TRIOLET.

Le premier jour du mois de mai
Fut le plus heureux de ma vie :
Le beau dessein que je formai,
Le premier jour du mois de mai!
Je vous vis et je vous aimai.
Si ce dessein vous plut, Sylvie,
Le premier jour du mois de mar
Fut le plus heureux de ma vie.

-RANCHIN.

LECON DE CHANT.

Moi, je regardais ce cou-là.
Maintenant chantez, me dit Paule.
Avec des mines d'Attila

Moi, je regardais ce cou-là.

Puis, un peu de temps s'écoula...
Qu'elle était blanché son épaule.
Moi, je regardais ce cou-là;

Maintenant chantez, me dit Paule.

-THEODORE DE BANVILLE.

"Mon fils, Absalon

Absalon, mon fils,
Las! perdu l'avon
Mon fils Absalon;
Il faut que soyon
En grief deuil confis
Mon fils Absalon
Absalon, mon fils !"

-OLD FRENCH PLAY.

MY SWEETHEART.

She's neither scholarly nor wise,

But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender,
And love lies laughing in her eyes.
She's neither scholarly nor wise,
And yet above all else I prize

The right from evil to defend her.

She's neither scholarly nor wise,

But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender.

GRIFFITH ALEXANDER

When first we met, we did not guess

That I ove would prove so hard a master;
Of more than common friendliness
When first we met we did not guess.
Who could foretell the sore distress,
This irretrievable disaster,

When first we met?-we did not guess

That Love would prove so hard a master.

ROBERT BRIDGES.

All women born are so perverse,

No man need boast their love possessing,

If nought seem better, nothing's worse;
All women born are so perverse,
From Adam's wife that proved a curse,

Though God had made her for a blessing.

All women born are so perverse

No man need boast their love possessing.

ROBERT BRIDGES.

A ROSE.

'Twas a Jacqueminot rose

That she gave me at parting;
Sweetest flower that blows.
'Twas a Jacqueminot rose.
In the love garden close,

With the swift blushes starting, 'Twas a Jacqueminot rose

That she gave me at parting.

If she kissed it, who knows-
Since I will not discover,

And love is that close,

If she kissed it, who knows?
Or if not the red rose

Perhaps then the lover!

If she kissed it, who knows,
Since I will not discover.

Yet at least with the rose

Went a kiss that I'm wearing!

More I will not disclose,

Yet at least with the rose

Went whose kiss no one knows,—

Since I'm only declaring,

"Yet at least with the rose

Went a kiss that I'm wearing."

ARLO BATES.

Wee Rose is but three,

Yet coquettes she already.

I can scarcely agree

Wee Rose is but three,
When her archness I see!

Are the sex born unsteady?—

Wee Rose is but three,

Yet coquettes she already.

ARLO BATES.

A pitcher of mignonette

In a tenement's highest casement;

Queer sort of a flower-pot-yet

That pitcher of mignonette

Is a garden in heaven set

To the little sick child in the basement,—

The pitcher of mignonette

In the tenement's highest casement.

H. C. BUNNER.

In the light, in the shade,

This is time and life's measure:

With a heart unafraid,

In the light, in the shade,

Hope is born and not made,

And the heart finds its treasure

In the light, in the shade;

This is time and life's measure.

WALTER CRANE.

TRIOLETS FOR "THE TWELFTH."

Away from city chafe and care,
At forty miles an hour flying,
Nor let the train me, blasé, bear
Away from city chafe and care.
To breezy braes, from street and square,
Who would not, an he could, be hieing;
Away from city chafe and care,

At forty miles an hour flying?

How nice a month on moors to pass

Mid purling becks and purpling heather,
To give the grouse their coup de grâce,
How nice a month on moors to pass !
If Fortune prove a liberal lass,

If but auspicious be the weather,

Ilow nice a month on moors to pass,

Mid purling brooks and purpling heather.

Plague take the rain! upon my word,

These mountain mists, how they do hover! I wish from town I'd never stirred. Plague take the rain! upon my word,

'Tis just my luck, and not a bird

My guileless gun contrives to cover. Plague take the rain! upon my word,

These mountain mists, how they do hover.

COTSFORD DICK.