A BALL-ROOM ROMANCE.

343

'Twas of youth's fairy follies,

By which no shade is cast; One of its airy vanities,

And like them it hath past. No vows were ever plighted, We'd no farewell to say :

Gay were we when we met at first,

And parted just as gay.

A fair good-night to thee, love,

A fair good-night awhile;

I have no parting sighs to give,

So take my parting smile.

"THIRTEEN.”

SYDNEY WALKER.

HY smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays
So beautiful approve thee,

So winning light are all thy ways,

I cannot choose but love thee.

Thy balmy breath upon my brow

Is like the summer air,

As o'er my cheek thou leanest now,

To plant a soft kiss there.

Thy steps are dancing toward the bound
Between the child and woman,

And thoughts and feelings more profound,
And other years are coming:

THIRTEEN.

And thou shalt be more deeply fair,

More precious to the heart,

But never canst thou be again
That lovely thing thou art!

And youth shall pass, with all the brood
Of fancy-fed affection;

And grief shall come with womanhood,

And waken cold reflection.

Thou 'lt learn to toil, and watch, and weep,

O'er pleasures unreturning,

Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep

Unto the cares of morning.

345

UNDER MY WINDOW.

THOMAS WESTWOOD.

ONDER my window, under my window,
All in the midsummer weather,

Three little girls with fluttering curls

Flit to and fro together.

There's Bell, with her bonnet of satin sheen,

And Maude, with her mantle of silver-green,

And Kate, with the scarlet feather.

Under my window, under my window,

Leaning stealthily over,

Merry and clear, the voice I hear

Of each glad-hearted rover.

UNDER MY WINDOW.

347

Ah! sly little Kate, she steals my roses,

And Maude and Bell twine wreaths and posies, As busy as bees in clover.

Under my window, under my window,

In the blue midsummer weather,

Stealing slow, on a hushed tiptoe,

I catch them all together:

Bell, with her bonnet of satin sheen,

And Maude, with her mantle of silver-green,
And Kate, with the scarlet feather!

Under my window, under my window,
And off through the orchard closes,
While Maude, she flouts, and Bell, she pouts;
They scamper, and drop their posies:
But dear little Kate takes naught amiss,
And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss,

And I give her all my roses.