"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,
"Put down your stupid book
That everlasting Browning!-

And come and help me look.
Mushroom you spik him English,
I call him champignon:
I'll teach you to distinguish

The right kind from the wrong."

There was no fog on Fundy

That blue September day;
The west wind, for that one day,
Had swept it all away.
The lighthouse glasses twinkled,

The white gulls screamed and flew,
The merry sheep-bells tinkled,
The merry breezes blew.

She

Drip the viols, ne'er so sweetly,
With the honey-dew of pleasure
Trip the dancers, ne'er so featly,
Through the old remembered measure,
Yet, the lighted lanthorn round,
What is lost shall not be found!

JUDITH

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

men.

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

own.

For learn, fond youth, wouldst thou escape disaster,

That woman likes a slave-but loves a master.