lancing,
As she brushes it away!

Straight I rose, and ran to meet her,
Seized her hand--the heavenly blue
Of her eyes smiled brighter, sweeter,
As she asked me--"Who are you?"

To that question came another--
What its aim I still must doubt--
And she asked me, "How's your mother?
Does she know that you are out?"

"No! my mother does not know it,
Beauteous, heaven-descended muse!"
"Then be off, my handsome poet,
And say I sent you with the news!"

The Mishap.

"Why art thou weeping, sister?
Why is thy cheek so pale?
Look up, dear Jane, and tell me
What is it thou dost ail?

"I know thy will is froward,
Thy feelings warm and keen,
And that _that_ Augustus Howard
For weeks has not been seen.

"I know how much you loved him;
But I know thou dost not weep
For him;--for though his passion be,
His purse is noways deep.

"Then tell me why those tear-drops?
What means this woeful mood
Say, has the tax-collector
Been calling, and been rude?

"Or has that hateful grocer,
The slave! been here to-day?
Of course he had, by morrow's noon,
A heavy bill to pay!

"Come, on thy brother's bosom
Unburden all thy woes;
Look up, look up, sweet sister;
Nay, sob not through thy nose."

"Oh, John, 'tis not the grocer
Or his account, although
How ever he is to be paid
I really do not know.

"'Tis not the tax-collector;
Though by his fell command
They've seized our old paternal clock,
And new umbrella-stand!

"Nor that Augustus Howard,
Whom I despise almost,--
But the soot's come down the chimney, John,
And fairly spoilt the roast!"

Comfort in Affliction.

"Wherefore starts my bosom's lord?
Why this anguish in thine eye?
Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord
Had broken with that sigh!

"Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray,
Rest thee on my bosom now!
And let me wipe the dews away,
Are gathering on thy brow.

"There, again! that fevered start!
What, love! husband! is thy pain?
There is a sorrow on thy heart,
A weight upon thy brain!

"Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er
Deceive affection's searching eye;
'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share
Her husband's agony.

"Since the dawn began to peep,
Have I lain with stifled breath;
Heard thee moaning in thy sleep,
As thou wert at grips with death.

"Oh, what joy it was to see
My gentle lord once more awake!
Tell me, what is amiss with thee?
Speak, or my heart will break!