"Will you walk with me always?" I said, and as she Said not "Nay," I took it for granted— For "silence is yea," so the old adage says; WHEN THIS OLD RING WAS NEW. Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife. Ah! summers not a few, Since I put it on your finger first, have passed o'er me and you. And, love, what changes we have seen, what cares, and pleasures, too, Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring was new! Oh, blessings on that happy day-the happiest of my life When first your low, sweet, loving "Yes" made you my own dear wife. Your heart will say the same, I know; the day's as dear to you The day that made me yours, dear wife, when this old ring was new! How well do I remember now your young, sweet face that day! How fair you were, how dear you were, my tongue could hardly say. WHEN THIS OLD RING WAS NEW. 15 Nor how I doted on you! Ah, how proud I was of you! But did I love you more than now, when this old ring was new? O partner of my gladness!-wife-what care, what grief is there For me you would not bravely face, with me, you would not share? Oh, what a weary want was that, if I were wanting you Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new! The past is dear! Its sweetness still our memories treasure yet. The griefs we've borne-together borne-we could not now forget. Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto heart, still true, We'll share, as we have shared all else since this old ring was new. And oh, when Death shall come at last to bid me to my rest, May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on that breast. Oh, may my passing gaze be blessed with the dear sight of you— Of those fond eyes-fond as they were when this old ring was new! JULIE. "For tricks that are vain," Do not talk of your heathen Chinee, Mr. Harte! A pretty young widow, deceitful and vain, "Twas my sister Julie; Had not long worn her weeds, it is true, but alas! With her smiles and her wiles, she could work like a glass Of sparkling champagne On these men, poor fools! For her voice it was low, And soft as the coo of a dove. Ah, you know! And the way of it was, I had promised to marry, to marry, some day But he hurried me so, And worried and begged that I'd bless him at once With my lily-white hand. Yes, call me a dunce! Did I love him? Oh no! Indeed, there was scarcely the ghost of a beau That I did not prefer, but he'd money, you know, The genuine cash JULIE. And money is better than love, any day; I told him at last 17 That I had no trousseau. That very same day Came boxes with garments distinguished and gay; And oh, such a love Of a dress, trimmed with point so rich and fine, In which I looked really divine! So I wrote to Julie For advice, and a plausible cause for delay; To make it all smooth and delightful; she knew She came, did Julie, And, credulous dupe that I was, I received Oh, it's scandalous! What did she do, Emma Why she married my lover herself in three days! And took my trousseau? I should say so! Indeed, the seraph-eyed thief Stole man, jewels, dresses, beyond all relief. She knew! Yes, oh yes! Say no more, Mr. Harte, of your heathen Chinee, He's a baby compared to Julie. THREE AND ONE. They stray through the sunlit summery weather, Yet the maidens love each other dearly, She who had won his heart's best passion She loves him only coquette fashion, While the other maid-she would die for him. And while they wander across the meadows, Their three hearts brimming with love's sweet pain, Fate is sitting within the shadows, Weaving for them a tangled skein. And she shall weave till the autumn weather, When th' threads shall unravel and all come straight; But well she loveth to knot them together, She at whose feet is cast that treasure, A man's heart strong with love's full tide, |