And the maid, she looked him over with her elfin eyes of brown, And the limpid water, giggled at his plight. He reached the other side; he set down the dainty maid; Then the dainty, dainty maid, "Thank you, sir! Good-day!" she said, And the water-bubbles chuckled as they heard. Oh, she tripped away so lightly, a-maying in the morn, But she left the simple country lad a-sighing and forlorn, Charles G. D. Roberts. TO A SKYLARK. Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire, The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the setting sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run, Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. Keen as are the arrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chant, Matched with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt, A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now. Percy Bysshe Shelley. RIDING DOWN. Oh, did you see him riding down, Oh, did you hear those bells ring out, And did you see the waving flags, Red, white, and blue, shot through and through, And did you hear the drums' gay beat, And did you see me waiting there, And did you see him smiling down? My face uplifted, red and white,- Oh, did you see how swift it came, The little lass who blushed to see? And at the windows all along, Each face was like a radiant gem,— He turned away from all their grace, Nora Perry. HUMOR. The upper tones of the voice are peculiarly those of Humor. A sudden flight on the musical scale, from a comparatively low note to a very high one, is usually provocative of mirth. The greatest possible variety in intonation, united with an airiness of movement and an approach to a laughing utterance, are the principal requirements of Humorous Reading. HUMOROUS SELECTIONS. A SENATOR ENTANGLED. The Countess di Nottinero was not exactly a Recamier, but she was a remarkably brilliant woman, and the acknowledged leader of the liberal part of Florentine society. The good Senator had never before encountered a thorough woman of the world, and was as ignorant as a child of the innumerable little harmless arts by which the power of such a one is extended and secured. At last the Senator came to this conclusion,-La Cica was desperately in love with him. She appeared to be a widow. At least she had no husband that he had ever seen. Now, if the poor Cica was hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. But let it be done delicately, not abruptly. One evening they walked on the balcony of La Cica's noble residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming. The conversation of a fascinating woman does not sound so well when it is reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her expression or the deep tenderness of her well modulated voice?-who indeed? "Does ze scene please you, my Senator?" |