THE FIRST TRYST. SHE pulls a rose from her rose-tree, He plucks from his heart a poem ; These are the world-old lovers, THEODORE TILTON. Born in New York City 1835— NO AND YES. I WATCH'D her at her spinning, So cruel, so uncaring, Yet sorry wit one uses, Who loves, and thinks he loses Love prospers in the making And quaking and heart-breaking. A woman's first denying When first I said in pleading- But when again I told her, Then, with her eyes of splendour, So down the lane I led her, SIR MARMADUKE'S MUSINGS. I won a noble fame; But, with a sudden frown, My lofty name. I bore a bounteous purse, I gain'd what men call friends; But now their love is hate, I clasp'd a woman's breast, Or fancied would be true; I am now all bereft, As when some tower doth fall, But I account it worth All pangs of fair hopes cross'd- So, lest I be inclined To render ill for ill- O God! a sweet good will HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. Born at Calais, Maine, 1835— MAGDALEN. If any woman of us all, If any woman of the street, Before the Lord should pause and fall, He whom with yearning hearts we love, And underneath our daily skies,— The Maker of the heavens and earth, But breathing of our breath one breath, If any woman of the street Should kneel and with the lifted mesh Of her long tresses wipe His feet, And with her kisses kiss their flesh,— How round that woman would we throng, How eagerly with her would change THE NIGHT-SEA. IN the summer even, While yet the dew was hoar, The fishing lights their dances Were keeping out at sea, And "Come!" I sang-" my true love! But the sea it fell a-moaning, And the white gulls rock'd thereon, And the young moon dropp'd from heaven, And the lights hid one by one. All silently their glances Slipp'd down the cruel sea, And" Wait!" cried the night, and wind, and storm, "Wait till I come to thee!" A SIGH. It was nothing but a rose I gave her, Any wind might rob of half its savour— When she took it from my trembling fingers Ah! the flying touch upon them lingers, Wither'd, faded, press'd between the pages, Once it lay upon her breast, and ages CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER. Born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, 1835— THE MINUTE-GUNS. I STOOD within the little cove, Full of the morning's life and hope, While heavily the eager waves Charged thunderingly up the rocky slope. The splendid breakers! How they rush'd, All emerald green and flashing white, Tumultuous in the morning sun, With cheer and sparkle and delight. And freshly blew the fragrant wind, |