Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 2605, 23 March 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

THE WAY WE i>o IN TOWN

From tfie town, will, and bustle, To the country, calm and fair, Came » young man, gav and handsome, Saw his pretty cousin there ; So he found some light employment In whispering words oflovo Said her eyes were bine as violets, Or the heavens far above ? While he loved to see the colour Coma and go upon her cheek, And to see her eye's soft glowing At the murmured werda lie d speak ; And so, when he was returning, She drooped her golden head, And asked him if lie realy Loved her, just asjhe had said 7 But ho shook his head quite crossly, And answered, with a frown, "I was only flirting, cousin, I It's the way we do in Town I But a few years just passed onward, To a London ballroom fair Came the young man. still as handsome, Found his pretty cousin there. She had grown a lovely woman, With rich suitors at her feet, But to him she was so gracious, And her smile was just as sweet; So he wooitd and won her gladly : When the wedding morn appeared There was awful consternation For the bride was lost, twaa feared ! And the bridegroom, gaily smiling, Came with happy, eager tread, But that very morning early Someone elso the maid hast wed ! He reproached her, called her faithless ; Said she, shyly looking down, " I was only flirtim?, cousin, It's the way we do in Town ! —Mabel Stainbank Jukea. Montpelier. THE ROOK WHERE MY MOTHER PLA.YED. I hear the notes of the whip-poor-will As of old in the gathering shade j I sit by the rock on the quiet hill Where in girlhood my mother played. With cheeks out-blooming the morning flowers, And with heart as light as May, It was there that she came in the golden hours By the liuhened rock to play. A granite waif, by glacier borne From a far-away northern sea; It seemed so lonely, from kiudred torn, That she kept it company. Till all in fancy or witching dream It shone with a glimmering light, While fairies trooped in the moon s pale beam, To dance through the summer night. And such was her tender grace to me, As we wandered the forest wild, Thai, ever the fairies seemed to be Her playmates when a child. And she a queen of the Sylphid race On her silvery throne held sway, But alas ! I dream of her girlish face, And the rock is cold aud gray. For the fairies went when my mother died, And niy years were scarcely ten ; I cDino to-night from wandering wide, But they will never come again. I love the garden and orchard < Id, Tho meadows her footsteps pvest; And the stately oaks that shook their gold In tho lap of their gentle g'.ie.it. I love tho spring and the rippling rill, Where in evening shi! often stayed ; But dearer to me the quiet hill And the rock whore my mother played. —" Harper' J Magazine.' 1