The lusty blast can scarce forego
His cape about his ears to blow,
As feebly to his final dwelling
The Old Year goes.
Within the belfry, row on row,
The bells are swinging to and fro;
Now joyfully the chimes are swelling—
Now solemn and few the notes are knelling—
For here the New Year comes:—and lo!
The Old Year goes!
Brander Matthews.
SUB ROSA.
Under the rows of gas-jets bright,
Bathed in a blazing river of light,
A regal beauty sits; above her
The butterflies of fashion hover,
And burn their wings, and take to flight.
Mark you her pure complexion,-white
Though flush may follow flush? Despite
Her blush, the lily I discover
Under the rose.
All compliments to her are trite;
She has adorers left and right;
And I confess, here, under cover
Of secrecy, I too-I love her!
Say naught; she knows it not. 'Tis quite
Under the rose.
Brander Matthews.