LOVE'S VOTARY.

THERS have pleasantness and praise,
And wealth; and hand and glove
They walk with worship all their days,
But I have only Love.

And therefore if Love be a fire,
Then he shall burn me up;
If Love be water out of mire,
Then I will be the cup.

If Love come worn with wayfaring,
My breast shall be his bed;

If he come faint and hungering,
My heart shall be his bread.

If Love delight in vassalage,
Then I will be his thrall,
Till, when I end my pilgrimage,
Love give me all for all.

GEORGE AUGUSTUS SIMCOX.

DESTINY.

OMEWHERE there waiteth in this world of

Ours

For one lone soul another lonely soul,

Each chasing each through all the weary

hours,

And meeting strangely at one sudden goal.

Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,
Into one beautiful and perfect whole;

And life's long night is ended, and the way
Lies open onward to eternal day.

EDWIN ARNOLD.

B

ROCOCO.

Y studying my lady's eyes

I've grown so learnéd day by day, So Machiavelian in this wise,

That when I send her flowers, I say

To each small flower (no matter what;
Geranium, pink, or tuberose,

Syringa, or forget-me-not,

Or violet) before it goes:

"Be not triumphant, little flower,

When on her haughty heart you lie,

But modestly enjoy your hour:

She'll weary of you by and by."

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

DORUS TO LYCORIS,

WHO REPROVED HIM FOR INCONSTANCY.

@HY should I constant be?

The bird in yonder tree,

This leafy summer,

Hath not his last year's mate,

Nor dreads to venture fate

With a new-comer.

Why should I fear to sip

The sweets of each red lip?
In every bower

The roving bee may taste

(Lest aught should run to waste)

Each fresh-blown flower.

The trickling rain doth fall

Upon us one and all;

The south wind kisses

The saucy milkmaid's cheek,

The nun's, demure and meek,
Nor any misses.

Then ask no more of me

That I should constant be,
Nor eke desire it;

Take not such idle pains

To hold our love in chains,
Nor coax, nor hire it.

Rather, like some bright elf,
Be all things in thyself
For ever changing,

So that thy latest mood
May ever bring new food
To fancy ranging.

Forget what thou wast first,
And, as I loved thee erst
In soul and feature,

I'll love thee out of mind

When each new morn shall find

Thee a new creature.

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.