Ah truly; if for once I stray
Into the treadmill,-'tis in play.
I will not own its narrow code,
It shall not be my cramped abode.
Free of the fields, in open day
I go my gait!
Emily Pfeiffer.
(TO LOUIS HONORE FRÉCHETTE.)
Laurels for song! And nobler bays,
In old Olympian golden days
Of clamour thro' the clear-eyed morn,
No bowed triumphant head hath borne
Victorious in all Hellas' gaze!
They watched his glowing axles graze
The goal, and rent the heavens with praise;-
Yet the supremer heads have worn
Laurels for song.
So thee, from no palaestra-plays
A conqueror, to the gods we raise,
Whose brows of all our singers born
The sacred fillets chief adorn,-
Who first of all our choice displays
Laurels for song.
Charles G. D. Roberts.
"WITHOUT ONE KISS."
Without one kiss she's gone away,
And stol'n the brightness out of day;
With scornful lips and haughty brow
She's left me melancholy now,
In spite of all that I could say.