MY STAR.

He gather'd golden buttercups,

That grew so very fresh and free.
"Ah, happy plays, in childish days,
When buttercups were gold to me!"
He gather'd little meadow-sweet

And hid it where she could not see.
She peeped about and found it out,
And laugh'd aloud, and so did he.

He gather'd shining silver-weed;

He stole the heather from the bee:
Amid the grass the minutes pass,
And twilight lingers on the lea.

ANON.

35

They would fain see, too,

My star that dartles the red and the blue !

Then it stops like a bird, — like a flower, hangs furled; They must solace themselves with the Saturn

above it.

What matter to me if their star is a world?

Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. ROBERT BROWNING.

ANN HATHAWAY.

WOULD ye

be taught, ye feathered throng,

With love's sweet notes to grace your song

To pierce the heart with thrilling lay:
Listen to mine Ann Hathaway.
She hath a way to sing so clear,

Phoebus might wondering stop to hear.
To melt the sad, make blithe the gay;
And Nature charm, Ann hath a way.
She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To breathe delight, Ann hath a way.

When envy's breath and rancorous tooth

Do soil and bite fair worth and truth,

And merit to distress betray:

To soothe the heart, Ann hath a way.

She hath a way to chase despair,

To heal all grief, to cure all care,

Turn foulest night to fairest day;

Thou know'st, fond heart, Ann hath a way.
She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To make grief bliss, Ann hath a way.

Talk not of gems, the orient list,
The diamond, topaz, amethyst,
The emerald mild, the ruby gay;
Talk of my gem, Ann Hathaway!

FATE.

She hath a way, with her bright eye,
Their various lustre to defy,

The jewels she, and the foil they,
So sweet to look, Ann hath a way,
She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To shame bright gems, Ann hath a way.

But were it to my fancy given

To rate her charms, I'd call them heaven;
For though a mortal made of clay,
Angels must love Ann Hathaway.
She hath a way so to control,
To rapture the imprisoned soul,
And sweetest heaven on earth display,
That to be heaven Ann hath a way.
She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To be heaven's self, Ann hath a way.

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE (?)

37

A

FATE.

LL unconscious I beheld her;
Knew not that my fate was nigh, —

Fate that wears such various aspect
To the victim's laughing eye.

Poets, painters, still to paint her
Dark and gloomy do their best;
Were I painter, I would paint her
All in cherry-color dressed.

She should be a little maiden,

Modest, shrinking, sweet and fair, At a party, playing forfeits,

Looking, "Kiss me if you dare!"

Did I kiss you? If I did n't,

'T was the blunder of my life. Was the last the hundred millionth? Just one more then, little wife.

JOHN W. CHADWICK.

A

FATE.

FACE of a summer ago,

Of a maid I met by the sea,

Haunts me wherever I go,
And is always looking at me
With a curious constancy.

And whether I will it or no,

I cannot get rid of her gaze,
Standing and looking so,

With her modest and maidenly ways,
And I would not the rest of my days.

MERLE ST. CROIX WRIGHT.

TRANSLATION FROM heine.

39

S

THE WHISPERING GALLERY.

HE flushed and paled, and, bridling, raised her head:

"How could you know that I was in distress, To come so far and timely with redress? For well and close, I thought, I kept my dread From common scorn or pity."

"So?" he said,

"I scarce can tell, and yet it seems no less Than that all circling winds and waters press To bring me tidings how your life is led;

"And I could hear the whisper of your name Around the world. If the whole earth should

lie

Between us, and you fled when peril came,

I'd feel your foot-beats throb, I think, and fly, And come through sea or waste or battle-flame, And thank God's favor in your cause to die." JAMES T. MCKAY.

TRANSLATION FROM HEINE.

HE letter which you wrote me

THE

Disturbs me not a whit;

You'll love no more, you tell me, -
But there's too much of it.