THE YOUTH WHO PLAYED BEFORE HE LOOKED. A youth went forth to serenade The lady whom he loved the best, He warbled till the morning light With heart aglow and eyes ablaze When, to his horror and amaze, THE TWO VILLAGES. ROSE TERRY COOKE. Over the river on the hill, Lieth a village white and still; Of soaring hawk and screaming crow; Over the river under the hill, There I see in the cooling night, Twinkling stars of household light. Fires that gleam from the smithy door, And in the road no grasses grow, For the wheels that hasten to and fro. In that village on the hill, Never is sound of smithy or mill; The houses are thatched with grass and flowers, Never a clock to tell the hours; The marble doors are always shut; THE TWO VILLAGES. All the village lies asleep, Never in dreams to moan or sigh- In the village under the hill, 121 THE LOVER. C. PATMORE. He meets, by heavenly chance express, Which others cannot understand. To match the promise in her eyes, Her virtue all virtue so endears, That often, when he thinks of her, Life's meanness fills his eyes with tears. GOD'S WAYS. God speaks to hearts of men in many ways: Spread o'er the snow-clad hills, has taught his praise; And some have found him where low rafters ring Of watchful toil through unrewarding years. And some not less are his, who vainly sought -The Spectator. |