Cap and Gown | Page 9

quaffed?All the genial country's wealth?Of large cheer and perfect health,?Gown--well, yes--old-fashioned quite,?You would call it "just a fright,"?But I love that quaint attire.?(Tildy wore it in the choir.)
How we sang--for _I_ was there,?Occupied a singer's chair?Next to--well, no prouder man?Ever lifts the bass, nor can,?Sometimes held the self-same book,?(How my nervous fingers shook!)?Sometimes--wretch--while still the air?Echoed to the parson's prayer,?I would whisper in her ear?What she could not help but hear.?Once, I told her my desire.?(Tildy promised in the choir.)
Well, those days are past, and now?Come gray hairs, and yet somehow?I can't think those years have fled--?Still those roadways know my tread,?Still I climb that old pine stair,?Sit upon the stiff-backed chair,?Stealing glances toward my left?Till her eyes repay the theft;?Death's a dream and Time's a liar--?Tildy still is in the choir.
Come, Matilda number two,?_Fin de si��cle _maiden you!?Wonder if you'd like to see?Her I loved in fifty-three??Yes? All right, then go and find?Mother's picture--"Papa!"--Mind!?She and I were married. You?Were our youngest. Now you, too,?Raise the same old anthems till?All the church is hushed and still?With a single soul to hear.?Do I flatter? Ah, my dear,?Time has brought my last desire--?Tildy still is in the choir!
FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES.?Wesleyan Literary Monthly.
~A Memory.~
We sat in the lamplight's gentle glow,?Alone on the winding stair,?And the distant strains of a waltz fell low?On the fragrance-laden air.?I caught from her lips a murmured "yes,"?And the stately palms amid?There came a blissful, sweet caress--?I shouldn't have--but I did!
I might forget that joyous night,?As the months slip swiftly by;?I might forget the gentle light?That shone in her hazel eye;?But I can't forget that whispered "yes"?That came the palms amid,?I can't forget that one caress--?I shouldn't have--but I did!
GUY WETMORE CARRYL?Columbia Spectator.
~The American Girl.~
The German may sing of his rosy-cheeked lass,?The French of his brilliant-eyed pearl;?But ever the theme of my praises shall be?The laughing American girl,?Yes, the jolly American girl.
She laughs at her sorrows, she laughs at her joys,?She laughs at Dame Fortune's mad whirl;?And laughing will meet all her troubles in life,?The laughing American girl,?Yes, the joyous American girl.
You say she can't love if she laughs all the time??A laugh at your logic she'll hurl;?She loves while she laughs and she laughs while she loves,?The laughing American girl,?Oh, the laughing American girl!
S.F.P.?Campus.
~Ballade of Justification.~
A jingle of bells and a crunch of snow,?Skies that are clear as the month of May,?Winds that merrily, briskly blow,?A pretty girl and a cozy sleigh,?Eyes that are bright and laughter gay,?All that favors Dan Cupid's art;?I was but twenty. What can you say?If I confess I lost my heart?
What if I answered in whispers low,?Begged that she would not say me nay,?Asked if my love she did not know,?What if I did? Who blames me, pray??Suppose she blushed. 'Tis the proper way?For lovely maidens to play their part.?Does it seem too much for a blush to pay?If I confess I lost my heart?
What if I drove extremely slow,?Was there not cause enough to stay??Such opportunities do not grow?Right in one's pathway every day;?Cupid I dared not disobey,?If he saw fit to cast his dart;?Is it a thing to cause dismay?If I confess I lost my heart?
ENVOY.
What if I kissed her? Jealous they?Who scoff at buyers in true love's mart.?Who can my sound good sense gainsay?If I confess I lost my heart?
GUY WETMORE CARRYL.?Columbia Spectator.
~Perdita.~
'Twas only a tiny, withered rose,?But it once belonged to Grace.?The goody didn't know that, I suppose--?'Twas only a tiny, withered rose,?No longer sweet to the eye or nose,?So she tossed it out from the Dresden vase.--?'Twas only a tiny, withered rose,?But it once belonged to Grace.
Harvard Advocate.
~Strategy.~
Some, Cupid kills with arrows,?Some, with traps;?But this spring the little rascal?Found, perhaps,?That he needed both to slay me;?So he laid a cunning snare?On the hillside, and he hid it?In a lot of maidenhair;?And I doubt not he is laughing?At the joke,?For he made his arrows out of?Poison-oak.
CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD.?Sequoia.
~Canoe Song.~
Dip! Dip! Softly slip?Down the river shining wide,?Dim and far the dark banks are;?Life is love and naught beside.?Onward, drifting with the tide.
Drip, drip, from paddle tip?Myriad ripples swirl and swoon;?Shiv'ring 'mid the ruddy stars,?Mirrored in the deep lagoon,?Faintly floats the mummied moon.
Soft, soft, high aloft,--?Ever thus till time is done,--?Worlds will die; may thou and I?Glide beneath a gentler sun,?Young as now and ever one.
E. FR��RE CHAMPNEY.?Harvard Advocate.
~A Rambling Rhyme of Dorothy.~
When ye Crocuss shews his heade?& ye Wyndes of Marche have flede,?Springe doth come, and happylye?Then I thinke of?Dorothy.
Haycockes fragrante in ye sun?Give me reste when taskes are done:?Summer's here, & merrylye?Then I dreame of?Dorothy.
Scarlette leaves & heapinge binne;?Cyder, ye cool Tankard in;?Autumn's come. Righte jollylye?Then I drinke to?Dorothy.
When ye Northe Wynde sweeps ye snowe?& Icyclles hange all belowe,?Then, for soothe, Olde Winter, he?Letts me dance with?Dorothy!
ARTHUR CHENEY TRAIN.?Harvard Advocate.
~The Prof.'s Little Girl.~
She comes to the Quad when her