y tongue,
The vain assertions fell;
But oh, trust not the cheating words,
For never truth they tell!
Hearts may grow sick with hope deferred,
Be crushed with black despair,
But lips, too proud to own defeat,
Will whisper, "I don't care!"

A thoughtless friend flings out in jest--
As jesters always do--
A deadly shaft you wince beneath,
You know the story's true;
But while the dart has pierced your heart,
And poisoned, rankles there,
You look amused, and answer with
A smiling, "I don't care!"

When Fortune's favors are withdrawn,
And friends like shadows fled,
When all your fondest dreams are gone,
Your dearest hopes are dead,
You curse the fickle goddess, then,
Who wrought you such despair,
Yet hide chagrin beneath a frown,
And mutter, "I don't care!"

The veteran, battle-scarred, who fills
A nation's honored place,
Feels keener than his saber's point,
Unmerited disgrace.
With indignation all aflame
He meets some rival's stare;
But for all answer gives the worlds
A freezing "I don't care!"

A woman's heart is trifled with,
Her hopes are ground to dust,
Her proud soul humbled with neglect,
Betrayed her sacred trust,
Yet, while to desperation stung,
With death and ruin there,
She'll crush the tears and cheat you with
A laughing "I don't care?"

"I don't care!" 'tis but a breath,
The words are seeming fair,
But many a heartache lies beneath
A careless "I don't care!"

A STAINED LILY.

Some lilies grew by a brook-side,
Tall and white, and cold,
And lifted up to the sunshine
Their great red hearts of gold.

And near to their bed grew mosses,
rank vines, and flowers small,
And loathsome weeds, and thistles,
And the sunlight warmed them all.

Anon, the proud white lilies
Were gathered one by one,
Each to crown a festal
Rarest under the sun.

One lily stooped to the brooklet,
Her face she knew was fair,
And the face of flowing water
Mirrored her image there.

A hand upraised in envy,
Or carelessness, or jest,
Flung from the turbid water,
Mud, on the lily's breast.

And all the proud, white lilies
Turned their faces away,
And nobody plucked that lily,
And day, and night, and day

She wept for her ruined beauty:
And the dew-drops, and the rain,
Touched with her tears, in pity
Fell on the muddy stain.

Still stood she in her grieving
Day, and night, and day;
Nor tears, nor dew, nor rain-drops,
Coul