"No matter. The sorrow of I would not care; Were it not better that this should be? many the many bear, Mine is too heavy for me. And I want that rose, you see!" WASHINGTON, D.C., 1870. IN DOUBT. THROUGH dream and dusk a frightened whisper said "Lay down the world: the one you love is dead." In the near waters, without any cry I sank, therefore-glad, oh so glad, to die! Therefore, oh, next to God, I pray you keep Yourself as your own friend, the tried, the true. Sit your own watch-others will surely sleep. Weep your own tears. Ask none to die with you. BROKEN PROMISE. AFTER strange stars, inscrutable, on high; Or did the Atlantic gold, the Atlantic palm, THE WATCH OF A SWAN. I READ somewhere that a swan, snow-white, Waiting, and watching it, Up out of the lake her mate would rise, With cries she would answer him. Hardly a shadow would she let pass The lily that watched with her. Do I think that the swan was an angel? Oh, THE WITCH IN THE GLASS. "My mother says I must not pass She is afraid that I will see A little witch that looks like me, "Alack for all your mother's care! A wistful wind, or (I suppose COMFORT THROUGH A WINDOW. (CHILD WITHIN TO TRAMP WITHOUT.) It's not so nice here as it looks, If you just had to sit here (Well!) If you see any flowers, they grow, And you can find them in the sun. Then you can sit on rocks, you see, Then you can sleep out in the shade You have no house like this, you know, MAKING PEACE. AFTER this feud of yours and mine After we both forget, forget, I pray you think how warm and sweet I pray you think how soon the rose SWEET World, if you will hear me now: But let me, singing, sit apart, In tender quiet with a few, MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON. Born in Milton, Pennsylvania; went to the South early; has identified herself with the South. Author of Beechenbrook; Old Songs and New (1870); Cartoons (1870); and For Love's Sake (1887); Colonial Ballads (1887). The poems quoted are given with the kind permission of Roberts Brothers for "A Blemished Offering," and Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for the others.] A BLEMISHED OFFERING. "I WOULD my gift were worthier!" sighed the Greek, As on he goaded to the temple-door His spotted bullock. "Ever of our store Doth Zeus require the best; and fat and sleek The ox I vowed to him-(no brindled streak, No fleck of dun,) when through the breaker's roar He bore me safe, that day, to Naxos' shore; And now, my gratitude,—how seeming-weak! But here be chalk-pits! What if I should white The victim in the people's eyes would show Be quicker granted at thus fair a sight, A BELLE OF PRAENESTE. CASTELLANI COLLECTION OF ANTIQUES. I. HERE is her toilet-case-a crust Still with the delicate twist and twine Even the very casket where, Nearly three thousand years ago, One who was young and fresh and fairFair as the fairest that you knowHoarded her maiden treasures. See, Here is the mirror that used to be Able to flash with silvery grace Back the divinity of her face; Arrows whose points are blunted now; Coils for her throat; an unguent pot (Proof of some moulder's wondrous skill), Ivory tablet with a blot Showing a tint of the carmine still. II. This was her necklace: even as I Toy with its links of threaded gold, She may have toyed, with pensive sigh, Drooping them through her fingers, while Hearing, perhaps, with blushing smile, Under the limes, some lover bold Telling a tale that's never old. Here is the fibula that lay Over her heart for many a day, Throbbing what time that lover won Wreaths when Etruscan games were done; |