OLD MAN TO AN OLD MADEIRA

nd then we met in middle age, You matronly and older;

nd somewhat gone your maiden blush,

And I, well, rather colder.

nd now that you are thin and pale,
And I am slowly graying,

Je meet, remindful of the past,
When we two went a-Maying.

_las! while you, an old coquette,
Still flaunt your faded roses,
The arctic loneliness of age
Around my pathway closes.

Dear aged wanton of the feast,
Egeria of gay dinners,

leave your unforgotten charm

To other younger sinners.

Or was it some love-wildered beau

Of old colonial days,

With clouded cane and broidered coat, And very artful ways?

And did he whisper through her curls Some wicked, pleasant vow,

And swear no courtly dame had words As sweet as "thee" and "thou"?

Or did he praise her dimpled chin
In eager song or sonnet,

And find a merry way to cheat
Her kiss-defying bonnet?

And sang he then in verses gay,
Amid this forest shady,

The dainty flower at her feet
Was like his Quaker lady?

And did she pine in English fogs,
Or was his love enough?

And did she learn to sport the fan,

And use the patch and puff?

OLD MAN TO AN OLD MADEIRA

as! Perhaps she played quadrille,
And, naughty grown and older,
as pleased to show a dainty neck,
Above a dainty shoulder.

t sometimes in the spring, I think, She saw, as in a dream,

ne meeting-house, the home sedate, The Schuylkill's quiet stream;

nd sometimes in the minuet's pause Her heart went wide afield,

o where, amid the woods of May, A blush its love revealed.

ill far away from court and king,
And powder and brocade,
he Quaker ladies at her feet
Their quaint obeisance made.

SILAS WEIR MITCHELL

THE PORTRAIT OF "A GEN

TLEMAN"

IN THE ATHENEUM GALLERY

It may be so,

perhaps thou hast

A warm and loving heart;

I will not blame thee for thy face,

Poor devil as thou art.

That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose,
Unsightly though it be,-

In spite of all the cold world's scorn,
It may be much to thee.

Those eyes,

among thine elder friends

Perhaps they pass for blue;

66

PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN"

I know thou hast a wife at home,
I know thou hast a child,

By that subdued, domestic smile
Upon thy features mild.

That wife sits fearless by thy side,
That cherub on thy knee;

They do not shudder at thy looks,
They do not shrink from thee.

She begged thee not to let it go,
She begged thee all in vain;

She wept, — and breathed a trem

bling prayer

To meet it safe again.

It was a bitter sight to see

That picture torn away;