Poetry. HOME AT HOLIDAY TIME.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2417, 7 January 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry. HOME AT HOLIDAY TIME.

At this happy season. Alice, Kate and Mary Bid a Ions; adieu To tho seminary. Clad in snowy frocks, Mary, Kate and Alice, Sip, with blushing cheeks, Admiration's chalice. Mary makes her bow, Lisps her essay neatly, Katey warbles now, Alice thrums quite sweetly. Pa and ma and Fred, Wrapt in admiration, Drink in every word Of Mary's peroration. All three white-troeked girls Handsome, young and witty, A year from hence, alas ! What a gruesome pity. Alice quite forgets. Greek and conic sections ; Still more glaring yet Aro lovely Kate's defections. All three girls flop, Parents' fond hopes dashing, To the common lot— Tennis, waltz and mashing.

HANDEL. Dare and cold the garret chamber, Gloomy with its shadows dim ; Hung with dusty, drooping cobwebs, Drapery weird and grim. Battl'd loud the loosen'd casement. Bleak the night wind rose and fell In the pauses of its wailing Toll'd the midnight bell. Suddenly, from out the shadows Of the old, deserted room, Came a strain of faintest music Through the ghostly gloom. Fiercer howl'd the wind, and strongor Swell'd the strain, exultmgly, Till there roll'd among the raftere Waves of melody. While the night crew still to listen, Soft and slow the music sigh d, And, in melting, minor measures, Into silenco died. Say, what skilful, rapt musician, In the lonely room apart, Thna raado glad the sombre midnight With his wondrous art ? From the moon, now bright, now hidden In the clouds that cross'd her way, Through the misty garret-window Shot a slender ray,— Glanced upon the ancient spinet, O'er whose keys, with dust denl a Ran the eager, dainty fingers Of a little child ! Boy, in after years the master Of all mighty harmonies, With a more than childish rapture In thy lifted eyes,— Surely, in tho garret chamber, Dim with shadowy mystery, While the world slept in the midnight, Angels talk'd with thee!

BABY ASLEEP. From early morn till close of day We us'd to have to laugh and play ; But now you see 'tis a different thing ; We dare not make the old house rmpf ; Tor it's "Hush ! hush! hush ! Add hark! hark ! hark ! Now, children, quiet keep. I wish you wouldn't make a noise ; The baby is asleep." He's a little mite, so very small, Not much larger than u doll; With little pink hands and chubby feet; With bright blue yes and lips so sweet, But, with all his bounty, I cannot say I'd rather have him than my play. Tor it's "Hush! hush! hush! And hark ! hark '. hark ! Now, children, quiet keep. I wish you wouldn't make a noise ; The baby is asleep."