It is there in my fancy whatever befalls me,

It shows me the joys that are purest and best. Ah, sweet is the vision that ever enthralls me:

A jolly log-cabin far out in the WestA shabby log-cabin, a shaky log-cabin,

A jolly log-cabin far out in the West.

Who cares for the scorn of the city's proud daughters,
Where Fashion and Folly together agree?

There is one who will dwell by Missouri's fair waters,
And wait at the wash-tub for Love and for me.
The sounds that I hear are the voices of childhood,
The crow of old chanticleer doing his best;
The home of my heart is a home in the wildwood,
A jolly log-cabin far out in the West-

A shabby log-cabin, a shaky log-cabin,

A jolly log-cabin far out in the West.

I am poor, but I'm honest. The fetters that bind me

Will fall in the West like dead leaves from the tree; A prince on the prairie the future shall find me, As proud as the eagle, as wild and as free. What words shall I borrow to tell of my rapture?

When eve warns the hunter of home and of rest, With a gun on my shoulder, a deer as my capture, I'll ride to the cabin far out in the West

A shabby log-cabin, a shaky log-cabin,

A jolly log-cabin far out in the West.

Maiden and Weathercock.

MAIDEN.

WEATHERCOCK, on the village spire, With your golden feathers all on fire, Tell me what can you see from your perch Above there, over the tower of the church?

WEATHERCOCK.

I can see the roofs, and the streets below,
And the people moving to and fro
And beyond, without either roof or street,
The great salt sea and the fisherman's fleet.

I can see a ship come sailing in
Beyond the headlands and harbor of Lynn,
And a young man standing on the deck,
With a silken kerchief round his neck.

Now he is pressing it to his lips,

And now he is kissing his finger-tips,

And now he is lifting and waving his hand,
And blowing the kisses toward the land!

MAIDEN.

Ah, that is the ship from over the sea
That is bringing my lover back to me!
Bringing my lover so fond and true,

Who does not change with the wind, like you.

WEATHERCOCK.

If I change with all the winds that blow,
It is only because they made me so;
And people would think it wondrous strange
If I, a weathercock, should not change!

O pretty maiden, so fine and fair,

With your dreamy eyes and your golden hair,
When you and your lover meet to-day,
You will thank me for looking some other way!

The Sea and the Moon.

HE Sea fell in love with the Moon;

The Moon only laughed at the Sea,
And went on, turning midnight to noon,
And silvering hill-top and lea.

"Look down, lovely Moon," said the Sea;
"Behold your own beautiful face;
'Tis so pure and so charming to me
In my heart I have given it place."

She looked, with a flush of disdain;
Her glorious image was there;
And she knew-for a woman is vain

That the image was spotless and fair.
Away sped the Moon in her splendor;
But oft and again she would turn,
With glance growing more and more tender,
To the Sea, where her image did burn.

THE SEA AND THE MOON.

There trembled the silvery illusion;

Nay, Moon, do not quiver nor start; 'Tis the tremor of Love's soft confusion, The throb of the Sea's faithful heart.

And the Moon would remember and ponder
The vision she saw in the wave,

As away round the world she would wander
And she knew that the Sea was her Slave.

And month after month when returning
In her full she would glory again,
Her face in the ocean still burning

Gave the Moon a slight feeling of pain.

Still the Sea followed sorrowing after,
His breast swelling over with love,
His sighs waking only the laughter
Of the Moon sailing queenly above.

Though ages on ages have perished,

Still Love sings the changeless old tune, And with passion still faithfully cherished, The Sea follows after the Moon.

Follows after till cruel shores stay him,

Then breaks his great heart with a sigh; For the Fates ever mock and delay him Whose aim is unwise and too high.

81

Indecision.

O many dreams and fancies creep
Around the vision sweet and rare
In the long vigils that I keep

While framing a fond lover's prayer To that one maid whose radiant glance Seems brighter far than all the rest, The one of whom I say, "Perchance

Her gathered life will make me blest," That, after all, I seem to think,

Why should her beauty be mine own? Beneath my touch the light might shrink. That shines so fair and pure alone.

I've thought for weeks-am thinking yetI wonder if yon glittering star

So high in heaven's ether set

Had not much rather gleam afar.

I wonder if the glowing rose

Is happier on a maiden's breast
Than when it in the garden grows
A lovely blossom 'mid the rest.
You say, perhaps, "The wisest way

Is just to give the maid a voice."
If she said "Yes?" Day follows day-
In future years would we rejoice?