ut alas they afford me no pleasure,
Nor lighten my lot so hard.
Oh come for my bosom yearneth,
All its burden of love to bestow,--
Once I _thought_ that I really loved thee,
But I _know_ that I love thee now.

Canst thou ever forgive me the folly,
Of failing to capture the prize,
Of thy maiden heart, trustful and loving,
That shone thro' thy tear bedimmed eyes.
But I knew not until we had parted,
How fiercely love's embers could glow;
Or how _truly_ I loved thee then, Annie,
Or how _madly_ I'd love thee now.

Bachelors Quest.

She may be dark or may be fair,
If beauty she possesses;
But she must have abundant hair--
I doat on flowing tresses.
Her skin must be clear, soft and white
Her cheeks with health's tints glowing,
Her eyes beam with a liquid light,--
Red lips her white teeth showing.
She must be graceful as a fawn,
With bosom gently swelling,
Her presence fresh as early dawn,--
A heart for love to dwell in.
She must be trusting, yet aware
That flatterer's honey'd phrases
Are often but a wily snare,
To catch her in love's mazes.
Accomplishments she must possess,
These make life worth the having;
And taste, especially in dress
Yet still inclined to saving.
In cookery she must excel,
To this there's no exception,
And serve a frugal meal as well
As manage a reception.
Untidyness she must abhor,
In every household matter;
And resolutely close the door
To any gossip's chatter.
She must love children, for a home
Ne'er seems like home without 'em.
And women seldom care to roam,
Who love their babes about 'em,
Should she have wealth, she must not boast
Or tell of what she brought me;
Content that I should rule the roost,--
(That's what my father taught me.)
If I can find some anxious maid
Who all these charms possesses,
I shall be tempted, I'm afraid,
To pay her my addresses.

Waiting at the Gate.

Draw closer to my side to-night,
Dear wife, give me thy hand,
My heart is sad with memories
Which thou canst understand,
Its twenty years this very day,
I know thou minds it well,
Since o'er our happy wedded life
The heaviest trouble fell.

We stood beside the little cot,
But not a word we said;
With breaking hearts we learned, alas,
Our little Claude was dead,
He was the last child born to us,
The loveliest,--the best,
I sometimes fear we loved him more
Than any of the rest