When moonlight reposes on valley and hill, 
When all save the strain of the mock-bird is still, 
Or the murmuring brook on its path to the sea, 
I seek its green borders, to dream, love, of thee. 
When hushed is the hum of the bee mid the flowers, 
And soft comes the strain from the green shaded 
bowers, 
When night winds are rustling each leaf on the tree, 
Beneath its dark shadows, I dream, love, of thee. 
Anon. 
©ctobflr 20. 
OX-EYE DAISY. — Disappointment. 
I never nursed a dear gazelle, 
To glad me with its soft, black eye, 
But when it came to know me well, 
And love me, it was sure to die! 
I never had a piece of bread 
Particularly wide, 
But that it fell upon the floor, 
Upon the buttered side ! 
Moore, altered. 
£rl 
10 
