However, he turned from south to west, And we shall see our children stop!" When lo! as they reached the mountain's side, As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed, . followed, And when all were in to the very last, And could not dance the whole of the way. "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And the dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped, and I stood still, And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!" Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher s pate As the needle's eye takes the camel in! To offer the Piper by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And Piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear: "And so long afterward happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six;" And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's street, Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor, Nor suffered their hostelry or tavern To shock with mi-th a street so solemn, But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterranean prison Long time ago, in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land But how or why, they don't understand. So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men-especially pipers; And, whether they pipe us free, from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise. -Robert Browning. I SLEPT and dreamed that life was. Beauty: I woke and found that life was Duty: Was then thy dream a shadowy lie? Toil on, sad heart, courageously, And thou shalt find thy dream to be A noonday light and truth to thee. Not a Mistake. OU UR neighbor over the way passes for a woman who has failed in her career, because she is an old maid. People wag solemn heads of pity, and say that she made so great a mistake in not marrying the brilliant and famous man who was for long years her suitor. It is clear that no orange flower will ever bloom for her. The young people think of her solitary hours of bitter regret, and please their imaginations with fancying her hard struggle with the conviction that she has lost all that makes life beautiful. But this old maid who is thus pitied for a secret sorrow, is a woman whose nature is a tropic, in which the sun shines, the birds sing, the flowers bloom forever. There are no regrets, no doubts and half wishes, but -G. W. Curtis. a calm sweetness, a transparent peace. Niagara. The morning stars, Amid thy foam and mist,-'Tis meet for them Thou dost make the soul A wondering witness of thy majesty; -Lady H. Sigourney. I'M SITTING alone by the fire, In a robe even you would admire- Her Letter. I'm be-diamonded out of all reason, My hair is done up in a cue : A dozen engagements I've broken; Likewise a proposal, half spoken, That waits-on the stairs-for me yet. They say he'll be rich-when he grows upAnd then he adores me indeed; And you, sir, are turning your nose up, Three thousand miles off, as you read. "And how do I like my position?" "And what do I think of New York ?" "And now, in my higher ambition, With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?" "And isn't it nice to have riches, And diamonds and silks, and all that?" "And isn't it a change to the ditches And tunnels of Poverty Flat?" Well yes-if you saw us out driving Each day in the park, four-in-hand- If you saw papa's picture, as taken And flour at Poverty Flat. And yet just this moment, when sitting The "finest soiree of the year," And the hum of the smallest of talkSomehow Joe, I thought of the "Ferry," And the dance we had on "The Fork;" Of Harrison's barn, with its muster Of flags festoon'd over the wall; Of the candles that shed their soft luster And tallow on head-dress and shawl; Of the steps that we took to one fiddle; Of the moon that was quietly sleeping On the hill, when the time came to go; To "the best paying lead in the State." That I should be thinking right there, And swam the North Fork and all that, Just to dance with old Follansbee's daughter, The Lily of Poverty Flat. But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing! (Mamma says my taste still is low), Instead of my triumphs reciting, I'm spooning on Joseph-heigh-ho! Whatever's the meaning of that- Your sun's climbing over the trees. And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches, And you've struck it-on Poverty Flat. |