I POT-POURRI. "Si jeunesse savait ?-" PLUNGE my hand among the leaves : (An alien touch but dust perceives, Nought else supposes ;) For me those fragrant ruins raise Clear memory of the vanished days When they were roses. "If youth but knew!" Ah, "if," in truth-I can recall with what gay youth, To what light chorus, Unsobered yet by time or change, We roamed the many-gabled Grange, All life before us; Braved the old clock-tower's dust and damp To catch the dim Arthurian camp In misty distance; Peered at the still-room's sacred stores, Or rapped at walls for sliding doors Of feigned existence. What need had we for thoughts or cares ! The hot sun parched the old parterres And "flowerful closes"; We roused the rooks with rounds and glees, Played hide-and-seek behind the trees,Then plucked these roses. Louise was one-light, glib Louise, Shy Ruth, all heart and tenderness, Who blushed before the mildest men, I loved them all. Bell first and best; Or madcap masking; And Ruth, I thought,-why, failing these, When my High-Mightiness should please, She'd come for asking. Louise was grave when last we met; And Ruth, Heaven bless her, Ruth that I wooed,—and wooed in vain, Has gone where neither grief nor pain Can now distress her. DOROTHY. A RÊVERIE SUGGESTED BY THE NAME UPON A PANE. S HE then must once have looked, as I Look now, across the level rye,— Past Church and Manor-house, and seen, The swallows must have twittered, too, What was she like? I picture her Whose crude perception could but see I How not? She loved, may be, perfume, And, for the rest, would seem to be Or proud, or dull-this Dorothy. Poor child!with heart the down-lined nest Of warmest instincts unconfest, Soft, callow things that vaguely felt Not less I dream her mute desire At twice-told tales" of foxes killed ; Now trembling when slow tongues grew free 'Twixt sport, and Port-and Dorothy! 'Twas then she'd seek this nook, and find And here, where still her gentle name 'Twixt heart and heart. Poor Dorothy ! |