THE USUAL WAY THERE was once a little man, and his rod and line he took, For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook." And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day, And they met-in the usual way. Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by, But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie; "I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day!" And he was-in the usual way. So he gravely took his rod in hand, and threw the line about, But the fish perceived distinctly that he was not looking out; And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you!" but she said she could not stay: But she did-in the usual way. Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh, As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, run ning by; "We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray, And they did-in the usual way. And day by day beside the stream they wandered to and fro, And day by day the fishes swam securely down below; The Way to Arcady 201 And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo? Do they never fret and quarrel as other couples do? obey? Well-they do-in the usual way. Frederic E. Weatherly. THE WAY TO ARCADY Он, what's the way to Arcady, Oh, what's the way to Arcady? Oh, what's the way to Arcady? Oh, I am bound for Arcady, And where away lies Arcady, And how long yet may the journey be? Ah, thab (quoth he) I do not know- But how shall I do who cannot sing? I was wont to sing, once on a timeThere is never an echo now to ring Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme. 'Tis strange you cannot sing (quoth he), The folk all sing in Arcady. But how may he find Arcady Who hath not youth nor melody? What, know you not, old man (quoth he)— Your hair is white, your face is wiseThat Love must kiss that Mortal's eyes Who hopes to see fair Arcady? No gold can buy you entrance there; Ah, woe is me, through all my days The Way to Arcady There was a time, when life was new- But Love I fear I knew it not. But you, you fare alone, like me; The gray is likewise in your hair. What love have you to lead you there, To Arcady, to Arcady? Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; My true companion's Memory. With Love he fills the Spring-time air; My song goes straight to one who stands- My maid is dead long years (quoth he), Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, 203 H. C. Bunner. MY LOVE AND MY HEART Он, the days were ever shiny Oh, I loved like anything! But my love she is a kitten, She was pleasingly poetic, And she loved my little rhymes; And have taught my love to sing! But my love she is a kitten, And my heart's a ball of string. Would she listen to my offer, Of my hand and of my heart. I would fix a wedding ringBut my love she is a kitten, And my heart's a ball of string. Take a warning, happy lover, Henry S. Leigh. |