I KNOW, I know where violets blow
Upon a sweet hillside,

Aud very bashfully they grow
And in the grasses hide-
It is the fairest field, I trow,
In the whole world wide.

One spring I saw two lassies go,

Brown cheek and laughing eye;
They swung their aprons to and fro,
They filled them very high
With violets-then whispered low
So strange, I wondered why.

I know where violet tendrils creep
And crumbled tombstones lie,
The green churchyard is silence-deep;
The village folk go by,

And lassies laugh and women weep,
And God knows why.

ROBERT LOUIS MUNGER

2

FORGIVEN?

I SAW Love stand,

Not as he was ere we in conflict met, But pale and wan. I knelt - I caught his

hand

"O Love," I cried, "I did not understand! Forgive-forget!"

Love raised his head

And smiled at me, with weary eyes

worn.

and

"I have forgot what was it all ?" he

said;

"Only my hands are scarred where they

have bled;

My wings are torn."

JEANNETTE BLISS GILLESPY

THE SONG

A SONG lay silent in my pen
Where yesterday I found it,
Right cozy in its gloomy den,
With a melody wrapped round it.
Through all the years 't was waiting so,
To hear the summons of that minute;
I thought I loved the pen; but no!
It was the song within it!

To-day my lady sang to me

My song in sweetest fashion:
Unwrapped it from the melody

In the radiance of its passion.
As one might see a blossom grow,
Yet never see the sun above it,
I thought I loved the song; but no!
It was her singing of it I

GEORGE LYNDE RICHARDSON

FOR SALE, a horse

IN good condition,

Cheap, on account of competition,
Well-broken, easy on his bridle,
With curb or snaffle never idle.
A very little child can ride him,
And carry three or four beside him.
Why plod when you can ride so cheaply?
There is no need to ponder deeply.
I'll warrant he'll not bite nor kick you;
I've not the slightest wish to stick you!
However short you are, you 're suited,
For low-stand men can mount when
booted.

Come, buy my steed with manner gra

cious.

Ile'll aid your reading of Horatius.

CHARLES Edward TAYLOR

IN days when George the Third was King
And ruled the Old Dominion, ·
And Law and Fashion owned the sway
Of Parliament's opinion,

A good ship brought across the sea
A treasure fair and fine, -
Miss Nancy's gown from London town,
The latest Court design!

The plaited waist from neck to belt
Searce measured half a span;
The sleeves, balloon-like, at the top
Could hold her feather fan;
The narrow skirt with bias gore
Revealed an ankle neat,
Whene'er she put her dainty foot
From carriage step to street!

By skilful hands this wondrous gown
Of costliest stuff was made,
Cocoons of France on Antwerp looms
Wrought to embossed brocade,
Where roses red and violets

In blooming beauty grew,
As if young May were there alway,
And June and April too!

And from this bower of delight
Miss Naney reigned a Queen,
Nor one disloyal heart rebelled
In all her wide demesne:

The noble House of Burgesses
Forgot its fierce debate

O'er rights of Crown, when Nancy's gown
Appeared in Halls of State!

Through jocund reel, or measured tread
Of stately minuet,

Like fairy vision shone the bloom
Of rose and violet,

As, hand in hand with Washington,
The hero of the day,

The smiling face and nymph-like grace
Of Nancy led the way!

And then I drew the curtains of my eyes And ceased to move, and rallied all my thought,

Selecting all the verity that lies
Through daily life, with false pretences
fraught;

I sorted and arranged and packed my hope
And my despair together, in my heart;
I tied the strings and sealed the envelope
In which ambition, stifled, used to smart;
Took out my conscience long since laid
away

And shook it, folded it, with thoughts like tears;

Revised my errors, sorted out the years When doubt and egotism held their sway; All this I did the night I heard them say Beside the pillow, "She will die at dawn

And then they wept and called me by my

name:

I would have liked to soothe them, but in vain

LITTLE THEOCRITUS

YE white Sicilian goats, who wander all About the slopes of this wild mountain

pass,

Take heed your horny footsteps do not fall

Upon the baby dreamer in the grass.

Let him lie there, half waking, and rejoice In the safe shelter of his resting-place, In hearing of his shepherd father's voice,

In reach of fruity clusters o'er his face.

Look up, sweet baby eyes, look up on high, To where Olympus merges in the blue. There dwell the deathless gods in majesty,

The gods who hold a mighty gift for you.

Those little, clinging hands shall write one day,

Rare, golden words, to lift the hearts of

men;

Those curling, downy locks shall wear the bay,

A crown that they shall never lose again.

Little Theocritus! Look up and smile, Immortal child, for there are coming years,

HEY NONNY NO

THERE is a race from eld descent,

Of heaven by earth in joyous mood, Before the world grew wise and beut In sad, decadent attitude.

To these each waking is a birth
That makes them heir to all the
earth,

Singing, for pure abandoned mirth,
Non nonny non, hey nonny no.

Perchance ye meet them in the mart,
In fashion's toil or folly's throe,
And yet their souls are far apart
Where primrose winds from uplands blow.
At heart on oaten pipes they play
Thro' meadows green and gold with
May,

Aftined to bird and brook and brae.
Sing nonny non, hey nonny no.

Their gage they win in fame's despite,
While lyric alms to life they fling,
Children of laughter, sons of light,
With equal heart to starve or sing.
Counting no human creature vile,
They find the good old world worth
while;

Care cannot rob them of a smile.
Sing nonny non, hey nonny no.

For creed, the up-reach of a spire,
An arching elin-tree's leafy spread,
A song that lifts the spirit higher
To star or sunshine overhead.

Misfortune they but deem God's jest
To prove His children at their
best,

Who, dauntless, rise to IIis attest.
Sing nonny non, hey nouny no.

Successful ones will brush these by,
Calling them failure as they pass.
What reck they this who claim the sky
For roof, for bed the cosmic grass !

When, failures all, we come to lie,
The grass betwixt us and the sky,
The gift of gladness will not die!

Sing nonny non, hey nonny no.
MARGUERITE MERINGTON