When her brooch she forgets
'Tis to show her new collar;

In the School of Coquettes
Madam Rose is a scholar!

A TEAR.

THERE'S a tear in her eye,-
Such a clear little jewel!
What can make her cry?
There's a tear in her eye.
"Puck has killed a big fly,-

And it's horribly cruel ;"
There's a tear in her eye,-
Such a clear little jewel!

A GREEK GIFT.

HERE's a present for Rose,
How pleased she is looking!
Is it verse?—is it prose?
Here's a present for Rose!
"Plats,"

," "Entrées," and " Rôts,”Why, it's "Gouffé on Cooking." Here's a present for Rose,

How pleased she is looking!

1874.

C: URCEUS EXIT."

I INTENDED an Ode,

And it turned to a Sonnet.

It began à la mode,

I intended an Ode;

But Rose crossed the road

In her latest new bonnet; I intended an Ode;

And it turned to a Sonnet.

THE WANDERER

LOVE comes back to his vacant dwelling,

The old, old Love that we knew of yore! We see him stand by the open door, With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling.

He makes as though in our arms repelling,
He fain would lie as he lay before ;-
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling,—
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!

249

Ah, who shall help us from over-spelling
That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore!
E'en as we doubt in our heart once more,
With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling,
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling.

G 3

TO DAFFODILS

(TO A. J. M.)

O

YELLOW flowers by HERRICK sung! O yellow flowers that danced and swung In WORDSWORTH'S verse, and now to me, Unworthy, from this "pleasant lea," Laugh back, unchanged and ever young;—

Ah, what a text to us o'erstrung,
O'erwrought, o'erreaching, hoarse of lung,
You teach by that immortal glee,
O yellow flowers!

We, by the Age's oestrus stung,
Still hunt the New with eager tongue,
Vexed ever with the Old, but ye,

What ye have been ye still shall be,
When we are dust the dust among,
O yellow flowers!

ON A NANKIN PLATE

"AH

H me, but it might have been ! Was there ever so dismal a fate?"-Quoth the little blue mandarin.

"Such a maid as was never seen!

She passed, tho' I cried to her 'Wait,'-
Ah me, but it might have been !

"I cried, "O my Flower, my Queen, Be mine!' 'Twas precipitate,"— Quoth the little blue mandarin,—

"But then she was just sixteen,-
Long-eyed,—as a lily straight,—
Ah me, but it might have been !

"As it was, from her palankeen, She laughed—‘You're a week too late!'” (Quoth the little biue mandarin.)

"That is why, in a mist of spleen,
I mourn on this Nankin Plate.

Ah me, but it might have been!"—
Quoth the little blue mandarin.