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My candlady's Daughters.

WAS in the prime of full term-time,

Beside the Isis' waters,

I saw the smiles and felt the wiles

Of my landlady's daughters.

Their cheeks were fair, and bright their hair,

A golden bright I mean;

One packed my box, one darned my socks,
And both made love, I ween.

The one would play the livelong day
The most seductive airs;
T'other, unperceived by mother,

Would meet me on the stairs.

VOL. VII.

F

66

MY LANDLADY'S DAUGHTERS.

And then the bliss of that first kiss,

Behind the garden door!

I do aver, like Oliver,

I always "asked for more."

We had soft talks, and moonlight walks
To Cumnor or to Iffley;

And if from far we saw mamma
We walked along quite stiffly.

Both took my carte-one took my heart,
My books were quite neglected.

I tried the Schools; like other fools
Was "ploughed," and left dejected.

66 The powers that be" seemed not to see
The force of my proceedings,

They stopped supplies and shut their eyes
To letters and to pleadings.

I paid my rent, away I went,
And left bright Isis' waters,
And cursed the hour I felt the
Of my landlady's daughters.

B.N.C.

power

W. B.

Light and Shade.

HEN the sun is shining bright, friend,
And life is young and strong,

And hope refuses to believe

The noontide is not long;

Be joyous in my joy, friend,
Be merry while we may:
It is not always summer, friend,
And night must follow day.

When the sun is setting fast, and, friend,
The light is almost gone,

And hopes are vain and unfulfilled,

And we are sad and lone

We'll share our grief together, friend,

As once we shared our mirth.

Love is alone eternal, friend,
And who can tell its worth?

VOL. VII.

J. G. T.

F 2

SCATTER the flowerets o'er the bier,

Break, break dark sorrow's spell; Shed on her form the parting tear, And speak the last farewell.

Look on the cold yet lovely face,

And kiss the clammy brow;
Give the cold clay thy last embrace,
And veil the sleeper now.

Never again that form shall rise

To bid thy heart rejoice;

Ne'er shalt thou see those bright blue eyes, Or hear that silvery voice.

Nipt by the cold of death's keen frost,
The flower has passed away;

All that was loved and dear is lost
In one untimely day.

Spring may not call to joy and bloom
The life that once has fled;
Summer shall glad her silent tomb,
But shall not wake the dead.

Calmly within her snow-white shroud
She takes her long last rest;

Pain shall not throb, nor earth's dark cloud
Loom in that lifeless breast.

Weep we, the lorn ones, round her bier,
With grief, with bitter pain;

She whom we weep shall shed no tear,

Shall never mourn again.

Οὐκαλέγων.

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