~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.~