Chapter 2 C. STONE. Amherst Literary Monthly.

[Illustration: A BROWN GIRL.]

~Tantalizing.~

Her rosy cheeks are pressed to mine,

Her gleaming hair lies on my shoulder,

Her arms are clasped about my neck,

And yet my arms do not enfold her.

Her throbbing heart beats loud and fast,

Her wistful eyes are gently pleading.

Her blushing lips are pursed to kiss,

And yet my lips are all unheeding.

I coldly loose her clinging arms,

And roughly from my side I shove her.

It's amateur theatricals,

And I must play the tyrant lover.

HENRY MORGAN STONE. Brunonian

~Phantasy.~

Her beaming eyes of deepest blue

Enthralled all who to Yale were true.

Her crimson lips, too, conquests made:

Fair Harvard's sons their homage paid,

And many a suitor came to woo

Petite Elaine.

I begged a kiss awhile ago;

The crimson lips, 'tis true, said "No,"

But in her eyes turned up to me

I read the answer differently-

The crimson never had a show,

Yale won again.

Yale Record.

~Rosebuds.~

She plucked a rosebud by the wall

And placed it in his outstretched hands;

It was love's token, that was all,

And he rode off to foreign lands.

He kept the rosebud in his breast,

And when the battle charge was led,

They found him slain among the rest,

The rosebud stained a deeper red.

But she, beside the wall that day,

A rosebud gave to other hands;

Nor thought of that one borne away

By him who rode to foreign lands.

Bowdoin Orient.

~Bashful Johnny.~

Young bashful Johnny loved sweet May,

And went to court her every day,

But his tongue could never swear

He loved her true.

It seems to me, had I been there,

I'd vowed my love-now wouldn't you?

Sweet May would sit by Johnny's side

And all her thoughts to him confide,

Yet take her hand he'd never dare-

So near his, too.

It seems to me, had I been there,

I'd clasped it tight-now wouldn't you?

And May's red lips seemed to invite

Sweet kisses, but so bold a flight

He thought-yet wondered if she'd care-

Would never do.

It seems to me, had I been there,

I would have kissed her-now wouldn't you?

GEORGE G. GILLETTE. Williams Literary Monthly.

~Cupid's Blunder.~

Poor Cupid froze his wings one day,

When winds were cold and skies were gray,

And clouds with snow were laden.

A little maid was passing by;

She caught the rogue,-he could not fly,-

O naughty little maiden!

She sent him off with sharpen'd dart,

To steal for her a certain heart;

But, oh, the mishap stupid!

Since Cupid's blind, and cannot see.

He went astray, and came to me.

O naughty little Cupid!

So that is why my heart is gone,

And I am dreary and forlorn,

With tears my eyes are laden.

She does not want my heart-ah, no!

I did not wish to have it go;

O Cupid, and O maiden!

GERTRUDE JONES. Wellesley Magazine.

~As Toll.~

Lovely Mabel, were you dreaming?

Glad the day you said to me,

Dancing eyes so brightly beaming,

"Give my love to dear Marie!"

What a strange exhilaration

To be bearer of your heart,

What a wonderful temptation

For a part.

For I have not tried to find her

Since you sent your love by me;

Day by day I think I'm blinder,-

Fruitless search, as you might see.

I wonder, if in sending,

If you choose your slave by chance,

What that twinkle was portending

In your glance?

Tell me, when I bear the treasure,

Would you very angry be

Should I keep a trifling measure

That was hardly meant for me?

For it's common in commissions

Some percentage of the whole

To extract from you patricians.

Just for toll.

JOHN BARKER. Williams Literary Monthly.

~Chansonette.~

Dimpled cheeks and scarlet lips,

Pink and dainty finger-tips,

Glowing blushes, fragrant sighs,

Looks dove-sweet from starry eyes,

These do show this saying true-

Maidens all were meant to woo!

Guerdon dear shall be his meed

Who will be Love's thrall in deed:

Strollings 'neath a mellow moon,

Whispers soft as rain in June,

Kisses, maybe, one or two-

Maidens all were meant to woo!

WILL L. GRAVES. Makio.

~Triolet.~

He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe!

Of course I said it wasn't fair

To take advantage of me so,

And kiss me 'neath the mistletoe,-

But then, 'twas only Jack, you know,

And so I really didn't care!

He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe,

Although I said ft wasn't fair!

GERTRUDE CRAVEN. Smith College Monthly.

~Song.~

The April sun smiles bright above,

The skies are deep and blue,

I walk among the growing fields

And dream, sweetheart, of you.

And as I go, from out the wood

A mocking-bird calls clear,

"Sweetheart, sweetheart," and I turn,

Half hoping thou art here.

Alas! the sunlight floods the earth,

Yet all is dark to me;

The flowers may gaily bud and bloom,

The earth be fair to see;

And "sweetheart, sweetheart," evermore

The mocking-bird may sing,

But in a fairer land thine eyes

Are opening to the spring.

R.L. EATON. Morningside.

~The Effigy.~

And so she smiles!-Nor frown nor pout

That look divine can put to rout.

I would, my love, thou wert half

So constant as thy photograph!

P.P.S. Parthenon.

~Sotto Voce.~

Sing we of the summer,

Of the old, old days,

Of the reed songs and the murmur

Of the waterways.

Let thy song be merry, ever mine be sad;

Let thy sigh be airy, even ofttimes glad;

For then comes a sadness I cannot explain,

Like the deep-plunged echo of a sea's refrain;

And it dooms the sweetness

Of her winsome ways

To the dead completeness

Of the old, old days.

Sing, Oh! then with joyance,

Thou, my mandolin;

Drown each dread annoyance

Deep, thy soul within;

Whisper ever lowly of her glad, true eyes;

Sing her name, love, slowly, thou can'st sympathize;

Teach my heart, my wilful heart, the faith of peace,

Promising her constancy with time's increase.

Bar, Oh! break the sadness

Of the doubter's sin;

Sing eternal gladness,

Thou, my mandolin.

HAROLD MARTIN BOWMAN. Inlander.

~On Tying Daphne's Shoe.~

Tying her shoe, I knelt at Daphne's feet;

My fumbling fingers found such service sweet,

And lingered o'er the task till, when I rose,

Cupid had bound me captive in her bows.

J. STUART BRYAN. Virginia University Magazine.