12 RECREATION. 



ETHELINDA. 



STANLEY WATERLOO. 



My Ethelinda's curled her down 

 'Neath the mighty beech, where the leaves are 



brown ; 

 She's chattering in a merry mood, 

 The daintiest creature of the wood : 

 My comrade she, 

 The love of me, 

 My sweetheart in the forest. 



My Ethelinda has a bout 

 In her trim canoe with a mighty trout 

 And the pines which love her, seem to nod 

 In sympathy with her bending rod : 

 " My thing of joy, 

 My fisher boy," 

 I call mv Ethelinda. 



My Ethelinda swims with me — 

 As deft in the waves as an otter she — 

 She laughs and frolics by my side 

 As we drift along with the freshet's tide : 

 My water's pearl, 

 My Indian girl, 

 My Naiad of the river. 



My Ethelinda's hand is quick, 

 Of the sudden shot she's learned the trick, 

 And the hurtling course of the grouse is done 

 With the sharp report of the lightest gun : 



My wood nymph she 



Of high degree, 



My little brown Diana. 



The daylight breaks ; my eyes are dim ; 

 I'm here alone with my boatman grim. 

 My Ethelinda's gone from sight, 

 For she only conies in my dreams at night : 



My vision's heart, 



My other part, 



My flitting thing of beauty. 



