I gave her a rose, so sweet, so fair;
She picked it to pieces while standing there.
I praised the deep blue of her starry eyes;
She turned them upon me in cold surprise.
Her white hand I kissed in a transport of love;
My kiss she effaced with her snowy glove.
I touched a soft ringlet of golden brown;
She rebuked my daring with a haughty frown.
I asked her to dance in most penitent tone;
On the arm of a rival she left me alone.
This gave me a hint; I veered from my track,
And waltzed with an heiress, to win my love back.
I carried her fan, and indulged in a sigh,
And whispered sweet nothings when my loved one was nigh.
It worked like a charm; oh, joy of my life!
This stratagem wins me a sweet little wife.
MOTHER AND SON.
Postman, good postman, halt I pray,
And leave a letter for me to-day;
If it's only a line from over the sea
To say that my Sandy remembers me.
I have waited and hoped by day and by night;
I'll watch--if spared--till my locks grow white;
Have prayed--yet repent that my faith waxed dim,
When passing, you left no message from him.
My proud arms cradled his infant head,
My prayers arose by his boyhood's bed;
To better our fortunes, he traversed the main;
God guard him, and bring him to me again.
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