Harry | Page 6

be blest?
Go thy way,
unhappy bee,
Leave a butterfly at rest.
Butterflies with painted
wings
Are a part of Nature's plan;
Is not every bird that sings,

Wiser than a busy man?
Harry's rich tenor delighteth my ears
Oft as I hear it; 'tis ever the
same;
Brings to my eyes a soft _soupçon_ of tears,
Sends from my
heart little thrills through my frame.
MY SONG.
When the sea
Speaks to me,
Sure I may reply to it;
When the skies
Catch my eyes,
I must smile a little bit.
When the trees
Try to please
With their buds and blossoms new,
Shall I dare
Not to care
For a world so bright and true?
Earth and sky,
Tell me why
Sorrow ever comes between?
Is it you,
Heaven blue?
Is it you, my earth so green?
Is it there
In the air
That you neither of you touch?
Is the wind
So unkind
When I love its kiss so much?
Let it be
Earth or sea,
Skies or breezes as they move,
Earth is sweet
'Neath my feet,
Heaven sweeter yet above;
And the air
Ev'rywhere
Is the sweetest of the three;
I will take,
For their sake,
Anything they bring to me!

Men flocking round me, I find I'm admir'd;
Praise is as sweet as a
gratified whim;
When a girl pleases she never feels tir'd--
Harry
smiles at me, and I smile at him.
Through the open doors of a crystal
dome
Sweet is the scent of the tropical flowers,
The splendid exiles
who, banish'd from home,
Are sparkling and shining to gladden ours.

Figures appearing 'mid blossom and fruit,
In an airy, fairy, magical
way;
Their lips keep moving altho' they are mute
For ears too
distant to hear what they say.
From a lily bud can a voice be sent?--
'Let us hope the Captain's wild
oats are sown;
A pretty young wife should make him content'--

Only a word in a soft-spoken tone!
Moving serenely 'mid beauty and song,
Am not I born for the
glittering throng?
Treading on roses with delicate feet,
Is not a life a
perpetual treat?
Can we be more than delighted and blest?
Pleasure
is beautiful--is it the best?
Highest and best that our nature can know?

Answer my heart--and my heart answers No.
And my heart
answers, 'more beautiful yet
Life is for those who leave Home with
regret,
And greet it again as the sailor greets shore,
Gaily returning
to life gone before.'
Thus from the banquet two lovers depart,
Owning thy truth, lovely
voice of my heart;
Seeking a home that, whatever befall,
Is brighter
and sweeter and dearer than all;
Better than all that the world can
decree,
For happy young creatures like Harry and me!
Self-ordained critics, we sit at our ease,
Life spread before us to judge
as we please;
Harry in quite a ridiculous way
Prates about wine,
like a swell in a play;
Next, the made dishes proceeding to scan,

With wisdom becoming a greedy old man;
Looking so charmingly
youthful and gay,
I laugh in his face at his airs of gourmet
;

Admitting myself but three things to be nice--
Champagne, lobster
salad, and strawberry ice.

Then pass the people in sparkling review;
I ask fifty questions
beginning with Who?
Midnight approaches--a sense of repose

Floating about me, my eyelids half close;
Rising, I languidly say, 'By
the bye,
Who is the Captain?' he laughs in reply,
Stands up in front
of me, just face to face,
Makes me a bow with an air and a grace:

'The Captain this moment before you' you see--
That's my nickname
in the country,' says he.
Pleasantly sleepy I felt ere he spake,
Now I
am thoroughly widely awake;
A shock passes through me of horrid
surprise,
I turn upon Harry my wondering eyes,
Catching at hopes,
as the drowning at straws,
I cry, as the truth for a moment withdraws,

'You're quizzing me, Harry--that's what you're at,
It cannot_ be
_you that they speak of like that!'
Then he insists on my telling,
displeas'd
At any concealment, WHAT have I heard?
Worried and
wearied, bewilder'd and teaz'd,
I blurt it out and repeat every word!

Harry regards me with almost a stare--
Pulls his moustache with a
sort of amaze--
Passes his hand through his clustering hair

And--bursts out laughing, as if it was praise!
There is nothing so
sweet or full of grace
(Can one who has seen it ever forget?)
As the
smile that comes over Harry's face;
It is Heaven on earth--and
yet--and yet--
I feel a strange chill steal into my heart--
Should he
permit such remarks from the crowd?
Can it be their part? Can it be
his part?
They the mean snobs! he the noble and proud!
No shooting to-day of partridge or snipe;
It has steadily rained since
morning broke,
In dancing spirits I kindle his pipe
(I am learning to
like the smell of smoke!)
He has given up such a deal for me!
He likes to give up his bachelor
way;
He says it is charming not
to be free,
So he only smokes one
pipe in the day.
Together we sit in his little room,
Which is fitted up like a dainty toy;

And if without there is darkness and gloom,
Within there is plenty
of light and joy.

'Tell me of all you have done, if you can,'
I cry, as the pretty smoke
lightly curls;
'I want