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Eva has given me a rose;

A lily, for Annie, I plucked,

And wound amid Eva's locks Jessamine in sweet repose.

For their mother I seized from its stem

A geranium of delicate hue ;

So curiously coloured it grew, That they laughed when I held it to them.

The father had come from the town ;
He welcomed me kindly, and then

Presented me to a friend,
Who to dine had also come down.

Alfred, I hear, is his name,

Such, at least, it is here;

To some one he seemed rather dear, At least she blushed when he came.

Not easy, I thought, the task

Either maiden to win,

Unless, when you made the attempt, You could feel you had only to ask. Tall was he, blue-eyed, and slim, Masses of chesnut hair

Curled round his forehead, while strength Revealed itself in each limb.

Dressed with consummate taste,

His necktie carefully tied,

And the delicate colour was chosen To suit the complexion it graced.

A signet one finger adorned,

His watch-chain was massive and thick; Were it not that he bore it well, Such vanity I had scorned. Were it not for a something bright,

That shone about his smile :

Bidding one plainly know
Its owner not worthless or light.
With all the family there

He seemned upon friendly terms,

And when to Annie he turned, He spoke with a gentler air. At dinner he sat by her side, And the thought passed through my mind

That some day, in the very same place, They would sit as bridegroom and bride. No need to describe what we ate,

In fact, I scarcely knew;

Attending to Eva's wants,
All other things made me forget.

But whether 'twere Eva's mood,

Or the pair on the opposite side,

That made me forget the meal, I leave the muse to conclude. ,

Wandering amidst flowers On a summer's eve,

Birds in bushes singing,

Airy voices ringing ;
Strolling over gravel,

Under bowers of roses,

Where sweet scent reposes, Passing among trees;

All around us smiling,

Converse time beguiling : Homeward fly the bees.

Near a cover railing,

Ivy o'er it trailing;
Talking over travel,

Merry all together,

Blessing summer weather ; Scarce can one believe,

How quickly fly the hours.

Shadows cease to loom, When the stars appear,

Some one's bold beginning

Attentive ear is winning, As we walk along;

Some one plucked a lily,

And said something silly, Making some one blush;

How a heart is beating !

Lips are almost meeting,
By the scented bush;

Lips are opened slowly,

Words are whispered lowly,
In a gentle song ;

Evening is advancing,

Stars above us glancing, We seek the drawing-room.

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I have listened with rapturous ecstacy To sounds that swell so mightily,

Those sweet Italian strains. The delight of modern harmony, Enriched and twined with sympathy,

For the sweet artiste's pains.

To a prima donna's best opera,
Delighting at once the soul, the ear,

Breathing the sweetest song ;
While every eye on the stage is bent,
And every ear with rapture lent,

As the sweet notes sweep along.

Or when at eve from a hawthorn bush,
Gentle songs on the ear will gush,

Waking the silent hour ;
While all around seems calm and still,
Save a leaf disturbed by the flowing trill,

Trembling 'neath music's power.

But to sit as I sat that summer's night, What conscious joy ! what novel delight!

As a duet the sisters intoned; Words fail to tell all my spirit felt, As if at the throne of song I knelt,

The pleasing power I owned.

Sounds soft, as heavenly strains they seem, Like angels in some poet's dream,

Sleeping where waters lave, The shores of a lake where silence reigns, Save on the bounds of the watery plains,

The dash of a moonlit wave.

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