apart, +While he with fervor whispered of +Her image in his heart. + +And that he might detain it there +Forever from that day, +Our Co-ed shyly gave to him +A Yale lock long and gray. + +_Yale Record_. + + +~In Maiden Meditation.~ + +"Were I a man," quoth Mistress Jane, +"Ah, would I were!--I'd drink champagne + And smoke--be dashing in my dress-- + And let my roving eyes express +A love I never entertain. + +"With rose lips near, I'd not refrain +From kissing. I would e'er maintain + That woman's 'No' is often 'Yes,' + Were I a man. + +"Yet while I muse, it seems quite plain +That as I am I can't complain, + For Tom and Jack--they both confess-- + Adore me. So I rather guess +I'd wish I were a girl again, + Were I a man!" + +W.C. NICHOLS. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~"Three's a Crowd."~ + +Crisp and hard lay the snow beneath, +The frosty air made young blood tingle. +As we glided over the polished road +To the sleigh-bells' merriest jingle. + +We were warmly wrapped to our chins in rugs, +Fur-proof against winter's biting weather, +There was room in the sleigh for only two, +But--three of us sleighed together. + +The moon from the clear, cold sky above +Flooded the snow with a golden glory, +And I whispered--for how could I refrain?-- +The old, old, world-famous story. + +Must have seemed quite a crowd, you say, +With three in the sleigh? Well you _are_ stupid! +Three's a pleastanter company far, than two, +When the person who crowds you is Cupid! + +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~On Bills.~ + +At the first of the month I grow morbid and sad; +As I gaze on that pile I believe +In the saying that never was potent before-- +"'Tis more blessed to give than receive." + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~A Senior's Plea.~ + +"Dear Father: Once you said, 'My son, +To manhood you have grown; +Make others trust you, trust yourself, +And learn to stand alone!' + +"Now, father, soon I graduate, +And those who long have shown +How well they trust me, want their pay, +And I can stand a loan." + +JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD. +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~After the Game.~ + +They played at cards on the yellow sand. + When the fields and the trees were green, +She thought that the trump was in her hand, + He thought that he held the queen. +But winter has come, and they both have strayed + Away from the throbbing wave-- +He finds 'twas only the deuce she played, + She finds that he played the knave. + +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Old Days.~ + +Sing a song of old days, +Old days and true, +True days and bold days, +Deeds to dare and do. + +Quarter-staff and buckles +Trip, turn and tread-- +Tapped upon the knuckles, +Rapped upon the head. + +Pouch and pocket-fillings, +Knavery and worse-- +Oh, the crowns and shillings +In the miser's purse! + +Tumbled into limbo, +Picking thro' the locks, +Fast with arms akimbo, +Stewing in the stocks. + +Pretty maids a-laughing-- +Here's to rosy lips, +Port and sherry quaffing +While the pottle drips. + +Quaffing port and sherry, + Jolly roaring blades, +Making gay and merry + With the giddy maids. + +Red blood and revel, + Murder, love, and fraud,-- +Dancing to the devil, + Laughing to the Lord. + +Bright gold and yellow, + Meek maids and bold, +Old wine and mellow-- + Wine and maids and gold. + +Light life and long life, + Brisk life and brave; +Strong life and wrong life, + Great to the grave. + +Sing a song of old days, + Sing them back again; +Kill the canny, cold days, + Let us live like men. + +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~A Reward of Merit.~ + +The father asked: "How have you done +In mastering ancient lore?" +"I did so well," replied the son, +"They gave me an encore; +The Faculty like me and hold me so dear, +They make me repeat my Freshman year." + +_Trinity Tablet_. + + +~A Fin de Siecle Girl.~ + +She studies Henrik Ibsen "to cultivate her mind," +And reads Shakespeare and Browning through and through; +Meanwhile she knits her brows--it is the only kind +Of fancy work this modern maid can do. + +_Concordiensis_. + + +~Her Reason.~ + +Once a learned Boston maiden + Was besought for one sweet kiss; +"Only one," he softly pleaded, + But the maid's reply was this: + +"I am quite surprised you ask it, + When you know physicians say +That for spreading dire contagion + Kissing is the surest way. + +"Though I own that what you ask me + Would be pure, unbounded bliss, +Yet, from hygienic reasons, + I cannot allow a kiss." + +JAMES P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record_. + + +~The Cruel Maid.~ + +One summer night, in twilight dim, +A fellow wooed a maiden prim. +Around her waist, with, some alarm, +The naughty man had put his arm. + +Her dimpled hand he stroked awhile, +Then murmured low, with loving smile, +"Could e'er so soft a thing be found, +If all the world were searched around?" + +With laughing eyes and flaming cheeks, +The maid replied, "'Tis just two weeks +Since I found out that you, my pet, +Have something that is softer yet!" + +"That I? I have? Oh, can it be? +You darling, now I _do_ love thee!" +Oh, Vanitas! No sooner said, +She put her hand upon his head. + +A. BRADLEY. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~A Football Tragedy.~ + +She clung to him, the game was o'er. + Content was in her soul; +"Dear heart, I'm very happy now + That you have come back whole." + +With gentle hand he smoothed her curls, + And tried to keep a laugh back; +"My dear, your joy is premature, + For I am only _half-back_." + +_University of Chicago Weekly_. + + +~It Was.~ + +He seized her in the dark and kissed her, +And for a moment bliss was his; +"Oh, my! I thought it was my sister!" +He cried. She laughed and said, "It is." + +_Yale Record_. + + +~A Summer Campaign.~ + +I've travelled from the coast of Maine +To Jersey's balmy shore. +Nor have my efforts been in vain, +For maids I've won galore. + +In mountain climbs I spent my breath, +On lakes and rivers, too; +I flirted here with coy Beth, +And there with lovely Sue. + +No tournament, no sail, nor hop, +Without me was complete; +Nor from love-making did I stop, +Till all were at my feet. + +The summer's gone upon the run, +Maids utter sighs in billows; +I've broken sixteen hearts and won +Just sixteen sofa pillows. + +J. H. SCRANTON. +_Yale Record_. + + +~From June to June.~ + +Two lovers 'mong the weedy brake + Were rowing--happy pair! +They drifted far upon the lake + To get the sun and air. + +A year has fled. Again they float; + But one is now the pair, +And three are riding in the boat-- + They bring their _son_ and _heir_. + +NORMAN STAUNTON DIKE. +_Brunonian_. + + +~At the North Avenue Fire.~ + +The boy stood in the burning block, +Whence all but him had fled; +He smashed the china on a rock, +But saved the feather bed. + +A.M. WHITE, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~I Love my Love.~ + +Every one thinks some face fairer + Than all others in the land, +Thinks this one alone is perfect, + Vows to her his heart and hand. + +Then he sings in loudest praises + Of her wealth of golden hair, +Of her lips like ripest cherries, + She alone divinely fair. + +But there's one that's quite forgotten, + One whose charms they fail to see; +Yet in my abject devotion + Fairest of the fair is she. + +There's not one half so entrancing + Or so makes my poor heart thrill-- +It is Martha Washington's picture + On a bright one dollar bill. + +J. P. SAWYER. +_Yale Record_. + + +~The Diva.~ + +Gone are her bird-notes, thin she sings, and flat, +Enough to craze Concone or Scarlatti. +Where once she made our hearts go pit-a-pat, +To-day, alas, they only pity Patti. + +S.F. BATCHELDER. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +Mathematical. + +In Vassar's halls a tutor young, +'Tis said, once met his fate; +He taught her in the Calculus +To differentiate. + +They're married now--at meal-times oft +Discord invades their state; +For he has found that she with him +Would differ when she ate. + +_Lehigh Burr_. + + +~She Still Wins.~ + +He had worn a colored blazer on the Nile; +He had sported spats in Persia just for style; + With a necktie quite too utter, + In the streets of old Calcutta, +He had stirred up quite a flutter for a while. + +The maids of Java flocked before his door, +Attracted by the trousers that he wore; + While his vest, a bosom-venter, + Shook Formosa to the centre, +And they hailed him as a mentor by the score. + +On his own ground as a masher, on the street +He outdid a Turkish Pasha, who stood treat; + He gave Shanghai girls the jumps, + And their cheeks stuck out like mumps +At the patent-leather pumps upon his feet. + +But he called upon a Boston girl one night, +With a necktie ready-made, which wasn't right; + And she looked at him, this maid did, + And he faded, and he faded, +And he faded, and he faded out of sight. + +_The Tech_. + + +~Her Present.~ + +He had hinted at diamonds, a fan by Watteau, +A fine water spaniel,--so great was his zeal,-- +A chatelaine watch, or a full set of Poe, +And then at the end sent a padded _Lucile_. + +F. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~On the Weather.~ + +The sultry stillness of a summer's day +Oppresses every sense. The droning bees +Alone the silence break, and restless play +The shadows of the gently swaying trees. + +The very ripples in the stream are still, +Save now and then a low and gentle swash, +All which doth try me sore against my will-- +So hot! And all my ducks are in the wash. + +FERRIS GREENSLET. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~Tom's Philosophy.~ + +The bridges mingle with the river, +And the river with the ocean; +The lights of Boston mix forever +With a jagged motion; +Not a lamp-post near looks single; +All things, when in town I dine, +With weird, uncanny phantoms mingle, +Why not I with wine? + +See the house-tops fall from heaven! +And that chimney hit the other-- +A college man would be forgiven +If home he'd help a brother. +Is it the sun that shines on earth, +Or moonbeams that I see? +What are all my struggles worth, +Since I've lost my key? + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Fashion's Folly.~ + +I knew a maiden fair and sweet, + Whom I had loved for years. +At last one day I told her this, + Although with many fears. + +At first she did not say a word, + Then in a pleasant way +She looked out to the west, and said: + "It _is_ a pleasant day." + +She had not heard a single word, + She's told me since with tears; +She wore her hair, as some girls will, + Down over both her ears. + +S.W. CHAMBERLAIN. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~Christmas in Chicago.~ + +The girl from Chicago arose sharp at eight, +As her maid on the door was knocking; +She found a piano, a desk, and a slate +Concealed in the toe of her stocking. + +A. M. WHITE, JR. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~A Discovery in Biology.~ + +I think I know what Cupid is: + _Bacteria Amoris;_ +And when he's fairly at his work, + He causes _dolor cordis_. +So, if you'd like, for this disease, + A remedy specific, +Prepare an antitoxine, please, + By methods scientific. +Inoculate another heart + With germs of this affection, +Apply this culture to your own, + 'Twill heal you to perfection. + +MARY E. LEVERETT. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~Logic.~ + +Say, does Fact or Reason err, +And, if they both err, which the more? +The man of smallest calibre +Is sure to be the greatest bore. + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~A Flirtation on the Cars.~ + +I did not even know her name, +Nor where she lived, nor whence she came-- +'Twas sad, and yet +Was I so very much to blame, +That all my heart should start to flame, +And flare and fret? + +She was so sweet, so passing fair, +With such a smile, with such an air-- +What could I do? +A glance as shy, as debonair, +An eye as bright, a smile as rare, +I never knew! + +And so I smiled across the aisle, +And met the winsome, merry smile +She sent so bold; +At last she laughed, then after while +She cooed aloud in friendly style, +"_I'm_ free years old!" + +_University of Chicago Weekly_. + + +~Has It Come to This?~ + +A youth, with shining locks of gold, + And eyes than summer skies more blue, +With plaintive voice and modest mien, + Went forth to greet his sweetheart true. + +And sang, in accents sweet and low, + Beneath, her window (so says rumor), +"Than others art thou fairer far, + Du bist wie eine _bloomer_." + +MARIE REIMER. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~And the Hammock Swung On.~ + +"A is the maid of winning charm; +B is the snug, encircling arm; +How many times is A in B?" +He questioned calculatively. +She flushed, and said, with air sedate, +"It's not quite clear; please demonstrate." + +HAMILTON GREY. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly_. + + +~The Critic.~ + +"Are _you_ a LAMPOON man? Not really! + Oh, dear, though, I know you must be! +That's why you've been smiling so queerly-- + My goodness, you're studying _me_! +Now, _what_ have I said that is funny? + And oh, _will_ you publish it soon?" +'Tis thus, with a voice sweet as honey, + She mentions the HARVARD LAMPOON. + +"Indeed, yes, I see it quite often, + The pictures are _simply_ inane; +The verses and jokes--they would soften + An average Vassar girl's brain. +Of course they are killingly comic; + I laugh, but I feel like a _loon_!" +And thus, with a fierceness atomic, + She censures the HARVARD LAMPOON. + +"But then they are _bright_, I don't doubt them, + And _very_ artistic, _of course_! +Outsiders don't know all about them, + You have to explain the--the--'_horse_.' +Do send me that sweet book of 'pickings,' + I hear you will publish in June." +And thus she gives over her flickings, + And praises the HARVARD LAMPOON. + +S.F. BATCHELDER. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Her Leghorn Hat.~ + +Her leghorn hat has rows on rows + Of ribbon, tied with charming bows. + The crown is wreathed in dainty green, + And from their leaves there peep between +Some rosebuds white as winter snows. + +The brim's so large, whene'er it blows, +Her face is hid from friends and foes, + As all must know who once have seen + Her leghorn hat. + +I wonder why it droops and flows +About her face; howe'er she pose, + It always serves her as a screen; + I cannot guess, and yet I ween +It keeps the freckles from her nose, + Her leghorn hat. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~Equivocal.~ + +On the wealthy Larica's worn features I wrote +In rhyme some extravagant praise. +The verses were spurned (and I'm in the same boat), +For I called them "Some _Lines_ on Her Face." + +BEN JOHNSON. +_Brunonian_. + + +~A Problem.~ + +My love's face is exceeding fair, + With eyes like jewels bright; +Above, a wealth of flowing hair, + A golden crown of light. + +With smiles more radiant than the sun, + My love frees me from care, +And yet, when all is said and done, + I'm driven, to despair. + +And if the reason you'd seek out + Why I should mournful be, +I'll tell you that I'm filled with doubt + Which girl is meant for me. + +And yet I love but one sweet face,-- + Oh, happy he who wins,-- +But I, I'm in an awkward place, + My love, you see, is twins. + +G.P. DAY. +_Yale Record_. + + +~The Outward Shows.~ + +She was the _premiere danseuse_ of the ballet, +And she tripped the light fantastic like a fay; + She was so sweet and cunning, + And withal so very stunning, +That I was bound to meet her right away. + +I went behind the scenes after the play, +And imagine my surprise as well you may: + This maid so sweet and cunning, + And withal so very stunning, +I'll swear that she was forty if a day. + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~"As Ye Sow."~ + +"What awful debts are these, my son? + Not one cent more, forsooth! +I never was a rake like you + In the hey-day of my youth." + +"Quite right you are," the sport replied; + "And yet you twist the truth, +For once you used to rake the fields + In the hay-day of your youth." + +J. J. MACK, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~On Afric's Golden Sands.~ + +A wild and warlike Zulu chief + Was he; +His costume was as brief as brief + Could be. +He vowed that he would woo and win + A maid, +But she skipped out and left him in + The shade. +At first she liked him; this was how + She ceased-- +He simply _wouldn't_ wear his trou- + Sers creased. + +_University Herald._ + + +~Two Simple Little Ostriches.~ + +Now we can talk. Thank goodness, that old bore +Who took me out is talking business o'er +With some one else. The roses were so sweet, +You reckless fellow. It's such fun to meet +Like ordinary friends, while no one knows +Our precious secret. Do you like my clothes? +They're new. You dear! I'm really looking well? +Why don't you like the sleeves? They're very swell. +"They're more offensive than my buzz-saw hat?" +What do you mean? O Jack! How simply flat! +They sha'n't keep you away, dear. Now take care! +No, keep your hands at home. _You've seen the Fair, +Of course?_ They're listening, Jack. Do try to talk. +_I'm glad they didn't have it in New York, +Aren't you? Two weeks of it was quite enough. +The Ferris Wheel._ You wretch! 'Twas rather rough +To make me do it at all, while you sat back +And howled at me. When we are married, Jack,-- +O dearest, please be careful! They will guess, +If you don't look less interested. Yes, yes, +You know I do. Oh, dearly. By and by +I'll give you three. Well, four. _Will Congress try +To introduce new silver laws?_ Don't laugh! +_I wish they could do something in behalf +Of all the hungry people out of work_. +You make me do it all, you wretched shirk. +Now I must leave you, dearest. Au revoir! +Don't stay forever over your cigar. + +(THEIR VIS-A-VIS.) + +It's not announced, but then we know it's on. +It's simply low--another good man gone! + +JULIET W. TOMPKINS. +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~Continuity and Differentiation.~ + +Whenever in America + A girl is asked to wed, +She straightway says, "Go ask papa," + And coyly droops her head. + +And over in the Fatherland, + Where flows the terraced Rhine, +She whispers, while he clasps her hand, + "Ich liebe dich allein." + +But up in Russia, where the snow + Sweeps hissing thro' the firs, +She simply murmurs soft and low, + "Bhjushkst zwmstk rstk pbjunsk pjbrs." + +_University Herald_. + + +~Deception.~ + +Among her curls with wanton glee +The breezes play caressingly, + Catch up stray locks with cunning grace, + And as she turns aside her face, +Blow them about provokingly. + +Then with a smile that's fair to see +She tries, and most coquettishly, + To stop the breeze's merry race + Among her curls. + +But all in vain, for now one wee +Small lock escapes, and is still free. + And as I peer beneath the lace + I see, stowed snugly in its place, +A tiny switch put secretly + Among her curls. + +_Yale Record._ + + +~George Birthington's Washday.~ + +There was a famous washing day, its action near the Hub; +A nation's raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub. +Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay! +I'll sing of good George Birthington on this, his washing day. + +"The time is come," said Birthington, "when wash we really must, +For, see our country's garments, how they're trampled in the dust; +And Liberty's bright tunic is so sadly soiled, I ween, +That nothing but a washing day will make it bright and clean." + +The morning dawned, the washers came, the washing was begun; +The steam rose high, nor ceased to rise till cleanliness was won. +And now, though good George Birthington is gone to his repose, +The grateful country still recalls how well he washed her clothes. + +FLORENCE E. HOMES. +_Wellesly Lyrics._ + + +~The Freshman's Vacation.~ + +He had fished in the Aroostook, +And he'd trolled in the Walloostook, +And he'd angled in the Mattawamkeag, +He had hunted Lake Umbagog, +And spent weeks on Memphremagog, +For he'd sworn to bring the fish home by the bag. + +All too soon the summer ended, +And his homeward way he wended, +And he left his tent within the shady vale; +But before he reached New Lyddom, +He took all his fish and hid 'em +In an envelope and sent them home by mail. + +_University Herald_. + + +~A Rondel.~ + +"I'd draw the knot as tight as man can draw, +And firm I'd make it fast by every law; +Dearest, you need not speak your fond consent, +Your paleness and your blush so finely blent," +He gently said; "tell me my happy lot: + I'd draw the knot." + +But ere he could the eager phrase repeat,-- +The phrase his manly fancy found so sweet,-- +The modest maiden toward him turned her face: +Her eyes met his a moment's rapturous space,-- +She spoke, her firm glance faltering scarce a jot, + "I'd rather not." + +J.J. MACK, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~The Ladye of the Lab.~ + +He fareth in a joyous wise +Where runs the road 'neath gentle skies-- +How should his canine heart surmise +That where the red-roofed towers rise + The blood is red upon the slab? +His way is warm with sunlight yet, +He knoweth not the sun must set; +And he hath in the roadway met + The Ladye of the Lab. + +How should he read her face aright? +Upon her brow the hair is bright, +Within her eyes a tender light, +Her luring hands are lily-white, + Tho' blood be red upon the slab; +Her calling voice is siren-sweet,-- +He crouches fawning at her feet,-- +It is a fatal thing to meet + The Ladye of the Lab! + +And she hath ta'en him with a string +To where the linnets never sing, +Where stiff and still is everything, +And there a heart lies quivering + When blood is red upon the slab; +O little dog that wandered free! +And hath she done this thing to thee? +How may she work her will with me,-- + The Ladye of the Lab! + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover_. + + +~Our Wrongs.~ + +When girls are only babies, +Their mammas quite insist +That they by us-- +Against our wills-- +Be kissed--kissed--kissed. + +But when those girls +Are sweet eighteen, +Their mammas say we sha'n't, +And though we'd like to kiss them, +We can't--can't--can't. + +C.F.H. +_Williams Weekly_. + + +~A Snare and a Delusion.~ + +Between the trees a hammock swings + On the lawn, at twilight's glow; +Oh, what bliss sweet memory brings + Of the days of long ago! + +A dainty gown of spotless white, + Moulded to a faultless form, +Fashioned like a fairy sprite, + Riding on love's tidal storm. + +In the gloaming, dim discerning, + We can faintly see the book; +Softly stealing, with lore's yearning,-- + Gracious heaven! it's the cook! + +_Yale Record_. + + +~At the Junior Promenade.~ + +The stars were out and the moon was bright + At the Junior Promenade, +But all the glories of starlit night +Were bated before the splendid sight +Of that merry throng--and my lady in white, + At the Junior Promenade. + +Oh, she was tall and wondrous fair + At the Junior Promenade, +Her eyes were stars, and black was her hair, +Her cheeks shone red in the bright light's glare: +I worshiped her quite as I danced with her there, + At the Junior Promenade. + +She waltzed with the grace of a goddess divine + At the Junior Promenade. +I held her close, her hand in mine, +My cheek touched the strands of her hair so fine. +A perfume arose from her lips of wine, + At the junior Promenade. + +Such seeds of love in my heart were sown + At the Junior Promenade, +Till soon came the end--I was left alone, +And then found out--what I cannot disown-- +That I had made love to the chaperone + At the Junior Promenade. + +CAREY CULBERTSON. +_Syllabus_. + + +~El Dorado.~ + +'Twas a youthful would-be poet, + Gazing with enraptured air +Through the starlight, when a comrade + Found him standing silent there. + +"Don't disturb me," was his answer, + When addressed, "Oh, let me be! +I am filled with heavenly raptures, + For I see infinity! + +"Let me gaze until I'm sated, + For at last I've found a place, +Where there's absolutely nothing + Crowded out for want of space!" + +GRANT SHOWERMAN. +_Wisconsin Aegis_. + + +~The Conversion.~ + +She told him surely 'twas not right +To smoke a pipe from morn to night +"Indeed," cried he, "what would you, dear? +'Tis but to aid my thoughts of you." +"Why, then," she whispered, nestling near, +"Why, then, I love your old pipe, too." + +R. W. BERGENGREN. +_Harvard Advocate_. + + +~Were It Only Now.~ + +I'm sitting musing in my room, + The snow is on the ground; +The moon has hid her face to-night, + And darkness is profound. +'Twas somewhat such a night as this, + A little darker, though, +I asked Bess to go sleighing, and + She said that she would go. + +But just as we were starting out, + Said she, "For just us two" +(A smile played round her mouth) "I think + It much too dark, don't you?" +I did not know their wiles as yet, + I was so young and slow; +But thought she really meant it, and + I stammered, "I--think--so." + +She cast at me a pitying glance, + Then in the house we went; +The balance of that evening was + In conversation spent. + + * * * * * + +Since then she's always been polite, + And cordial, too, you know; +But from that time I realize + I've never had a show. + +A. W. BELL. +_Yale Record_. + + +~Her Thanks.~ + +She thanked them all for everything, +From Christmas card to diamond ring; +And as her gifts she gaily flaunted, +She told her friends, "Just what I wanted." + +But I, who had no cash to blow, +Just kissed her 'neath the mistletoe. +She blushed a bit, yet never daunted, +Repeated low, "Just what I wanted." + +M.D. FOLLANSBEE. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~An Idyl.~ + +He stands before his glass in doubt; + His beard by night hath sprouted well. +He needs must scrape,--and yet without + He hears begin the lecture bell. +Too many times he's skipped the course-- + He fears its doors on him may shut: +His blade is dull. Now which is worse, + To cut and shave, or shave and cut? + +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~"When?"~ + +When Harvard's crimson cohorts came + From classic Cambridge down, +And Eli's lovers of the game + Forsook their leafy town, +And met on neutral ground to claim + The football victor's crown, + +I carried Rose to see the sight, + The pageant's grand review; +We watched the struggling heroes fight, + The crimson and the blue; +The crowd was yelling with delight, + And fierce the contest grew. + +First Yale rose up, an azure sea, + And shouted through the din; +Then Harvard yelled triumphantly, + And each was sure to win, +When Rosa, smiling, said to me, +"When does the game begin?" + +E. A. BLOUNT, JR. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~An Unfortunate Phrase.~ + +He sent her twelve Jacqueminot roses, + All fragrant and blooming and fair, +That nestled so sweetly and shyly + 'Neath smilax and maidenhair. + +She sent him a letter to thank him, + On paper just tinted with blue-- +"The flowers are still very fresh, John, + When I see them I think of you." + +She posted her letter that morning, + He got it that evening at ten. +She can't understand what has changed him, + For he called on her never again. + +F.S. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Lines to a Monkey.~ + +(_After reading Darwin_.) + +It seems quite funny to reflect, +And yet what else could we expect + (If Darwin's true), +That my primeval grandmamma +And prehistoric grandpapa + Looked just like you. + +How any one could ever see +Relationship 'twixt you and me + I can't explain. +You're such an awkward little beast, +Your features are (to say the least) + So very plain. + +And since the rule's considered poor +That doesn't work both ways, I'm sure + As I can be, +That ages hence, if earth endures, +Some distant relative of yours + Will look like me. + +HENRY RUTGERS CONGER. +_Williams Literary Monthly_. + + +~Hymns Ancient And Modern.~ + +ANCIENT. + +Complexion like the winter snow, +Just tinted by the sunset glow, + Throat white as alabaster, +Teeth of pearl, and hair of gold, +And figure--sure in Venus's mould + Th' immortal gods have east her. + +And I am proud her slave to be, +And deem it high felicity + To die, if she should will it so. +Ye fates! to-night propitious be, +For I approach divinity: + My life depends on "Yes" or "No." + +MODERN. + +Stunning girl, + Out of sight. +Guess I'll pop + Tuesday night. +Bully shape, + Pretty eyes; +Papa's rich, + Quite a prize. + +Sure to have me, + Can't say no; +Lots of rocks-- + It's a go. + +R. L. RAYMOND. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Nightmare Of A Freshman Sign Swiper.~ + +He turned and tossed upon his bed, + Repose he could not find, +For all night long such things as these + Kept coursing through his mind. + +"Keep off the Grass," and "Beer on Draught," + "H-O," and "Pyle's Pearline;" +"Look out for paint," and "Use Pear's Soap," + Were signs which he had seen. + +And in the midst of all of these + A demon seemed to dance, +Who asked him with a fiendish grin, + "I say, 'Do you wear pants?'" + +W.D. FLAGG. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~What the Wild Waves Said.~ + +Do you hear the ocean moaning, + Ever moaning sad and low? +'Tis because that fat old bather + Stepped upon its undertow. + +_University Herald_. + + +~A Decision.~ + + As a maid so nice, + With step precise, + Tripped o'er the ice, +She slipped; her care in vain. + And at the fall, + With usual gall, + The schoolboys call, +"Third down; two feet to gain." + +ARTHUR LLEWELLYN ENO. +_Brunonian_. + + +~The Thorn that Guards.~ + +Far in the corner on the stairs, + We were sitting together, she and I; +The murmuring music was soft and low, + Like zephyrs that float 'neath a summer sky. + +She held in her fingers a deep red rose, + And was plucking the petals, one by one; +Her eyes were filled with the dreamy light + That softens the west when the day is done. + +"Ah, Mildred, you are a bud yourself; + Its blushing sweetness is wholly thine; +Cannot you let me press the flower, + And keep it forever, and call it mine?" + +The fair lips trembled, the dimples smiled, + Her eyes told clearly that I had lost; +But my heart still hoped, till she gently sighed, + "You forget what _American Beauties_ cost." + +T.G.P. +_Cornell Era_. + + +~A Kiss.~ + +"A kiss it is a poeme faire."--_Old Song._ + +A kiss is not like the poems at all + Which I drop through the editor's office door; +For I like it as well "returned with thanks," + As "accepted, with a request for more." + +L. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_. + + +~The Modern Book.~ + +Extremely small or of giant size, + Bound in vellum or boards antique, +The pages of paper made by hand + With deckle edge and shape unique; +Margins four inches wide, at least, + And straggling o'er the page a line +Or two (no more), of beautiful print + In type advertised as "our own design." +You pay a price exorbitant + This cherished morsel to procure; +You get a gem of the bookman's art + And five cents' worth of literature. + +M.R. +_Vassar Miscellany_. + + +~His Father Took Him Home.~ + +"I was always so poor in Greek," + _He played the guitar_, +"A 'dec' I never could speak," + _He won every race_, +"My Latin I have to 'horse,'" + _In football a star_, +"The German is 'cribbed' perforce." + _He played second base._ + +S.J.R. +_Madisonensis_. + + +~Beautiful Sprig.~ + +Sprig, sweet Sprig, is cobig; + For I feel it id the air, +See, the groud is gedtly thawig, + Bud ad slush are everywhere. + +Dow I doff by widter fladdels, + Ad I dod by subber close; +Thed for weeks ad weeks together + Vaidly try to blow by dose. + +J. P. WELSH. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +III. COLLEGE AND CAMPUS + + +~The Way of It.~ + +A little learning, scattered o'er +A frolic of four years or more. +Then--Presto, change!--and you create +The sober college graduate! + +_Yale Record_. + + +~Comfort.~ + +With pipe and book, an old armchair, +A glowing hearth, what need I care + For empty honors, wealth or fame? + Grant me but this: an honest name, +A cup of ale, a coat to wear, +And then, while smoke wreaths rift the air, +The banquet of the gods I share, + Content to sit before the flame + With pipe and book. + +Above the city's noisy glare, +Yet sweet, tho' humble, is my fare; + For changing not from praise to blame, + These faithful friends are still the same-- +No earthly comforts can compare + With pipe and book. + +CHARLES E. MERRILL, JR. +_Yale Courant_. + + +~O Hero.~ + +Out into the mud and the wet he goes, + My hero, tall and strong; +Under his jersey the muscle shows, +And, Samson-like, his dark hair grows + Delightfully thick and long. + +Out from his feet the black mud flies, + His jacket is far from white; +Bother these boys with their dapper ties, +Who come and compel me to turn my eyes + Away from a nobler sight! + +The hills are red with the western sun, + The twilight comes like a dream; +But until the practice work is done +I strain my eyes for his every run, + And I know he will make the team. + +I envy the fellow who keeps his cap, + With so little appreciation, +While I stroll back with a soft-tongued chap +Whose muscles I know aren't worth a rap, + And whose hair is an imitation. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover_. + + +~To the Faculty.~ + +You tell us in philosophy + That time does not exist, +That 'tis but a film of fancy, + A little mental mist. + +And space--why, space is nothing + More than mere mode of thought, +A sort of mental telescope + Our feeble minds have wrought. + +Well, if that's true, Respected Sirs, + I'll breakfast at my ease, +And think myself in chapel + Just as often as you please. + +H. K. WEBSTER. +_Hamilton Literary Monthly_. + + +~Her Answer.~ + +"Maud, take my heart!" cried Algernon. + (Maud goes to Barnard College.) +She said, "You know I'm wedded to + A noble search for knowledge. + +"I cannot take your heart, Al, but--" + He saw her eyes with pleasure beam-- +"I'm much obliged. You've given me + A subject for a daily theme." + +C.H. +_Columbia Literary Monthly_. + + +~"Give Me the Town."~ + +Give me the town; let others go +Where babbling streams of water flow, + Where soars the lark on daring wing + (I'd rather hear De Reszke sing), +And where sweet-scented breezes blow. + +I love to be where, to and fro, +Weary or eager, fast or slow, + The _human_ tide is eddying; + Give me the town. + +The balls, the theatres, the row, +Who would not find amusement so? + Here's where a man can have his fling, + Can drink the dregs of--everything. +Would you change this for Surrey? Oh, + Give me the town. + +MARY HELEN RITCHIE. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern_. + + +[Illustration: A BRYN MAWR GIRL.] + + +~I Flunked To-Day.~ + +I flunked to-day. "I'm not prepared," +Was all I said. Still less I cared. + No more I strive the depths to try, + Or drink the fount of wisdom dry; +Yet once at learning's court I fared; + +There with the best my work compared; +My weary brain was never spared. + But now,--some one could tell you why + I flunked to-day. + +As once to college I repaired, +A half-veiled glance my heart ensnared. + I felt my love (for knowledge) die; + And thus it was without a sigh + I flunked to-day. + +ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~Ring from the Rim of the Glass, Boys.~ + +Ring from the rim of the glass, boys, + Ripples of tinkling tones; +Drink to the heyday of youth, boys, + Mindless of after-moans. + +Over the rim of the glass, boys, + Gaze into eyes that are bright. +Drink with each sip of the wine, boys, + Passionate gleams of delight. + +Sing to the rim of the glass, boys, + Chorus wherever we roam. +Drink in its sparkling-eyed depths, boys, + A love as light as its foam. + +Kiss the rim of the glass, boys, + Blind to its siren-gleam. +Drink in its shading depths, boys, + The wav'ring forms of a dream. + +Then ring from the rim of the glass, boys, + Ripples of tinkling tones. +Drink to the heyday of youth, boys, + Mindless of after-moans. + +JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. +_Brown Magazine_. + + +~Comforting Reflections of a Nonentity.~ + +I cannot boast of learning deep, + Nor can I much to art aspire; +My poetry loses me no sleep, + Nor oratory's burning fire. + +I do not row upon the crew, + Nor on th'eleven glory win; +I am not of the chosen few + Who sing or play the mandolin. + +I am not any social star, + But then--within my certain knowledge, +Like me, unknown to fame, there are + Some fifteen hundred men in college. + +S.M. WILLIAMS. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~When Witherspoon was President.~ + +Their manners had a formal cast + A century or more ago, +Their bow was suited, as they passed + To place in Academic row. + With "honored sir" and "humbly so," +Their speech was truly reverent-- + True learning did true grace bestow, +When Witherspoon was president. + +The clothes they wore would now be classed + At best as but a curio, +Huge buckles held their slippers fast-- + Low cut and pointed at the toe. + Gray powdered hair, small-clothes below, +A long blue coat fresh splendor lent-- + In sooth they made a goodly show +When Witherspoon was president. + +But when the trumpet's warring blast + Had knelled the fate that tyrants know, +They proved no laggards at the last, + And sprang to meet their country's foe. + Their master's words undying glow-- +"To slavery there's no consent, + My fame, my life is on the throw--" +When Witherspoon was president. + + Aye, manners, customs, clothes may flow, +Unchanging is such sentiment-- + We would have done as they, I trow, +When Witherspoon was president. + +DAVID POTTER. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~My Pipe is Out.~ + +My pipe is out; the hour is late, +And sitting lonely by the grate + Sweet thoughts that led their circling train + In puffs cerulean 'round my brain +Have flown, and left me to my fate. + +No more the form of lovely Kate +Floats in the smoke-rings I create; + And this the cause of all my pain, + My pipe is out. + +How can my pen the woes relate +That on these happy moments wait? + With eager eyes I look again + Within my empty pouch,--in vain! +So I must cease to meditate, + My pipe is out. + +HERBERT MULLER HOPKINS. +_Columbia Spectator_. + + +~At the Race.~ + +She wore a little knot of blue, + He waved a flag of red; +With all her heart she would be true + To Yale--she said. + +And as she spoke a dainty flush + Gave token of her pride; +He thought the crimson of her blush + Her words belied. + +So while he watched her blushes start-- + "Deny it if you will, +Your blood--yes, even in your heart-- + Is crimson still." + +She turned and spoke, her voice was low, + And yet it pierced him through-- +"Sir, pardon me, I'd have you know + My blood is blue!" + +_Yale Record._ + + +~To an "Instructor."~ + +Treat not with such wanton disdain + The title of which you're possessor, +Nor sorrow, because you remain + Instructor instead of "Professor." + +Content you should be to be known + As one of enlightenment's ductors, +Rememb'ring how oft we bemoan + Professors who are not instructors. + +HARRY S. FURBUR, JR. +_Syllabus_. + + +~As Usual.~ + +Oh, the gay and festive Freshman has appeared upon the scene,-- +'Tis not the monster jealousy that makes him look so green, +'Tis not the fumes of rum that give his nose that ruddy glare, +But the boy has caught hay-fever from the hay-seed in his hair. + +The blush upon his cheek is not the bloom upon the rye, +But tells of health and happiness, and johnny-cake and pie. +The firm, elastic tread with which the boy is wont to roam +Comes from running on a steep side hill to drive the heifers home. + +The funny tales he'll have to tell of cows that get astray +Will all be sure to help him in a purely social way; +And all the strength that he's acquired from milking them each trip +Will come in mighty handy when he tries to learn the grip. + +For father will go barefoot, and mother dear will scrub +The neighbors' dirty linen within a sudsy tub, +And Jane will wear no Sunday hat, and Jim no Sunday tie, +So Sam can go to Harvard to adorn the Zeta Psi. + +Then nearly every morning, at the druggist's, for a bluff, +He'll ask the clerk for vichy, to make him think he's tough. +That boy will smoke a cigarette, and quite forget the plow! +And mother will not know her son a year or so from now. + +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Speed.~ + +They tell how fast the arrow sped, + When William shot the apple, +But who can calculate the speed + Of him who's late for chapel? + +_Trinity Tablet._ + + +~A Senior Schedule.~ + +We're a-studying of Literature + As hard as e'er we can; +We dote on Revolutions + And the Brotherhood of Man. + +We're returning to the People + With a truly Lyric Cry; +And for Democratic Spirit + We'd lay us down and die. + +We're a-reading of Philosophy + To find out why we be, +And a-learning that External Worlds + Lie wholly in the Me. + +We don't believe in Matter, + And of Mind we're not quite sure; +We're inclined to think Uncertainties + Most likely to endure. + +We're a-studying Geology + Of Pre-historic Times, +Before the Tides of Primal Sea + Got written into rhymes; + +When the "Old World spun forever," + And the poets never knew it,-- +And all the Rocks, and Stones, and Things, + Were nicely mixed up through it. + +We're a-looking at Fine Pictures + Made by People what are dead; +And we criticize Cathedrals + With a Ruskin at our head. + +We're a-growing awful learned,-- + There's lots more of the kind,-- +But we do not mind confessing + That it's all a Beastly Grind. + +MARY HOLLANDS McLEAN. +_Wellesley Lyrics_. + + +~A Change of Heart.~ + +I knew he cut his classes, and I'd heard him flunk in history, +And how he dared say "not prepared" so often was a mystery. +He'd sometimes cram for an exam., but seldom knew a word in it. +His parted hair grew long and fair; I thought he looked absurd in it. + +I felt regret whene'er we met, and bowed with utmost gravity; +I didn't dream he'd joined the team--I thought him all depravity. +So when I found, at Haight Street ground, how great was his agility, +I oped my eyes in marked surprise, amazed at his ability. + +He tackled hard, gained many a yard, place-kicked and charged +successively; +He turned the edge of the flying wedge, and interfered aggressively! + +He bucked the line! I thought it fine, and shouted out excitedly; +He passed the ball behind them all! I saw the scheme delightedly. + +He slipped about the line without a thought of trip or fumbling, +When to the din of tooting tin a crowd on him came tumbling. +I felt a chill, my heart stood still, when those mean boys fell down on +him, +His clothes were torn, his nose cap gone, and streaks of black and brown +on him. + +He scored a touchdown then, and such a frenzy I did never see; +It made the umpire's whistle dumb, and overwhelmed the referee. +Then when he punted out in front, though hoarse with loud admiring, +I with, delight yelled, "He's all right!" for they were all inquiring. + +The game was won, and we'd begun to cheer each man respectively; +We rah! rah! rahed! and blew horns hard, and shook our flags +effectively; +His eyes shone bright, as left and right they called to him vivaciously; +I my disdain recalled with pain, and waved my banner graciously. + +Now let him miss the German quiz, and fail to pass astronomy, +To football lore what's physics or political economy? +To have him bow is rapture now, to be o'erlooked adversity; +To catch his smile is worth the while attending University. + +HENRIETTA L. STADTMULLER. +_Sequoia_. + + +~Drinking Song.~ + +Let sparkling wine o'erbrim the glass, + And kiss its lips in haste to fly; +But though it would to glory pass, + It is not eager as am I. +I fain would drain the utmost drop, + And leave the beaker's hollow bare, +For when I turn its foot atop, + I see my true love's image there. + +Each bubble of the dancing wine + Symbols a love-kiss softly given, +And rising upward is a sign + That earth hath joys to equal heaven. +Ah! were the cup a league in rim, + And deep as is the ocean's blue, +I'd hold its girth were all too slim + And wine of kisses thrice too few. + +B.A. GOULD, JR. +_Harvard Lampoon_. + + +~Sour Valentines.~ + +To-morrow is the day for valentines; + Then let me leave my thesis for a space, +Lower the lamplight on these weary lines, + And dream a little in the shadowed place. +In my three years at college, I have named + My Valentine and kept the season thrice; +The jolly saint himself is to be blamed + If I have never had the same one twice. + +In Freshman days, with all about me strange, + And home's sweet halo shining on my way, +My heart had never known the sense of change, + And one dear face was with me day by day; +So, when the time was here, I wrote my verse + And drew the heart and arrow up above, +And, happy in the thought I might do worse, + I sent it off to Mother with my love. + +When I had felt the thrill of Sophomore days, + My thoughts were given to a dainty maid +At college with me, and in woodland ways + And quiet music-rooms my court I paid. +But, with, my Junior dignity, I chose + My Queen abroad, within the city's glare, +Forgot the violet for the gayer rose, + And lost my heart and pocket-money there. + +Saint Valentine, those days were long ago; + Your power is lost upon this penitent, +For, with my Senior gravity, I know + That life means more than your light sentiment. +And yet, this once, your day shall have from me + Some of the old observance, though I scoff; +My thesis waits,--my Valentine shall be + The old-maid sister of my major prof. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~The Banjo Fiend.~ + +There is a fellow across the way +Who plays the banjo night and day, +And all you ever hear him play, +Is plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +He plays along with might and main, +Be it foul or fair, be it snow or rain, +And, oh! it is that constant strain, +That plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +You sit here in your room and swear, +But he can't hear, nor does he care, +Only goes on playing that same old air, +The plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +It is his hope that some fine day +On the Banjo Club they'll let him play, +But he won't if we have aught to say, +With his plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. + +WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER. +_The Badger_. + + +~Varium et Mutabile.~ + +I saw her going to the game, +Her eyes were bright, her cheeks aflame, +And o'er her shoulders lightly fell +A Princeton scarf, her choice to tell. + +I saw her when the game was o'er, +A loyal Nassau maid no more; +To Yale, the victor, now she's true-- +Her yellow scarf was lined with blue. + +J. P. SAWYER, +_Yale Record._ + + +~In His Own Country.~ + +I made myself a poet in the place, + And blithely sang of college life and ways, +The pleasure of the undergraduate pace, + And all the joy between the holidays; +No care spoke ever in my careless song, + From graver strains I kept my pipe apart, +And played the upper notes; ah, was it wrong + To dream my music reached the student heart? + +Upon a day one said, with kind intent: + "Why sing forever of these trivial things? +For better music was your piping meant; + Will you confess such earth-restricted wings? +Strike some Byronic chord, sublime and deep, + Find in ethereal flight the upper air, +And speak to us some word that we may keep + Within our hearts and ever treasure there!" + +Then, with one pang for wasted hours, I gave + Another meaning to my faltering lay, +And sang of Life and Pain, an early grave, + Hope and Despair, and Love that lives alway; +But when I listened for an echoing heart, + I saw all other lips with laughter curl, +And heard them whisper jestingly apart, +"He's got it bad, poor fool; we know the girl!" + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Sequoia_. + + +~His Letter.~ + +"Dear Father: + Please excuse," he wrote, +"The hurried shortness of this note, +But studies so demand attention +That I have barely time to mention +That I am well, and add that I +Lack funds; please send me some. Good-by. +Your loving son." + He signed his name, +And hastened to the--foot-ball game. + +W.R. HEREFORD. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~The Unwilling Muse.~ + +Oh nothing in all life worse is, + For abating superfluous pride, +Than having to scribble on verses + With the editor waiting outside; +I am hearing a lecture on Shelley, + Where I ought to be able to dream, +But my brain is as vapid as jelly. + And I cannot alight on a theme. + +The bell rings. My friend, the Professor, + Is beginning to read out the roll. +How time drags! Am I present? Oh, yes, sir, + But, oh, what a blank is my soul. +I fear that my cunning has left me, + Inspiration refuses to guide, +The rouse of her aid has bereft me, + And the editor's waiting outside. + +GUY WETMORE CARRYL. +_Columbia Spectator._ + + +~A Written Lesson.~ + +I was happy that day, + For I knew what to say, + And I knew how to tell it; +But I found with dismay, +As is always the way, +When I know what to say, + And know how to tell it, +That I know what to say + But I never can spell it. + +S.W. CHAMBERLAIN. +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + + [Illustration: "THE IDEAL CO-ED"] + + +~The Deal Closed.~ + +The ideal co-ed is a thing of books, + A creature of brain entirely; +With stooping shoulders and studious looks, + She digs all day and half the night; + People say she is wondrous bright, + But her figure's an awful sight! +Her thoughts are deep in the classic past, +She only thinks of A. B. at last; + She has fled this world and its masculine charms, + And a refuge found in Minerva's arms. + +Now, the kind of co-ed that I describe + Is a co-ed seen very rarely; +The real co-ed's a thing of grace, +With dainty figure and winsome face; + She walks and rides, and she cuts, mon Dieu! + But every professor lets her through; +For her each year is a round of joy, +A. B. means nothing if not "A Boy," + And you and I must yield to her charms, + And take the place of Minerva's arms, + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Stanford Quad._ + + +~Conditioned.~ + +Dear old pipe, my oldest friend, + Brier of darkest hue, +How I long to smoke and dream-- + I'm in love with you. + +Good old beer, an oft-tried friend, + Best and choicest brew, +How I long for you again-- + I'm in love with you. + +Laughing lips and rosy cheeks, + Eyes of deepest blue, +You I long for most of all-- + I'm in love with you. + +Tempt me not, my dear old friends, + I have work to do-- +Four conditions in a term-- + For I loved but you. + +_Brunonian_. + + +~Evening on the Campus.~ + +Behind a screen of western hills + The sunset color fades to-night; +Along the arching corridors + Long shadows steal with footsteps light. +The banners of the day are furled; + Thro' darkening space the twilight creeps +And smooths the forehead of the world + Until he sleeps. + +The oak-trees closer draw their hoods; + A bird, belated, wings his dim, +Uncertain flight, and far above + A star looks down and laughs at him; +The sky and mountains melt in one; + Tall gum-trees range their ranks around; +The white walk marks its length upon + The velvet ground. + +From out the dusk the chimney points, + Like guiding finger, to the skies; +Down drops the curtain of the night, + And all the plain in darkness lies, + +When, as the college buildings seem + To lose their form in shapeless mass, +The lights shine out as poppies gleam + Amid the grass. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover._ + + +~Philosophy.~ + +Shall I grieve because a maid + Swore to love me--failed to do it? +When we both are old and staid, + I shall laugh--and she shall rue it. +Shall I grieve, if for a prize, + Strive my best--I fail to win it? +In the world where honor lies, + Medal men are seldom in it. + +C.W. CRANNELL. +_Garnet_. + + +~Bed During Exams.~ + +_(With Apologies to Mr. Stevenson.)_ + +I used to go to bed at night, +And only worked when day was light. +But now 'tis quite the other way, +I never get to bed till day. + +I look up from my work and see +The morning light shine in on me, +And listen to a warning knell-- +The tinkle of the rising bell. + +And does there not seem cause to weep, +When I should like so much to sleep, +I have to sing this mournful lay, +I cannot get to bed till day? + +CLARA WARREN VAIL. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~Under Two Flags.~ + + It's all very well + For a boy, who can yell +For his own special college through all, without fail. + How can I be true + To the red or the blue, +When Will is at Harvard, and Tom is at Yale? + + When one comes to call, + I must stop in the hall +To see that his pin's in a prominent place, + They're both on the crew, + And I'm all in a stew, +For I'm pledged as a mascot for both in the race! + + Dear Will's such a swell, + And he dresses so well, +(Tom says that he puts on a great deal of dog), + His tenor is fine + And his waltzing divine. +But you ought to see Tom do his skirt-dance and clog! + +It's all very well + For a boy, who can yell +For his own special college through all, without fail. + Why, I'd gladly be true + To the red or the blue, +If Tom were at Harvard, or Will went to Yale! + +JULIET W. TOMPKINS. +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~After the Soiree ~ + +I beside the blue-gate lying, +Round and round all objects flying, +Just to reach my bed was trying, + After the Soiree. + +Now I hear the music stopping, +Now the corks from champagne popping, +Now the wasted money dropping, + After the Soiree, + +Now I sleep and now awaken, +Find myself by classmates taken +To the bed that I'd forsaken, + After the Soiree. + +When the light of day comes o'er me, +What have I but flunks before me? +Greek and Latin, how they bore me, + After the Soiree. + +F.R.D.B. +_Garnet_. + + +~A Panacea.~ + +If your health is not quite right, +If you have no appetite, +If you cannot sleep at night, + Light your pipe. + +If conditions round you press, +If your stock of cuts grows less, +Spoiling all your happiness, + Light your pipe. + +If your debts upon you weigh, +If your bills you cannot pay, +As they come in day by day, + Light your pipe. + +There's no trouble in this land, +Lack of wealth, or loss of stand, +Loss of health, or lady's hand, +Which can this sure cure withstand! + Light your pipe. + +R.O. RYDER. +_Yale Record._ + + +~A Toast.~ + +What though the storm-king growls in rage, + And the daylight fast is dimming; +We'll add to the score on Mem'ry's page, + While the butt with cheer is brimming. + +And Love shall be the tapster gay, + To draw at nod or winking; +And whether the clouds be gold or gray, + Here's to the cup and its clinking! + +Those moist lips, touched in single bliss, + More constant are than lovers'; +Their foamy depth holds many a kiss, + And many a sigh it smothers. + +Then ho for the blood of youth, say I, + And the mad, glad hopes it bringeth; +For the palsied step of Age draws nigh,-- +"_Sans_ hope, _sans_ joy!" he singeth. + +A. K. LANE. +_Tuftonian_. + + +~A Ballade of College Girls.~ + +What do the dear girls learn nowadays, + At all the colleges where they go? +They've no cane-rushes nor football frays; + Whence can their wealth of wisdom flow? + Up at Wellesley they learn to row; +Gowns and mortar-boards there are swell; + They flirt in the shades of "Tupelo": +I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +The Smith girls had the dramatic craze, + And even the critics puffed their show; +The Amherst men are loud in their praise; + They diet on pickled limes and Poe. + At good Mount Holyoke, which some deem slow, +They learn to cook and to sweep as well; + Along with their Greek they're taught to sew: +I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +Cornell's "co-eds" have flattering ways; + Many a soul they have filled with woe; +Up at Vassar they're prone to stays, + And no girl there can have a beau; +All those beautiful blooms must throw +Their sweetness away where no man may dwell; + Rules can be cheated, sometimes, though: +I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +ENVOY. + +Girls, the Blue and the Crimson know + How a tryst is kept after bedtime bell. +"Hush-sh," you whisper, "be cautious!" Oh, + I have been there,--but I won't tell! + +F.R. BATCHELDER. +_Harvard Lampoon._ + + +~Ballade of the Alumna.~ + +How sadly in these latter days, + In search of memories bitter-sweet, +We tread the once-accustomed ways + With step grown slow, and lagging feet,-- + Timed to the pulse's slower beat,-- +And climb the stair and reach the floor, + To find--alas! how time is fleet! +Another's name is on the door! + +We timid knock, and beg to gaze + On all once ours--are shown a seat, +O irony! In sad amaze + We marvel that it looks so neat, + Recalling how we used to meet +At gruesome hours in days of yore,-- + Hours that fate can ne'er repeat: +Another's name is on the door. + +Our ready chaff, our wordy frays, + Conviction backed by young conceit, +Have left no echoes; nothing stays + To mark how once we "led the street;" +But others come with youthful heat, + Nor reck of those who came before, + And play their part--their years complete;-- +Another's name is on the door. + +ENVOY. + +Freshmen, our age with reverence greet, + And warning take, though grieved sore, +No words delay, no prayers entreat,-- + Another's name is on the door. + +EDITH CHILD. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~A Banquet Song.~ + +I. + +Comrades, fill the banquet cup + Brimming up! +Fill it full of love and laughter, +Claret lips and kisses after, + Crown it with a maiden's smiles, + And the foam of magic wiles. +Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, +For the love of loving lasses + Ere it passes! + +II. + +Fill again, the banquet cup + Brimming up! +Overflow it with the roses +Which her timid blush discloses. + With her sparkling eyelight sift it, + Till it flavored is. Then lift it. +Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, +For the love of loving lasses + Ere it passes! + +III. + +Comrades, fill a parting cup + Brimming up! +Flood it in your praise's zest, +For the uninvited guest. + With her charms and graces fill it, + Touch the lips and heartward spill it. +Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, +For the love of loving lasses + Ere it passes! + +EDWIN OSGOOD GROVER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~The Senior And The Rose.~ + +A few faded rose-leaves-- +A Freshman-year treasure-- +I view you again with a sigh. +Three years have I kept you +In care without measure, +And now must I tell you good-by? + +A rose that a Senior +Once dropped and deserted, +A rose from the bright banquet-hall, +A rose that man gave me, +When madly I flirted +With him at the great Junior Ball. + +Alas for the rose-leaves! +Confusion o'ercomes me! +My cheek is quite crimson with shame! +Which rose were you part of? +And which Senior was she? +And what was that college man's name? + +EVA LINNETTE SOULE. +_Cardinal_. + + +IV. NATURE + + +~The American Partridge.~ + +Neglected minstrel of the single song, + Piping at twilight through the russet fields, +Thy two soft silver notes, one short, one long, + Rich with the careless joy that nature yields, + Rise from the stubble round the well-stocked fields, +Far from the chattering flock or warbling throng: + Bob White! + +American! All hail, my countryman! + Thy treble, sweet or shrill, delights my ear; +A song of freedom ere our race began, + A challenger of conquest loud and clear; +Bespeaking nature pure as God's first plan, + And pride and peace, and quiet ever dear: + Bob White! + +_Southern Collegian._ + + +~To a Chrysanthemum.~ + +Thou beauteous flower, with heart of gold, + Bravely defying winter's cold, +When dreary north winds shrilly whistle +Over the desolate fields of thistle; +Thou comest to bless in beauty's ways, +With memories of summer days, +When at the touch of gentle showers, +Decked were the fields in myriad flowers; + Yet more than all I praise to-day + This blossom bright, + Since on her breast it lay + Only last night. + +JOHN ANGUS THOMPSON. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly_ + + +~My Treasures.~ + +My jewels are the drops of dew + That sparkle on the grass, +Or break into a thousand bits + When ruthless footsteps pass. + +My gold bedecks the sunlit cloud, + Untouched by human hand; +My silver is the sleeping sea, + Unshadowed by the land. + +My friend is every wooded hill, + And every singing brook; +For they are always true to me, + And wear a kindly look + +And yet how few would ever think + To count these treasures o'er; +But, dreaming oft of Satan's gold, + Would ask kind Heaven for more. + +Co-heirs of Nature all may be, + Although of humble birth; +And yet, the miser hugs his gold, + While poor men own the earth. + +WILBUR DANIEL SPENCER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly,_ + + +~A Pasture.~ + +Rough pasture where the blackberries grow!-- + It bears upon its churlish face + No sign of beauty, art or grace; +Not here the silvery coverts glow +That April and the angler know. + +There sleeps no brooklet in this wild, + Smooth-resting on its mosses sleek, + Like loving lips upon a cheek +Soft as the face of maid or child-- +Just boulders, helter-skelter piled. + +Ungenerous nature but endows + These acres with the stumps and stocks + Which should be trees, with rude, gray rocks; +Over these humps and hollows browse, +Daily, the awkward, shambling cows. + +Here on the right, a straggling wall + Of crazy, granite stones, and there + A rotten pine-trunk, brown and bare, +A mass of huge brakes, rank and tall-- +The burning blue sky over all. + +And yet these blackberries! shy and chaste! + The noisy markets know no such-- + So ripe they tumble when you touch; +Long, taper--rarer wines they waste +Than ever town-bred topers taste. + +And tell me! have you looked o'erhead + From lawns where lazy hammocks swing + And seen such bird-throats lent a wing? +Such flames of song that flashed and fled? +Well, maybe--_I'm_ not city-bred. + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Skating Song.~ + +Moon so bright, +Stars alight, +Clouds adance, adance; +Snow of night, +Fleecy white, +Silver ice agleam, aglance. + High, hey, high, hey, + Skimming the smooth, bright way, + High, hey, high, hey, + Over the ice away. + +Cheeks so bright, +Face alight, +Heart adance, adance; +Eyes of night, +Brow of white, +Silver skates agleam, aglance. + High, hey, high, hey, + Skimming the smooth, bright way, + High, hey, high, hey, + Over the ice away. + +CORA ISABEL WARBURTON. +_Smith College Monthly_. + + +~A Mystery.~ + +Once, a little while ago, 'twas so warm and still +Down here, in this soft, dark place. Now I feel a thrill +Darting through me. Shivering, quivering, bursts my wrappage brown, +Struggling, striving, something in me reaches up and down. +Ah! it must be death, this anguish that I cannot understand. + +One inch more,--I lift my head above the parted mould, +Oh! what rapture! Falling on me something sweet and gold, +Something humming, singing, moving, growing on each side; +High above me a blue glory stretching far and wide,-- +And I know 'twas life, that anguish that I could not understand. + +MARY E. HOYT. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~The Birch-Tree.~ + +Like a shower, breeze-suspended, + Caught and played with by the air, +April from the sky descended, + Tricked by sunshine unaware, +To a pale green fountain fashioned, + Silver shaft with airy fling, +Tremulous and sun-impassioned + Is the birch-tree in the spring. + +Like the spirit of the fountain-- + Seen when earth was yet a child-- +Leaping, white-armed, from the mountain, + Laughing, beckoning, water-wild, +Sheen of mist her beauty veiling, + Which she only half can hide, +Garments o'er her white feet trailing, + Seems the birch at summer-tide. + +E.A.H. +_Inlander_. + + +~My Quest.~ + +Over the meadow and over the hill, + Over the heath and heather, +I seek for the spot where the dawn-wind sleeps, + And slips from its night-bound tether. + Is it here? Is it there? + Pray tell me where +The morning zephyrs tarry, + That I may bide + Where they crouch and hide, +And sip of the dew they carry. + +Over the billow and over the wave, + Over the vales and valleys, +I seek for the spot where the night-wind dreams, + And rests from its twilight rallies. + Is it here? Is it there? + Pray tell me where +The breath of night lies sleeping, + That I may rest + In its downy nest, +With its breath my eyelids steeping. + +W.T.O. +_Trinity Tablet._ + + +~Lullaby.~ + +Breezes in the tree-tops high, + Sighing softly as you blow, +Sing a restful lullaby; + Sing the sweetest song you know, + Something slow, something low,-- + Lulla-lullaby. + +Barley heads and crested wheat, + Swaying gently to and fro, +Sing the music of the heat, + Sing the drowsiest song you know, + Something slow, something low,-- + Lulla-lullaby. + +Brooklet hidden in the grass, + Murmuring faintly as you flow, +Sing a sleep song while you pass; + Sing the dreamiest song you know, + Something slow, something low,-- + Lulla-lullaby. + +MABEL A. CARPENTER. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +~Our Scarlet King.~ + +He comes along the great highway + In scarlet coat and crown, +And high the shrilling trumpets bray + And fierce his lancers frown. + Bright scarlet is his royal crest; + Bright scarlet shines his royal vest; + Oh! pr'ythee canst thou bring + A knight more nobly known and dressed + Than this, our Scarlet King. + +See how he throws his largess gold + Into the bending trees. +He doth the forest walls enfold + In purple tapestries. + He giveth all a majesty; + He holds in fiel the shore, the sea; + Oh! pr'ythee come and sing + A song, and sing it merrily + To him, our Scarlet King. + +Past crypt and wayside canopy, + Beyond each bloarny throne, +Full fleetly speed his heralds free + To make his advent known. + His scarlet banners bend and blow; + Our scarlet vintages shall flow; + And pr'ythee with us sing, + That proud October all may know + And hail--"our Scarlet King." + +HAROLD M. BOWMAN. +_Inlander_. + + +~Bob White.~ + +At morn, when first the rosy gleam + Of rising sun proclaimed the day, +There reached me, thro' my last sweet dream, + This oft-repeated lay: + (Too sweet for cry. + Too brief for song, + 'Twas borne along + The reddening sky) + _Bob White! + Daylight, Bob White! + Daylight!_ + +At eve, when first the fading glow + Of setting sun foretold the night, +The same sweet call came, soft and low, +Across the dying light: + (Too sweet for cry, + Too brief for song, + 'Twas but a long, + Contented sigh) + _Bob White! + Good Night, Bob White! + Good Night!_ + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~An Evening Song.~ + +O red, red clouds in the westering sky, + That are lit with a lamp of gold, +The hours are faint, they sleep, they die, + The stars are earthward rolled; +Make bright day's burial-place, make bright, + So it crimson-canopied be-- +It dies, and Fancy out of the night + Comes down--comes down to me. + +O red, red clouds with your glory gone, + That are ghostly shapes of gray. +My lady dreams by a moon-lit lawn, + Away from me--away; +Go down--go down from the sky, so the gleams + Of the moon shine over the sea, +And bring the thought of my lady's dreams + Over to me--to me. + +ROBERT L. HUNGER. +_Yale Courant._ + + +~Panacea ~ + +When life proves disappointing, + And sorrow seems anointing + Brows of care, +Take a brace and go a-sailing, +Either dolphin back or whaling, + Anywhere. + +Fling your troubles to the breezes, +Where the salted Ocean sneezes + Spray your face-- +Never mind the moments flying, +There'll be left of care and sighing, + Not a trace. + +ANNIE NYHAN SCEIBNER. +_Wisconsin Aegis._ + + +~The Dive.~ + +One moment, poised above the flashing blue, +The next I'm slipping, sliding through +The water, that caresses, yields, resists, +Wrapping my sight in cooling, gray-green mists. +Another moment, my body swirls, I rise, +Shaking the water from my blinded eyes, +And strike out strong, glad that I am alive, +To swim back to the gray old pile from which I dive. + +CORNELIA BROWNELL GOULD. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~The Robin.~ + +A STUDY. + +Abstracted, contemplative air, + A sudden run and stop, +A glance indifferent round about, + Head poised--another hop. + +A plunge well-aimed, a backward tug, + A well-resisted squirm, +Then calm indifference as before. + But oh, alack, the worm! + +KATHERINE VAN D. HARKEE, +_Vassar Miscellany._ + + +~A Mountain Brook.~ + +I come from the depths of the mountain, +The dark, hidden, head of the fountain, +I spring from a nook in the ledges, +And bathe the gray granite's rough edges, +I rush over wide mossy masses +To quench the hot thirst of the grasses. +I bathe the cleft hoofs of the cattle, +As o'er the rude ford-stones I rattle. +I glide through the glens deep in shadow; +I flow in the sun-bathed meadow, +And seek, with a shake and a quiver, +The still steady flow of the river, +Then on to the wild rhythmic motion +Of my mother, the sky-tinted ocean. + +CHARLES OTIS JUDKINS. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~In the San Joaquin.~ + +Across the hills the screeching blue-jays fly +In countless flocks, and as they hasten by + The children look up from their merry play + To watch them slowly, slowly fade away; +And night steals up the corners of the sky. + +No silent, trembling star shines there, on high: +The hollow rivers, that were still and dry, + Begin to murmur; falls a gentle spray + Across the hills. + +The stubble colors through the fallen hay, +And infant grasses pin the moistened clay; + The drooping trees shake off their dust and sigh; + And waking nature, with a gladdened eye, +Beholds the summer lose its ending day, + Across the hills. + +NORMAN HUTCHINSON. +_Cornell Magazine._ + + +~Four-o'clocks.~ + +It was that they loved the children, + The children used to say, + For there was no doubt + That when school was out, +At the same time every day, + Down by the wall, + Where the grass grew tall, +Under the hedge of the hollyhocks, + One by one, + At the touch of the sun, +There opened the four-o'clocks. + +It was that they loved the children;-- +But the children have gone away, + And somebody goes + When nobody knows, +At the same time every day, + To see by the wall, + Where the grass grows tall, +Under the hedge of the hollyhocks, + How, one by one, + At the touch of the sun, +Still open the four-o'clocks. + +LILLIAN B. QUIMBY. +_Wellesley Magazine,_ + + +~The Voice of the West Wind.~ + +The Wind of the East and the Wind of the North +From the gates of the Sun and the Cold blow forth: +They wander wide and they wander free, +But never a word do they speak to me; +I hear but the voice I know the best, +Of my brother-in-blood the Wind of the West, +And the word that the West Wind whispers me, +Is a message, Heart of my heart, for thee. + +Heart of my heart, when the skies hang low, +And all day long the light winds blow, +When the South, and the East, and the North, are gray +And the soft rain falls through the autumn day, +Then, Light of my soul, canst thou not hear +The voice of the West Wind, soft and clear? +"Come," he whispers, and "Come," again, +Leave the dull skies and the steady rain, +Leave thou the lowlands and chill gray sea, +Heart of my own heart, and come with me. + +ROBERT PALFREY UTTER. +_Harvard Monthly_ + + +~A Fairy Barcarolle.~ + +My skiff is of bark from the white birch-tree, + A butterfly's wing is my sail, +And twisted grasses my cordage be, + Stretched taut by the favoring gale. + +My cushions are pearly gossamers frail, + My mast is a tapering reed, +My rudder a blush-rose petal pale, + My ballast of wild-flower seed. + +Through forests old and meads remote + We'll sail on the leaf-arched streams, +Down the silver rivers of Fancy float + To the golden sea of dreams. + +WILLIAM HOLDEN EDDY. +_Brown Magazine._ + + +~A Bird's Cradle-Song.~ + + Weary, weary loves! + Day is o'er and past; + Every drooping lily bell + Chimes good-night at last. + Softly! nursing winds + Swing them to and fro +With the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of the rivulet below. + + Even the willow leaves + Brooding silence keep; + All the great, good world is hushed-- + Hushed that you may sleep! + But in heaven two wee, wee stars + Dance and whirl and glow +To the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of the rivulet below. + +EVELYN M. WORTHLEY. +_Mount Holyoke._ + + +~The Wood Orchid.~ + +A butterfly, wing-weary, came to find +A sweet seclusion from the amorous wind, +Deep in the pine woods, where the dusky trees +Shut in the forest's sounding silences +With close-twined boughs from which the breeze has blown +The fragrance-breathing fragments of the cone. +Deeply she drank the nectar of repose. +Spreading her downy wings all veined with rose, +Upon the gray-green mosses, cool and dank, +Languished the sprite, and in a swoon she sank, +While a delicious numbness born of death +Stilled the soft wings that stirred with each faint breath. +One summer morning, while the languid breeze +Strayed with a languid murmur thro' the trees, +It breathed a kiss upon a folded pair +Of pink flushed wings--and found them rooted there. + +_College Folio._ + + +~A Song.~ + +Oh, the hopper grass is clattering and flying all the day + Round the tawny, trembling tassels of the corn, +While the dreamy, drowsy bumblebee goes bumbling on his way, + And the locust in the woodland sounds his horn. + +Above the rattling cottonwoods that line the lisping stream, + The crow is proudly calling to the sun, +And the beetles in the bushes make the summer day a dream, + For they hum and cheep until the day is done. + +When the lotus-flower closes, and the stars are in the sky, + Then the owl awakes and sings a plaintive song, +While the crickets in the thickets sing the soothing lullaby, +And the katydid is chirping all night long. + +S.P. +_Kansas University Weekly_. + + +~The Skaters.~ + +Above the frozen floods +Gay feet keep time, +Steel-shod, their measures beat +Insistent rhyme. +No cares oppress the hearts +Glad youth makes light; +The winter skies and happy eyes +Alike are bright. + +Shores where the summer waves +Have whispered low, +Echo the skaters' song, +As to and fro +Glide flitting forms, +And watch-fire's glow +Leaps into frosty air +And crimsons snow. + +Fly, skaters, with wing'd feet! +The night wears on; +Be your stroke ne'er so fleet, +Night soon is gone. + +With morning's dawn, the fires +In ashes lie, +And mountains keep their ward +Silently by. + +GRACE W. LEACH +_Madisonensis_. + + +~By the Roadside.~ + +Shy violets among the tangled grass; +Red robin, to thine own mate blithely singing, +Among the elm-tree boughs so gayly swinging; +My love, my true love, down this way will pass. + +How shall you know her? By her sunny hair, +Her grave, sweet eyes, all pure, no evil knowing: +Oh, robin! thou wilt turn to watch her going; +There is no maid in all the land so fair. + +Shy violets among the tangled grass, +Shed forth your richest perfumes 'neath her feet! +And gallant robin, when thou seest her pass, +Trill out thy merriest lay her ears to greet; +And elm-tree branches, drooping low above her, +Whisper to her that I came by and love her. + +LOUISE R. LOOMIS. +_Wellesley Magazine._ + + +[Illustration: A WELLESLEY GIRL.] + + +~"A White Morning"~ + +Many a morning the trees' slim fingers + Lift to the blue their frosted tips; +Winter has paused beside them, passing, + And blown upon them, through icy lips. + +After the day has dawned in earnest, + Comes a blaze from the soul of things. +Some small snow-bird, beneath the window, + Beats out life, from his restless wings. + +Never trust to the cold and silence; + Suns will rise, and the day climb higher. +Under the snows are resurrections; + Under the frost is hidden fire. + +GRACE W. LEACH. +_Madisonensis_. + + +V. IN SERIOUS MOOD + + +~Verses.~ + +What must be must be, little one, + The dark night follow the day, +And the ebbing tide to the seaward glide + Across the moonlit bay. + +What must be must be, little one, + The winter follow the fall, +And the prying wind an entrance find + Through the chinks of the cottage wall. + +What must be must be, little one, + The brown hair turn to gray, +And the soul like the light of the early night + Slip gently far away. + +FORSYTH WICKES. +_Yale Literary Magazine._ + + +~A Little Parable.~ + +Just beyond the toiling town + I saw a child to-day, +With busy little hands of brown + Making toys of clay. + +Working there with all his heart, + Beneath the spreading trees, +He moulded with unconscious art + Whatever seemed to please. + +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. + +Memory, unfaithful, has not kept that strain, +Heard once in the twilight, never heard again. + +Every day brings twilight, but no twilight brings +To my ear that music on its quiet wings. + +After autumn sunsets, in the dreaming light, +When long summer evenings deepen into night, + +All that I am sure of, is that, long ago, +Some one sang at twilight, very sweet and low. + +PHILIP C. PECK. +_Yale Literary Magazine_. + + +~The Truth-Seekers.~ + +They who sought Truth since dawn + And sought in vain, + Now, at the close of day. +Come with slow step and faces drawn + With nameless pain, + To meet the night half-way. + +"She whom we love is not! + Of her no sight + Had we, nor faintest trace!" +"Nay, here am I ye sought!"-- + Beyond the night + They met her, face to face. + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly_. + + +~To-morrow.~ + +There is a day which never comes + To light the morning sky, +But in our thoughts alone it lives, + And there may never die; +It holds our hopes of future bliss, + Our aspirations high, +And life itself is but a point + In that eternity-- + To-morrow. + +Each sunset brings us nearer that + Which earth shall not behold, +Where, far away beyond the hills + And through the clouds of gold, +We see a glimpse of brighter hours + Than tongue of bard has told, +When marks of time will be effaced, + When men will not grow old-- + To-morrow. + +WILBUR DANIEL SPENCER. +_Dartmouth Literary Monthly._ + + +~From My Window.~ + +I sit within my little room + And see the world pass by, +The merry, youthful, thoughtless world, + That knows not I am I. + +I watch it from my window ledge + Below me, at its play-- +It makes an end of foolish things, + And thinks the sad ones gay. + +And there above I sit, alone, + Behind my curtains long, +And I but peep, and mock a bit, + And sing a bit of song. + +EDITH THEODORA AMES. +_Smith College Monthly._ + + +~To a Friend.~ + +Your eyes are--but I cannot tell + Just what's the color of your eyes, +I only know therein doth dwell + A something that can sympathize, +When selfish love would fail to see +The depths revealed alone to me. + +JOHN GOWDY. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~Love and Death.~ + +_Love and death_ is all of poets' singing, + What sounds else can stir the heavenly breath? +What save these can set the lyre-strings ringing: + Love and death? +What things else in maiden spirit springing? + What words else in all the preacher saith? +What thoughts else in God, the world forthbringing? + +In the moon's pulse and the sea's slow swinging, + Death that draws, and love that sighs beneath: +Yea, life's wine is mingled; sweet, and stinging,-- + Love and death. + +GEORGIANA GODDARD KING. +_Bryn Mawr Lantern._ + + +~Opportunity.~ + +I know not what the future holds-- + But this I know, +Youth is a guest, who on his way + Too soon will go. + +Once gone we call to deafened ears. + All prayers are vain! +For tears of blood, he will not come + Back once again. + +Then spread the board of Life, with wine + And roses drest, +Drink deep and long, greet Joy and Love + While Youth is guest! + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly,_ + + +~To Austin Dobson.~ + +Not unto you the gods gave wings, + To scale the far Olympic height, +But made content with simpler things, + Your Pegasus takes lower flight. + +Yet while into oblivion float + Those vaster songs, sublimely grand-- +All men are listening to your note, + And as they listen, understand. + +Sing on, then, while the heart of youth + In glad accordance answ'ring thrills, +And life and love have still their truth, + As spring has still its daffodils. + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~With a Copy of Keats.~ + +Like listless lullabies of sail-swept seas +Heard from still coves, and dulcet-soft as these, +Such is the echo of his perfect song, + It lives, it lingers long! + +We love him more than all his wonder tales, +Sweeter his own song than his nightingale's; +No voice speaks, in the century that has fled, + So deathless from the dead! + +How many stately epics have been tossed +Rudely against Time's shore, and wrecked and lost, +While Keats, the dreaming boy, floats down Time's + sea + His lyric argosy! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._ + + +~George Du Maurier.~ + +"Ah, if we knew; if we only knew for certain." + +"Ah, if we only _knew_!" he said, +The master--now laid cold and dead-- +Under the sweetest song joy sang +This, like a burden, ever rang-- + +"Ah, if we only _knew_!" can we, +Now death shows him the certainty, +Now he has won his peace thro' pain, +Wish him back to the doubt again? + +Nay, pass! thou great prince Gentle Heart! +Crowned with the deathless days of Art-- +To that far country--old, yet ever new-- +The land where all the dreams are true. + +ARTHUR KETCHUM. +_Williams Literary Monthly._ + + +~Lizy Ann.~ + +"My darter?" Yes, that's Lizy Ann +Ez full o' grit ez any man +'T you ever see! She does the chores +Days when I can't git out-o'-doors +'Account o' this 'ere rheumatiz, +And sees to everything there is +To see to here about the place, +And never makes a rueful face +At housework, like some women do, +But does it well--and cheerful, too. + +There's mother--she's been bedrid now +This twenty year. And you'll allow +It takes a grist o' care and waitin' +To tend on _her_. But I'm a-statin' +But jest the facts when this I say: +There's never been a single day +That gal has left her mother's side +Except for meetin', or to ride +Through mud and mire, through rain or snow, +To market when I couldn't go. + +"She's thirty-five or so?" Yes, more +Than that. She's mighty nigh twoscore. +But what's the odds? She's sweet and mild +To me and mother as a child. +There doesn't breathe a better than +Our eldest darter, Lizy Ann! + +"Had offers?" Wal, I reckon; though +She ne'er told me nor mother so. +I mind one chap--a likely man-- +Who seemed clean gone on Lizy Ann, +And yet she let the feller slide, +And he's sence found another bride. + +The roses in her cheeks is gone, +And left 'em kinder pale and wan. +Her mates is married, dead, or strayed +To other places. Youth nor maid +No longer comes to see her. Yet +You'll hear no murmur of regret. +"My life's a part o' heaven's own plan," +She often says. Thet's Lizy Ann. + +EDGAR F. DAVIS. +_Bowdoin Quill_. + + +~Be Thou a Bird, My Soul.~ + +Be thou a bird, my soul, and mount and soar + Out of thy wilderness, + Till earth grows less and less, + Heaven, more and more. + +Be thou a bird, and mount, and soar, and sing, + Till all the earth shall be + Vibrant with ecstasy + Beneath thy wing. + +Be thou a bird, and trust, the autumn come, + That through the pathless air + Thou shalt find otherwhere + Unerring, home. + +A.G.C. +_Kansas University Weekly._ + + +~God's Acre.~ + +Oh, so pure the white syringas! + Oh, so sweet the lilac bloom +In the Arboretum growing + Near a granite tomb! +By the arching pepper-branches + Let us tender silence keep; +We have come into God's Acre, + Where the children sleep. + +In the trees the quail are calling + To the rabbits at their play, +While the little birds, unknowing, + Sing their lives away; +In the night-time through the branches + Wistfully the young stars peep, +But, with all these playmates round them, + Still the children sleep. + +Once within that leafy shelter + Some one hid herself, to rest, +With another little dreamer + Folded to her breast; +And a sense of consolation + Stealeth unto them that weep, +While that mother-heart lies sleeping + Where the children sleep. + +Year by year the Christmas berries + Redden in the quiet air,-- +Year by year the vineyard changes, + Buds and ripens there; +We give place to other faces, + But the years' relentless sweep +Cometh not into God's Acre, + Where the children sleep. + +CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. +_Four-Leaved Clover._ + + +~Unique.~ + +His presence makes the Spring to blush. + He shines in ample Summer's glow, +He kindles Autumn's burning-bush, + And flings the Winter's fleece of snow. + +_Hamilton Literary Monthly._ + + +~A Letter.~ + +"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul!" + _The Chambered Nautilus._ + + * * * * * + +Self, Soul & Co., Architects: + + _Dear Sirs;_ + I find +Your "ad." in the _Nautilus_ quite to my mind. +Pray build me a mansion (for plans see below) +More stately and lofty than this that I know. +Dig deep the foundations in reason and truth; +I want no pavilion--a fortress forsooth, +Secure against windstorms of doctrine and doubt; +In style--Emersonian--inside and out. +It should, sir, be double, with rooms on each side, +For justice and mercy, for meekness and pride; +For heating and lighting, it only requires +Faith's old-fashioned candles, and Love's open fires. +Write me minimum charges in struggle and stress, +And extras in suffering. + Yours truly, + +C.S. +_Kalends_. + + +~The Record of a Life.~ + +He lived and died, and all is passed away +That bound him to his so-soon-darkened day. +He is forgotten in time's sweeping tide; +This is his history: He lived--and died! + +HENRY DAVID GRAY. +_Madisonensis_. + + +~Who Knows?~ + +If when the day has been sped with laughter, + Mirth and song as the light wind blows, +A sob and a sigh come quickly after-- + Who knows? + +If eyes that smile till the day's completeness + Droop a little at evening's close, +And tears cloud over their tender sweetness-- + Who knows? + +If lips that laugh while the sun be shining, + Curved as fair as the leaf of a rose, +Quiver with grief at day's declining-- + Who knows? + +If the heart that seems to know no aching + While the fair, gold sunlight gleams and glows, +Under the stars be bitterly breaking-- + Who knows? + +JESSIE V. KERR. +_Kalends_. + + +~Inconstancy.~ + +I sighed as the soul of April fled, + And a tear on my cheek +Told of the love I had borne the dead-- +And I signed the cross, and bowed my head-- + And was sad for a week. + +With a carol and catch the May came in + With her wonderful way-- +And I saucily chucked her under the chin, +And tuned me the strings of my violin-- + And was glad for a day. + +FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. +_Nassau Literary Monthly._ + + +~Yesterday.~ + +Thou art to me like all the days-- + They ebb and flow with punctual tides, +Leave driftwood--wreckage on the sands, + Perhaps a shell besides; +Swift, incommunicable, vast, +They poise--then perish in the past. + +And yet I have not all forgot + Those years when every day seemed long, +A separate age of joys and play, + Of wonder-tales and song; +I marvel, Yesterday, to know + Thou still art childhood's Long Ago! + +FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. +_Harvard Advocate._ + + +~The Last Word.~ + +Life is a boat that is drifting, + Riding high, rocking low, + While the tide turns. +Love is the sands that are shifting + In and out, to and fro, + While the tide turns, + +Let the boat drift, no oar to lift, + Clear sky above, calm sea below, + Till the tide turns. +Dream on the shore, wander it o'er; + Gold gleam the sands 'neath the sun's glow. + Till the tide turns. + +Time enough, love, to be lifting + 'Gainst the waves, then, thy oar + When the tide turns. +Dreams are sweet, love, e'er the shifting + Shows how false is the shore, + When the tide turns. + +ELIZABETH SANDERSON. +_University of California Magazine._ + + + +"_Whence all these verses?" you ask me. + Would that I knew! + "How came they written?"--You task me, + Who can tell, who! + Stripping a butterfly's pinions + To learn how they grew; + Wasting a violet's dominions + To search for the dew; + Spoiling the odor, the juices, + The flavor, the hue; + Rifling the haunts of the Muses, + For secrets and clue! + + All one can say is: "Sir Quibbler, + Once on a time, + Songs in the heart of the scribbler + Sang into rhyme; + Latin lost all its enchantment; + Logic was worse; + Joy claimed its rights; the result is + Just 'college verse_.'" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Cap and Gown, Selected by Frederic Knowles + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAP AND GOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 10596.txt or 10596.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/9/10596/ + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Carol David and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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