We see them as we did of yore
In the dear old days long past;
Ere they were called to the other shore,—
But those fancies cannot last.
And though the heart in fondness seeks
To bid them longer stay—
Yonder grim churchyard mutely speaks
Of loved ones passed away.
ADVENTURE OF A LOVER
’Twas Saturday eve.—The love-lorn swain
Was hastening toward Jennie’s house;
His mien indicative of fear
For neither man nor mouse.
But ere he reached the farmhouse gate
An object he chanced to spy.—
’Twas only a table-cloth Jennie had washed
And hung on the line to dry.
But he knew it not, so there he stood
Deciding what to do,—
He dare not venture too near the spook,—
Yet the gate he must go through!—
The white cloth flapped in the gentle breeze—
’Twas too much for Jennie’s beau;
He turned and ran off down the hill
As fast as he could go!
He imagined that footsteps were following fast,—
So away like a gale ran he;
Nor did he stop, till he reached the top
Of Squire Pettigrew’s crab-apple tree!
———
Just then the moon, with a bright smiling face,
Came out from behind a black cloud,—
Little Nell, at the window, stood watching the moon,
And she uttered a cry long and loud.—