When hearts are trumps Part 4

AN ECHO FROM A SEASIDE HOP.

Light as the waves foaming white on the bar, We dance to the mandolin, harp, and guitar; One, two, three, waltzing we glide round the room,-- Would you were bride, and ah, would I were groom!

On all the seash.o.r.e none fairer than you; What but adore you could any one do?

Cheeks like the pink of an evening sky, Eyes that might bid a man laughingly die.

Ears like the sh.e.l.ls from the Indian sea, Teeth like white buds on a young apple-tree, Throat like a lily bent heavy with dew, Arms just as white and as lily-like too.

Lips that would tempt--ah! you'll pardon me now, Being so near them suggests, you'll allow, That the happiest thing e'er a mortal could do, Would be to be ever thus waltzing with you.

She Is Mine.

There's a sparkle in her eye That no millionnaire can buy.

If they think so, let them try-- She's divine.

There's a blush upon her cheek Like the peach-tree's blossom, eke, Like red willows by the creek, Or like wine.

She has roses in her hair.

It was I who put them there.

Really, did I ever dare-- Is she mine?

Or is it all a dream,-- Idle poet's empty theme Put in words that make it seem Superfine?

No; for see upon her hand There's a little golden band,-- Filigree work, understand, Like a vine;

And a perfect solitaire Fits upon it. The affair Cost two hundred. I don't care!

She is mine.

Old Times.

Ah, good old times of belles and beaux, Of powdered wigs and wondrous hose, Of stately airs and careful grace, Look you at our degenerate race.

No more the gallant spends his time In writing of his love in rhyme; No more he lives unconscious of All earthly things save war and love.

We modern men have toils and cares To streak our pates with whitened hairs, And have to crowd our love and all Into one short and weekly call.

Of My Love.

Was ever a moon In joyous June As royal, radiant, rare as she, With her smiling lips, As she lightly trips Down through the autumn woods to me?

Never a queen On her throne, I ween, Had such a loyal slave as I.

Ready to bear All her cares, I swear, Just for a fleeting kiss on the sly.

Oh for the day We gallop away To the curate's cottage, Gretna Green; Side by side, Groom and bride, Happy twenty and sweet sixteen!

The Farewell.

Not going abroad? What, to-morrow, And to stay, goodness knows for how long?

Really, Jack, 'twould appear that dry sorrow Had done even you, sir, a wrong.

It has? Ha, ha, ha! What a joke, sir!

Is it Mabel or Jenny or Nell?

I'm sure you are wrong,--hold my cloak, sir,-- Am I not an old friend? Come now, tell.

The prince of our set broken-hearted!

What a joke! Who rejected you? Speak!

Did you look like that, Jack, when you parted?

Was that pallor of death on your cheek?

You interest me. Tell me about it; And let your old chum, sir, console.

Hard hit in the heart. I don't doubt it; You were made for that sort of a role.

Did you bend on your knee, like an actor, Hardly knowing just where to begin?

Was dear mamma's consent the main factor?

What a fool the poor girl must have been!

Who was she? What!--I?--You were jealous?

O, Jack, who'd have thought such a thing?

You've been certainly not over-zealous.

But kiss me--and where is the ring?

The Last Dance.

AN INCIDENT IN A WINDOW SEAT.

_He_: Well, how many conquests? I fancy a score By the flush on your cheeks and your shoulders.

_She_: A bore!

_He_: Oh, nonsense; a debutante just out of school Who can rule with a smile what a king could not rule, From young Harry, her prince, to myself, her poor fool!

Come, tell me, did Harry propose?

_She_: What a goose You would think me to tell you, and then of what use Could it be?