Some-one who is not girlish now,
And wed long since. We meet and bow;
I don't suppose our broken vow

Affects us keenly;

Yet, trifling though my act appears,

Your Sternes would make it ground for tears ;One can't disturb the dust of years,

And smile serenely.

My golden locks" are gray and chill, For hers, let them be sacred still;

But yet, I own, a boyish thrill

Went dancing through me,
Charles, when I held yon yellow lace;
For, from its dusty hiding-place,
Peeped out an arch, ingenuous face
That beckoned to me.

We shut our heart up, nowadays,
Like some old music-box that plays
Unfashionable airs that raise

Derisive pity;

Alas, a nothing starts the spring;
And lo, the sentimental thing
At once commences quavering
Its lover's ditty.

Laugh, if you like. The boy in me,--
The boy that was,-revived to see

The fresh young smile that shone when she,
Of old, was tender.

Once more we trod the Golden Way,—
That mother you saw yesterday,—
And I, whom none can well portray,
As young, or slender.

She twirled the flimsy scarf about
Her pretty head, and stepping out
Slipped arm in mine, with half a pout
Of childish pleasure.

Where we were bound no mortal knows,
For then you plunged in Ireland's woes,
And brought me blankly back to prose
And Gladstone's measure.

Well, well, the wisest bend to Fate.
My brown old books around me wait,
My pipe still holds, unconfiscate,

Its wonted station.

Pass me the wine. To Those that keep The bachelor's secluded sleep

Peaceful, inviolate, and deep,

I pour libation!

CUPID'S ALLEY

IT

A MORALITY

0, Love's but a dance,

Where Time plays the fiddle!

See the couples advance,

O, Love's but a dance!

A whisper, a glance,

"Shall we twirl down the middle?”

0, Love's but a dance,

Where Time plays the fiddle!

T runs (so saith my Chronicler)
Across a smoky City;-

A Babel filled with buzz and whirr,
Huge, gloomy, black and gritty;
Dark-louring looks the hill-side near,
Dark-yawning looks the valley,-
But here 'tis always fresh and clear,
For here is "Cupid's Alley."

And, from an Arbour cool and green
With aspect down the middle,
An ancient Fiddler, gray and lean,
Scrapes on an ancient fiddle;
Alert he seems, but aged enow

To punt the Stygian galley;—
With wisp of forelock on his brow,
He plays in "Cupid's Alley."

All day he plays,-a single tune!--
But, by the oddest chances,
Gavotte, or Brawl, or Rigadoon,
It suits all kinds of dances;
My Lord may walk a pas de Cour
To Jenny's pas de Chalet;—
The folks who ne'er have danced before,
Can dance-in "Cupid's Alley."

And here, for ages yet untold,

Long, long before my ditty,

Came high and low, and young and old,
From out the crowded City;

And still to-day they come, they go,

And just as fancies tally,

They foot it quick, they foot it slow,

All day-in "Cupid's Alley."

Strange Dance! 'Tis free to Rank and Rags:

Here no distinction flatters,

Here Riches shakes its money-bags,

And Poverty its tatters;

Church, Army, Navy, Physic, Law;—

Maid, Mistress, Master, Valet;

Long locks, gray hairs, bald heads, and a',They bob-in "Cupid's Alley."

Strange pairs! To laughing, light Fifteen

Here capers Prudence thrifty; Here Prodigal leads down the green

A blushing Maid of fifty;

Some treat it as a serious thing,
And some but shilly-shally;

And some have danced without the ring
(Ah me!)—in "Cupid's Alley."

And sometimes one to one will dance,
And think of one behind her;
And one by one will stand, perchance,
Yet look all ways to find her;
Some seek a partner with a sigh,
Some win him with a sally;

And some, they know not how nor why,
Strange fate!-of "Cupid's Alley."

And some will dance an age or so
Who came for half a minute;

And some, who like the game, will go
Before they well begin it;

And some will vow they're "danced to death,"
Who (somehow) always rally ;

Strange cures are wrought (mine Author saith), Strange cures !-in "Cupid's Alley."

It may be one will dance to-day,

And dance no more to-morrow;

It may be one will steal away

And nurse a life-long sorrow;
What then? The rest advance evade,
Unite, dispart, and dally,

Re-set, coquet, and gallopade,

Not less-in "Cupid's Alley."