Chapter 4

Young bashful Johnny loved sweet May, And went to court her every day, But his tongue could never swear He loved her true. It seems to me, had I been there, I'd vowed my love--now wouldn't you?

Sweet May would sit by Johnny's side And all her thoughts to him confide, Yet take her hand he'd never dare-- So near his, too. It seems to me, had I been there, I'd clasped it tight--now wouldn't you?

And May's red lips seemed to invite Sweet kisses, but so bold a flight He thought--yet wondered if she'd care-- Would never do. It seems to me, had I been there, I would have kissed her--now wouldn't you?

GEORGE G. GILLETTE. _Williams Literary Monthly._

~Cupid's Blunder.~

Poor Cupid froze his wings one day, When winds were cold and skies were gray, And clouds with snow were laden. A little maid was passing by; She caught the rogue,--he could not fly,-- O naughty little maiden!

She sent him off with sharpen'd dart, To steal for her a certain heart; But, oh, the mishap stupid! Since Cupid's blind, and cannot see. He went astray, and came to me. O naughty little Cupid!

So that is why my heart is gone, And I am dreary and forlorn, With tears my eyes are laden. She does not want my heart--ah, no! I did not wish to have it go; O Cupid, and O maiden!

GERTRUDE JONES. _Wellesley Magazine._

~As Toll.~

Lovely Mabel, were you dreaming? Glad the day you said to me, Dancing eyes so brightly beaming, "Give my love to dear Marie!" What a strange exhilaration To be bearer of your heart, What a wonderful temptation For a part.

For I have not tried to find her Since you sent your love by me; Day by day I think I'm blinder,-- Fruitless search, as you might see. I wonder, if in sending, If you choose your slave by chance, What that twinkle was portending In your glance?

Tell me, when I bear the treasure, Would you very angry be Should I keep a trifling measure That was hardly meant for me?

For it's common in commissions Some percentage of the whole To extract from you patricians. Just for toll.

JOHN BARKER. _Williams Literary Monthly._

~Chansonette.~

Dimpled cheeks and scarlet lips, Pink and dainty finger-tips, Glowing blushes, fragrant sighs, Looks dove-sweet from starry eyes, These do show this saying true-- Maidens all were meant to woo!

Guerdon dear shall be his meed Who will be Love's thrall in deed: Strollings 'neath a mellow moon, Whispers soft as rain in June, Kisses, maybe, one or two-- Maidens all were meant to woo!

WILL L. GRAVES. _Makio_.

~Triolet.~

He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe! Of course I said it wasn't fair To take advantage of me so, And kiss me 'neath the mistletoe,-- But then, 'twas only Jack, you know, And so I really didn't care! He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe, Although I said ft wasn't fair!

GERTRUDE CRAVEN. _Smith College Monthly_.

~Song.~

The April sun smiles bright above, The skies are deep and blue, I walk among the growing fields And dream, sweetheart, of you. And as I go, from out the wood A mocking-bird calls clear, "Sweetheart, sweetheart," and I turn, Half hoping thou art here.

Alas! the sunlight floods the earth, Yet all is dark to me; The flowers may gaily bud and bloom, The earth be fair to see; And "sweetheart, sweetheart," evermore The mocking-bird may sing, But in a fairer land thine eyes Are opening to the spring.

R.L. EATON. _Morningside_.

~The Effigy.~

And so she smiles!--Nor frown nor pout That look divine can put to rout.

I would, my love, thou wert half So constant as thy photograph!

P.P.S. _Parthenon_.

~Sotto Voce.~

Sing we of the summer, Of the old, old days, Of the reed songs and the murmur Of the waterways. Let thy song be merry, ever mine be sad; Let thy sigh be airy, even ofttimes glad; For then comes a sadness I cannot explain, Like the deep-plunged echo of a sea's refrain; And it dooms the sweetness Of her winsome ways To the dead completeness Of the old, old days.

Sing, Oh! then with joyance, Thou, my mandolin; Drown each dread annoyance Deep, thy soul within; Whisper ever lowly of her glad, true eyes; Sing her name, love, slowly, thou can'st sympathize; Teach my heart, my wilful heart, the faith of peace, Promising her constancy with time's increase. Bar, Oh! break the sadness Of the doubter's sin; Sing eternal gladness, Thou, my mandolin.

HAROLD MARTIN BOWMAN. _Inlander_.

~On Tying Daphne's Shoe.~

Tying her shoe, I knelt at Daphne's feet; My fumbling fingers found such service sweet, And lingered o'er the task till, when I rose, Cupid had bound me captive in her bows.

J. STUART BRYAN. _Virginia University Magazine_.

II. COMEDY

~Chappie's Lament.~

I walked one day with Phyllith Ovah in Bothton town, I in me long Pwinth Albert, She in a new Worth gown,

I talked that day with Phyllith, Ovah in Bothton town, Of things intenth and thoulful, Begged her me love to cwown.

I pawted that day fwom Phyllith Ovah in Bothton town; She'd be a bwothah to me, she said, But wouldn't be Mitheth Bwown.

FERRIS GREENSLET. _Wesleyan Literary Monthly_.

~Marigold.~

I love confinement in thy bonds, I love thy little stock to hold, Thy very scent, Aye, marigold!

I'll love confinement of thy bonds, I'll love thy little stocks to hold, Thy every cent, _I_ marry gold!

HENRY SAFFORD CANDEE. _Trinity Tablet_.

~An Idyl of the Strap.~

She spoke to me, her voice was low And sweet, With hidden thought I could not know Replete. She cast on me a lingering look That all my inmost being shook, And, as our glances mixed, she took My seat.

_Red and Blue._

~The Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous.~

AN ARABIAN LEGEND.

_Translated from the Arabic._

Far off in the waste of desert sand, The Jim-jam rules in the Jou-jou land: He sits on a throne of red-hot rocks, And moccasin snakes are his curling locks; And the Jou-jous have the conniption fits In the far-off land where the Jim-jam sits-- If things are nowadays as things were then. Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

The country's so dry in Jou-jou land You could wet it down with Sahara sand, And over its boundaries the air Is hotter than 'tis--no matter where: A camel drops down completely tanned When he crosses the line into Jou-jou land-- If things are nowadays as things were then. Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

A traveller once got stuck in the sand On the fiery edge of Jou-jou land; The Jou-jous they confiscated him, And the Jim-jam tore him limb from limb; But, dying, he said: "If eaten I am, I'll disagree with this Dam-jim-jam! He'll think his stomach's a Hoodoo's den!" Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

Then the Jim-jam felt so bad inside, It just about humbled his royal pride. He decided to physic himself with sand, And throw up his job in the Jou-jou land. He descended his throne of red-hot rocks, And hired a barber to cut his locks: The barber died of the got-'em-again, Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

And now let every good Mussulman Get all the good from this tale he can. If you wander off on a Jamboree, Across the stretch of the desert sea, Look out that right at the height of your booze You don't get caught by the Jou-jou-jous! You may, for the Jim-jam's at it again. Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!

ALARIC BERTRAND START. _Tuftonian_.

~Love up to Date.~

I know she loves me, though with scorn She treats my adoration; I know she loves me, though my suit She checks with strong negation.

And this I know, with proof as sure As though her lips had said it: Her heart I have before my eyes, And there I've plainly read it.

For cathode rays have stolen through This maiden so deceiving; And thus her heart I've photographed, And seeing is believing.

S. L. HOWARD. _The Tech._

~Miss Milly O'Naire.~

She is not young and fair, Nor has she golden hair, Nor a dimple in each cheek, If that is what you seek; Hers is a gift more rare, Miss Milly O'Naire.

She has not laughing eyes, Blue as the summer skies, Nor lips of cherry red, On kisses to be fed; No, it's not for these I care, Miss Milly O'Naire.

She is not wondrous wise, Seeks not for learning's prize. 'Tis true she knows no Greek, And her English grammar's weak, But why should I despair, Miss Milly O'Naire.

So woo and win her I will, For there's my tailor's bill, And creditors by the score; But they'll trouble me no more, For she has a million to spare, Miss Millionaire.

WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER. _The Badger._

~A Shy Little Maid.~

A love-lorn lad wooed a coy maid once, All of a summer's day he plead; Oft he spoke of the bonds of love--the dunce! And she shyly shook her head.

When from his heart hope had almost fled, He spoke of bonds he had in town. Still the shy little maiden shook her head-- But she shook it _up and down_.

_Trinity Tablet_.

~My Mistake.~

I met her on a Pullman car, In section number nine; Each eye shone like a morning star, With radiance divine. So when I placed my bags and traps In section number ten, She looked so tempting 'mid her wraps I sought her face again.

She glanced at me with roguish pose, Yet innocent of guile, Then colored like a blushing rose, And tried to hide a smile; The sweet confusion but enhanced Her dainty tint of pink, And quite by accident she chanced The nearest eye to wink.

When she refused my proffered card With scorn and proud disdain, I tried my best, and pleaded hard My error to explain. She listened to my mumblings crude, Then tossed her nose on high; "I think," she said, "you'd wink, if you'd A cinder in your eye."

E. P. G. _The Tech._

~Sic Semper.~

I sent her a spoon, She is married to-day; The wedding's at noon. I sent her a spoon-- And she loved me in June! But that's always their way. I sent her a spoon, She is married to-day.

WILL L. GRAVES. _Makio_.

~A Modern Instance.~

Her little hand in his he took, All hot and quivering it was; And noted how her eyes did look Bright as a lucent sapphire does.

Within her dainty little wrist Her pulse throbbed quick, as if her heart Beat love's glad summons to be kissed, Heart's first reveille since life's start,

Her oval cheeks were flushed with rose; Her red lips parted for such breath As hot from tropic spice lands blows; Enough 'twas to have warmed old Death!

He gazed at her; he spoke--and she Stuck out at him a small tongue's tip: The family doctor old was he, And she--he said she had _la grippe_.

_Red and Blue_.

~The Echo from the 17th.~

Who builds de railroads and canals, But furriners? Who helps across de street de gals, But furriners?

Who in de caucus has der say, Who does de votin' 'lection day, And who discovered U.S.A., But furriners?

FRANK TOURTELLOT EASTON. _Brunonian_.

~Ballade of Laura's Fan.~

It was never imported from France With a dainty Parisian frou-frou, Nor upon it do bull-fighters prance, As only the Spaniards can do. It was stencilled by no one knows who, Yet _I'd_ give all my coupons and rents For that one precious keepsake from you-- The fan that cost $0.63.

On the staircase we sat out a dance, Or twenty, for all that I knew; At times on the bliss of my trance The breath of the roses stole through. But redder than rose-petals grew Your cheeks, at my swift compliments; So the softest of breezes it blew-- The fan that cost $0.63.

It all seemed like a fairy romance, Below us the laughter and mu- Sic, while now and again, such a glance As is given on earth but to few From the depths of your eyes, fond and true, Set me dreaming of all their contents, Till I woke,--something hid them, from view,-- The fan that cost $0.63!

ENVOY.

My queen, for your favor I sue; If your heart through my pleading relents, To your feelings pray send me one clue-- The fan that cost $0.63.

_Harvard Lampoon_.

~Apparent.~

When I questioned young Smithson, a short time ago, Why no longer he courted Miss B., He looked at me strangely, and smiled just a bit-- "The reason's a parent!" cried he.

ALBERT ELLSWORTH THOMAS. _Brunonian_.

~The Call of Duty.~

At early morn, a valiant knight, On prancing charger, richly dight, With helm and lance and armor bright, Rose from his lordly halls: "Now, in this region, round about, There dwell three outlaws, strong and stout: If luck be mine, I'll find them out! For duty calls."

Friday, at three, another knight (Knowing that ladies all delight In music), shod with patents bright, Steers clear of Music Halls: "In Boston's Back Bay, round about, There dwell three matrons, plain and stout: If luck be mine, I'll find them out-- For 'duty calls.'"

R. C. ROBBINS. _Harvard Lampoon._

~A Paradox.~

'Tis a curious fact, but a fact very old; You can keep a fire hot by keeping it coaled.

HERBERT ERNEST DAY. _Brunonian_.

~St. Valentine's Eve.~

HE.

"I will write little Ethel some verses, The love that I bear her to tell; I've no money for tokens more costly, I'm sure these will do quite as well.

"How pleased she will be when she gets them! What a sweet little note I'll receive In acknowledgment of the verses I sent her St. Valentine's eve."

SHE.

"What a miserable jumble of phrases! What chaotic verse do I see! I wonder what could have possessed him To send these effusions to me!

"Never mind, though, I'm sure they'll be useful, And I think I know just about where." So she took them, and twisted, and placed them In the newly made curls of her hair.

E.W. BURLINGAME. _Yale Record_.

~Evidence.~

Of all the lines that volumes fill, Since Aesop first his fables told, The wisest is the proverb old, That every Jack must have his Jill.

But when the crowd that nightly fills The down-town places, hillward goes, To hear them sing, one would suppose That every Jack had several gills.

B.O.H. _Cornell Magazine_.

~The Widow's Mite.~

She was a widow stern and spry, And brimming with lots of fight; She married a little man five feet high, And he died from the widow's might.

_Columbia Spectator_.

~Lines to Her.~

There are other fellows nearer,-- And some of them are dearer,-- Of those sad thoughts my heart has not a doubt.

But I want to get in line With my little Valentine, So's not to let those fellows cut me out.

CHARLES FLOYD McCLURE. _Wisconsin Aegis_.

~A Sensible Serenade.~

I sing beneath your lattice, love, A serenade in praise of you; The moon is getting rather high, My voice is, too, my voice is, too.

The lakelet in deep shadow lies, Where frogs make much hullabaloo, I think they sing a trifle hoarse, And I do, too, and I do, too.

The blossoms on the pumpkin vine Are weeping diamond tears of dew; 'Tis warm, the flowers are wilting fast, My linen, too, my linen, too.

All motionless the cedars stand, With silent moonbeams glancing through, The very air is drowsy, love, And I am, too, and I am, too.

Oh, could I soar on loving wings, And at your window gently woo! But then your lattice you would bolt, So I'll bolt, too, so I'll bolt, too.

L.M.L. _Columbia Spectator_.

~Love's Secret.~

Well I know she is not handsome, She can neither sing nor dance, But I strangely am attracted By each careless nod and glance Of my Madeline.

Quite a philanthropic feeling Is my love, so true and rare, For she's burdened with great riches; In which burden I would share With my Madeline.

From such heavy care to shield her, Each and every purpose tends. I will help to clip the coupons, And I'll draw the dividends Of my Madeline.

ROBERT PECK BATES. _Trinity Tablet_.

~Pity 'tis, 'tis True.~

I sat me down at leisure; The ready waiter flew, My order took suavely, And shouted, "_Oyster stew_!"

The steaming dish was waiting, The ready waiter flew, Then, rose I up in anger, And left,--'twas "oysters two!"

HERBERT WELCH. _Wesleyan Argus._

~Broken Chains.~

He was tired of being shackled; She was faithless, that was plain; So his lawyer filed the papers, And the papers filed his chain.

EUGENE A. COX. _Vanderbilt Observer._

~Gory Gambols.~

I love my adversary's leg to kick, To frisk upon his features with my feet, Or bunt him in the stomach till he's sick-- All this is sweet.

I smile to hear his collar bone collapse, Accompanied by his expiring screech; To crack his ribs is happiness, perhaps, Beyond all reach.

I laugh aloud when, in the scrimmage wild, I smash the thigh bone of some lusty boy, And see him borne off, helpless as a child-- That, that is joy.

My sturdy heel into his spine I jam, To beat his mouth until he pouts at fate, To punch him sternly in the diaphragm Is rapture great.

Than to perceive his manly blood run red No greater joy can unto me be given; But at one kick to kick him down stone-dead-- That, that is heaven,

_Lehigh Burr_.

~The Man without a Country.~

The "man without a country" was in such a sorry plight, There wasn't any place on land where he might pass the night, But if you'd like to see a man as badly off as he, Who hasn't any place at all to stay on land or sea, Who has no spot he may enjoy to any great extent, Just wait until you see some time the man without a cent.

H.F.H. _Amherst Literary Monthly_.

~She Shook Her Head.~

"May I kiss you, dear," a youth once cried, Although scarce hoping what he said; But the maiden turned away her eyes And slowly, sadly, shook her head.

"But would you mind," he still went on, "Now would you really care," he said, "If I should kiss you?" and again She turned aside--and shook her head.

J.P. SAWYER. _Yale Record._

~Priscilla.~

Priscilla in the garret loft

Of rare old silks and velvets soft A heap espying,-- Forgotten hues of a by-gone day!-- The little maid in deft array Carefully folds and lays away With envious sighing.

Did they some rustic beauty grace, A comely form and winsome face. With footsteps flying? Or does she sigh because a bride They once adorned; now cast aside, Left in the garret there to hide, The dust defying?

Perchance her great-grandmother wore Them hundred years ago and more-- Priscilla's crying! "Come little maid, why this despair? What makes those big tears standing there?" "Ah, sir! because they will not bear Another dyeing."

_Yale Record_.

~Hard to Beat.~

Last night I held a little hand So dainty and so neat, Methought my heart would burst with joy, So wildly did it beat. No other hand into my soul Could greater solace bring, Than that I held last night, which was Four aces and a king.

WILLIAM A. THOMPSON. _Wesleyan Literary Monthly_.

~That Sweet Girl Graduate.~

So stately and so dignified She looks in cap and gown, I hardly dare to speak to her, This grad. of great renown.

I scarcely can believe my eyes! It surely can't be she Who always seemed so very shy, So very coy to me!

But suddenly the spell departs, And I give thanks to Fate; For anxiously she asks me if Her mortar-board's on straight.

_Harvard Lampoon._

~Faint Heart.~

My lady fair Her golden hair Lets fall a-down her shoulder. I'd steal a tress,-- She's no redress,-- Were I a little bolder.

From her sweet lip A bee might sip, Sweeter than rose-leaf's savor. A kiss I'd take,-- No cry she'd make,-- Were I a little braver.

Her neat, trim waist Just suits my taste; Close in my arms I'd fold her, And clasp her tight,-- She'd feel no fright,-- Were I a little bolder.

She's waiting now 'Till I find how To ask of her a favor. She'll be my wife,-- I'd stake my life,-- When I'm a little braver.

HARLAN COLBY PEARSON. _Dartmouth Literary Monthly_.

~A Spring Lament.~

The spring is come; warm breezes blow; It doesn't make me happy, tho';-- For seasons' changes only bring To me the pain of ordering Another suit. Style changes so!

This hat I'll hardly dare to show Near "Easter bonnets;" it's too low; I fear I must be purchasing; The spring is come.

I'm glad to have the winter go; I don't like ice, I don't like snow. Green fields, bright flowers, and birds to sing, Of course I like that sort of thing; But still--it makes me blue to know The spring is come.

LOUIS JONES MAGEE. _Wesleyan Argus_.

~A Street-Car Romance.~

I write to offer you my heart, O maiden, whom I do not know. Pray do not think me premature In making known my feelings so, For I have loved you steadfastly, O damsel of the unknown name, And all last night and half to-day My passion has been in a flame.

'Twas not your face, though that is fair, Nor yet your voice bewitched me so: (I heard you ask the motor-man How long before the car would go.) I saw you on the car that went From Harvard Square on Tuesday noon; I don't believe that you saw me, For you were reading the _Lampoon_.

And this is why I write to you: To say that I am wholly thine, I love you, for that first-page joke,-- The one you laughed at,--_that was mine._

W. AMES. _Harvard Lampoon_.

~Applied Mathematics.~

"My daughter," and his voice was stern, "You must set this matter right; What time did the Sophomore leave, Who sent in his card last night?"

"His work was pressing, father dear, And his love for it was great; He took his leave and went away Before a quarter of eight."

Then a twinkle came to her bright blue eye, And her dimple deeper grew. "'Tis surely no sin to tell him that, For a quarter of eight is two."

_Lehigh Burr_.

~The District Telegraph Boy.~

Hear the clatter of those feet; See him coming up the street On the trot! He is going to the Greens; No, he's going to the Dean's, Is he not?

See the uniform of blue, And the shiny letters, too, On his cap. I imagine he is quite An intelligent and bright Little chap.

What a careless tune he hums, And how innocently comes Hurrying. Ah, how little does he know Of the happiness or woe He can bring!

Now he brings a hopeless sigh. Now a sparkle to the eye, Now a tear. More of griefs, I think, than joys-- Why! the fateful little boy's Coming here!

Goodness, how he pulls the bell! He has some bad news to tell, I'm afraid. Oh, I hope it's not for me! Alice, sign for it, and see If it's paid.

It is surely not from Will, For his morning smoke is still In the air. Has poor uncle breathed his last? Has his weary spirit passed From all care?

Then poor auntie is bereft, And that sunny home is left Fatherless. Or old cousin Ed and May 'Ve gone and had another ba- By, I guess.

What if John has lost, poor man, Little Clementine or Nan, Or his wife! Oh, the hopefulness, the fears! Oh, the rapture! Oh, the tears! Of this life!

I don't like the thing a bit; I don't dare to open it; How I shake! Why, It's from that man of mine: "_Will bring partner home to dine; Get a steak."_

LOUIS JONES MAGEE. _Wesleyan Argus_.

~Relapse.~

I study Evolution, And hear the teacher tell How we have all developed From an isolated cell; And in the examination Some fellows make it plain Their principles will bring them To the starting-point again.

CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD. _Sequoia_.

~Yale, A.D. 2000.~

Far from the ball-room's crowded throng These two had strolled apart, While he with fervor whispered of Her image in his heart.

And that he might detain it there Forever from that day, Our Co-ed shyly gave to him A Yale lock long and gray.

_Yale Record_.

~In Maiden Meditation.~