When Gladys plays in gladsome glee,
All men and gods might wish to see.
With flushing cheek and flashing eye
She strokes the ball or lobs it high,
With cuts of great variety.
The ball hides in some blooming tree,
And sorely tries poor patient me;
But I swear not, oh, no! not I,
When Gladys plays.
When whist with all propriety,
As Foster, Hoyle, or Pole decree,
We play together, although my
Good ace she trumps, I merely sigh
And grant the points to the enemy,
When Gladys plays.
FERRIS GREENSLET. Wesleyan Literary Monthly.
~At the Club.~
When a pretty maiden passes
By the window down the Street,
Cards and billiards lose their sweet;
Conversation on old brasses
Languishes; up go the glasses:
"Nice complexion!" "Dainty feet!"
When a pretty maiden passes
By the window down the street
Smith forgets the "toiling masses,"
Robinson, the fall in wheat;
All the club is indiscreet.
Ah, the wisest men are asses
When a pretty maiden passes
By the window down the street!
RICHARD HOVEY. Dartmouth Lyrics.
~Friends.~
The wintry sky may be chill and drear,
And the wind go sighing in mournful strain,
Or it may be the spring of the waking year,
When flowers and birds return again.
Be it March or May, it matters not,
Snow or violets on the ground,
I know a little bewitching spot,
Where it is fair the whole year round.