On the peaks of the Tyrol the hunter is heard
As he mocks with his jodel the cloud-loving bird;
And the peasants in France and the gipsies of Spain
Daily carol or dance to some pastoral strain.

Let the gipsies of Spain and the peasants in France
Go ahead-but I neither can carol nor dance;
So I listen, contented and calm, to a band

Of the tuneful Teutonics who favour the Strand.

Let the mountain and river, the cedar and rose,
To the optics of others their beauty disclose.
Let the gipsies and peasants and gay Tyrolese
Grow as fond of their dance and their song as they

please.

But the soul of the bard, though to limits confined, Is at least sympathetic and yearns for its kind.

There are themes to infinity always on hand

For the pen of the poet who chants of the Strand.

CUPID'S AB C.

EARS have elapsed-a few bright, many

shady

(More than I'm willing to say) Since I devotedly loved a young lady

Living just over the way.

Sweet seventeen, and as fair as a lily

(Show me the lily so fair)!

What was the wonder I fell willy-nilly
Head over heels in the snare?

Only a clerk, not a year from a school yet,

Wages and wits on a par;

Playing the Romeo to Somebody's Juliet,

Like a true tragedy star.

How could I settle to commerce or trading,

Toss'd on an ocean of care?

Freighted with doubts (as per Love's bill of lading) Bound for the Gulf of Despair!

12

CUPID'S A B C.

How did I waste the whole mornings together,

How by my window I stood,

Waiting and waiting, and wondering whether
Waiting would bring any good.

Smiles and salutes inexpressibly tender

Daily went over the street.

I at discretion had made my surrender;
Why was not she as discreet?

Thanks, many thanks, for thy welcome invention, Friend of the deaf and the dumb;

Lending an ear to the quick apprehension,

Speech to the fingers and thumb.

Dear little word !—what a joy to repeat it!

First came an L, then an O;

Only two letters it lacks to complete it.
Can you imagine them? No?

Love, beyond pantomime billing and cooing,
Made very little advance ;

Time, the old meddler, is always undoing

All that is done by Romance.

Now that the spell has been long ago broken,

Love deaf and dumb I deride:

Now I believe that, if Romeo had spoken,

Juliet would not have replied.

MY THREE LOVES.

@HEN Life was all a summer day,

And I was under twenty,

Three loves were scattered in my way

And three at once are plenty.

Three hearts, if offered with a grace,

One thinks not of refusing.

My task in this especial case

Was only that of choosing.

I knew not which to make my pet-
My pipe, cigar, or cigarette.

To cheer my night or glad my day
My pipe was ever willing;
The meerschaum or the lowly clay

Alike repaid the filling.

Grown men delight in blowing clouds,

As boys in blowing bubbles; Our cares to puff away in crowds,

And banish all our troubles.

My pipe I nearly made my pet,
Above cigar or cigarette.

14

MY THREE LOVES.

A tiny paper, tightly rolled
About some Latakia,

Contains within its magic fold
A mighty panacea.

Some thought of sorrow or of strife
At ev'ry whiff will vanish;
And all the scenery of life
Turn picturesquely Spanish.

But still I could not quite forget
Cigar and pipe for cigarette.

To yield an after-dinner puff,
O'er demi-tasse and brandy,
No cigarettes are strong enough;
No pipes are ever handy.
However grand may be the feed,
It only moves my laughter,
Unless a dry delicious weed
Appears a little after.

A prime cigar I firmly set
Above a pipe or cigarette.

But, after all, I try in vain
To fetter my opinion;
Since each upon my giddy brain
Has boasted a dominion.
Comparisons I'll not provoke,

Lest all should be offended.