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"If one's allowed to ask it,"
Quoth I, "Ma belle cousine, What have you in your basket?" (Those baskets white and green The brave Passamaquoddies
Weave out of scented grass, And sell to tourist bodies
Who through Mt. Desert pass.)
You answered, slightly frowning,
And come and help me look.
The right kind from the wrong."
There was no fog on Fundy
That blue September day;
The white gulls screamed and flew,
Drip the viols, ne'er so sweetly,
FLOWER of youth, in the ancient frameMaid of the mettlesome lip and eye, Lightly wearing the fateful name,
And the rakish beaver of days gone by!
Pink of fashion! Yet this is she
That once, through midnight forest and fen,
Guided the horsemen of "Old Santee," And rode to the death with Marion's
Rare the picture that decks the wall;
Rare and dainty, in life, below, My century-later belle of the ball,
Mocking the beauty of long ago. If now the summons should come to ride, Through such a darkness as brooded then,
How would it please you to serve as guide? And where, ah, where were Marion's men ?
False the logic that breeds the fear.
Buds will blossom, and pipes will play. So it was in that early year;
So shall it be till the world is gray. But the petted darling, if need shall be, As swift to the saddle will vault again; And those that follow will ride as free As ever of old rode Marion's men.
PHILOMEL TO CORYDON
SHEPHERD, wilt thou take counsel of the bird
That oft hath hearkened, from this leafy lair,
To love's entreaty, and the parting word?
Sue not so humbly to the haughty fair. Pipe in her praise upon thine oaten straw, And pipe the louder when she says thee nay;
Swear that her lightest wish to thee is law, But break the law twice twenty times a day.
Trust not to argument, or thou 'rt undone; But calmly, gently, when she doth protest Her course is East, impel her to the West; Approve her way, but lead her in thine
For learn, fond youth, wouldst thou escape disaster,
That woman likes a slave-but loves a master.