Songs and Other Verse | Page 7

to own;?You can see why I say with such certain zest,?"These do I love, and these alone."
ENVOY
Prince, show me the quickest way and best?To gain the subject of my moan;?We've neither spinsters nor relics out West--?These do I love, and these alone.
SUPPOSE
Suppose, my dear, that you were I?And by your side your sweetheart sate;?Suppose you noticed by and by?The distance 'twixt you were too great;?Now tell me, dear, what would you do??I know--and so do you.
And when (so comfortably placed)?Suppose you only grew aware?That that dear, dainty little waist?Of hers looked very lonely there;?Pray tell me sooth--what would you do??I know, and so do you.
When, having done what I just did?With not a frown to check or chill,?Suppose her red lips seemed to bid?Defiance to your lordly will;?Oh, tell me, sweet, what would you do??I know, and so do you.
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS
As once I rambled in the woods?I chanced to spy amid the brake?A huntsman ride his way beside?A fair and passing tranquil lake;?Though velvet bucks sped here and there,?He let them scamper through the green--?Not one smote he, but lustily?He blew his horn--what could it mean?
As on I strolled beside that lake,?A pretty maid I chanced to see?Fishing away for finny prey,?Yet not a single one caught she;?All round her boat the fishes leapt?And gambolled to their hearts' content,?Yet never a thing did the maid but sing--?I wonder what on earth it meant.
As later yet I roamed my way,?A lovely steed neighed loud and long,?And an empty boat sped all afloat?Where sang a fishermaid her song;?All underneath the prudent shade,?Which yonder kindly willows threw,?Together strayed a youth and maid--?I can't explain it all, can you?
WITH TWO SPOONS FOR TWO SPOONS
How trifling shall these gifts appear?Among the splendid many?That loving friends now send to cheer?Harvey and Ellen Jenney.
And yet these baubles symbolize?A certain fond relation?That well beseems, as I surmise,?This festive celebration.
Sweet friends of mine, be spoons once more,?And with your tender cooing?Renew the keen delights of yore--?The rapturous bliss of wooing.
What though that silver in your hair?Tells of the years aflying??'T is yours to mock at Time and Care?With love that is undying.
In memory of this Day, dear friends,?Accept the modest token?From one who with the bauble sends?A love that can't be spoken.
MARY SMITH
Away down East where I was reared amongst my Yankee kith,?There used to live a pretty girl whose name was Mary Smith; And though it's many years since last I saw that pretty girl, And though I feel I'm sadly worn by Western strife and whirl; Still, oftentimes, I think about the old familiar place,?Which, someway, seemed the brighter for Miss Mary's pretty face, And in my heart I feel once more revivified the glow?I used to feel in those old times when I was Mary's beau.
I saw her home from singing school--she warbled like a bird. A sweeter voice than hers for song or speech I never heard. She was soprano in the choir, and I a solemn bass,?And when we unisoned our voices filled that holy place;?The tenor and the alto never had the slightest chance,?For Mary's upper register made every heart-string dance;?And, as for me, I shall not brag, and yet I'd have you know I sung a very likely bass when I was Mary's beau.
On Friday nights I'd drop around to make my weekly call,?And though I came to visit her, I'd have to see 'em all.?With Mary's mother sitting here and Mary's father there,?The conversation never flagged so far as I'm aware;?Sometimes I'd hold her worsted, sometimes we'd play at games, Sometimes dissect the apples which we'd named each other's names. Oh how I loathed the shrill-toned clock that told me when to go-- 'Twas ten o'clock at half-past eight when I was Mary's beau.
Now there was Luther Baker--because he'd come of age?And thought himself some pumpkins because he drove the stage-- He fancied he could cut me out; but Mary was my friend--?Elsewise I'm sure the issue had had a tragic end.?For Luther Baker was a man I never could abide,?And, when it came to Mary, either he or I had died.?I merely cite this instance incidentally to show?That I was quite in earnest when I was Mary's beau.
How often now those sights, those pleasant sights, recur again: The little township that was all the world I knew of then-- The meeting-house upon the hill, the tavern just beyond,?Old deacon Packard's general store, the sawmill by the pond, The village elms I vainly sought to conquer in my quest?Of that surpassing trophy, the golden oriole's nest.?And, last of all those visions that come back from long ago, The pretty face that thrilled my soul when I was Mary's beau.
Hush, gentle wife, there is no need a pang should vex your heart-- 'T is many years since fate ordained that she and