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Pour me, from Ionian goblets,
Wine of legislation's spring.
Drawn from life streams of the vine,
When the flame born fills the soul,
Leap exulting from the bowl.
Sympathizing with the glee
Loudly I will sing to thee.
But without the blood stained string.
HOW KISSING FIRST CAME UP, One glowing summer morning, reading calmly in the
glade, Where shadows of the waving trees a moving carpet
made, With gauzy flowing garments, gliding fay-like through
the air, Young Ellen came and lightly leant upon my garden
chair, Her white round arm so lightly leaning on the rustic
“What quaint old musty volume, cousin, are you ponder
ing o'er?" “The History of Womankind, as told in days of yore; With curious tales of customs strange its pages do
And here the way how kissing first came up' is to be
found, How kissing first was introduced, herein is to be found. This pleasing pastime first began in Rome, as some
assert, Where ladies never tasted wine, not even at dessert ; And kinsmen to be certain of such abstinence, it saith, First kissed relations on the mouth, to find out by their
breath, To find out if the rich wine's fragrance lingered in
In thoughtful blushing silence, gentle Ellen looketh
down, And gathereth on her puzzled brow faint semblance of a
frown; “Why you so oft have kissed me, I could ne'er before
divine, But, oh !-how could you-could you ever think I smelt
of wine, Now, cousin ! did you really ever think I smelt of
THE MUFFIN BELL.
A COUNTRY-TOWN SONG.
That little noisy muffin-bell,
Tinkling down the misty street,
Festive hours, when old friends meet.
The autumn stores are gathered in ;
And filberts, peeping through their husk,
Coax old port from choicest bin.
Changed the vesture of his prime;
Soon he'll wear a beard of rime. Prepare a welcome for our guest,
Heaps of game, no doubt, he'll bring; Make home a warm and cosy nest,
Books we'll read, and songs we'll sing. Ting-a-ring-ting, tinkle ting, tingle ting ! That little bell cheerful thoughts does bring. Shut out the night, each curtain close,
Trim the brightly glowing fire ; Loud, hoarse, and shrill the rude wind blows,
Draw your chairs a little higher. Abroad some seek ambition's prize,
Home-found joys please others well;
Hark! I hear the muffin bell.
G A LA TEA.
A MADRIGAL. “Malo me Galatea petit, lasciva puella ; Et fugit ad salices, et se cupit ante videri."
VIRG. Ecl. iii. Blooming, blushing, Galatea,
Hastening to the wood I see her;
With her pretty head askance,
Sweet enticing Galatea.
Why seeketh she the osier shade,
That coy, alluring, winsome maid ?
The sportive girl an apple throws
At me, as to the wood she goes,
Laughing, mocking Galatea.
As the sun descends,
Richer robes clothe the changing west,
Happy type of a heavenly rest.
As the peach-bloom fades to white,
Sheds a hallowing balm
O'er the threshold of coming night.
Love for the old !
The sides of the mountains high;
Earth's mists and a cloudless sky.
FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW.
Sabbath morn, snowflakes are falling
Round the Church-yard's grey stone wall; Softer sound the chime bells calling
To the village and the hall : Come unto me heavy laden,
Little children come to me, Yeoman, matron, youth and maiden,
Come ! to all God's house is free. Cheerfully a crowd is wending,
Leaving footprints in the snow; Onward leading, upward bending
To the Church-crown'd hill they go. See! a gleam of sunshine, playing
O'er the pulpit's glowing red, Seems to bless the Vicar praying,
As he bows his silver head.
Trace out many a winding way
Evening veils the silent day.