

} 
ST TERE PLAS MILT ES PLR TREE AS ERIE SSS IIIS RES EEA SADLY 7 PS ET A SC NCE WHE 
SLI AE FERRE SA SL YD TTA ER BATES BSNS SRE SG ECT 
PETC CRO PT EUS 
AERA 
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ee 
482 ANONYMOUS. 
Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mild moon, 
Behind those chestnut boughs, 
Casting their dappled shadows at my feet; 
I will be grateful for that simple boon, 
In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, 
And bless thy dainty face whene’er we meet, 

The Ghening Gillitlotver, 
Anon, 
OME, look at this plant, with its narrow, pale leaves, 
And its tall, slim, delicate stem, 
Thinly studded with flowers !—yes, with flowers !— 
There they are ! 
Don’t you see at each joint there’s a little brown star ? 
But in truth, there’s no beauty in them. 
So you ask why I keep it ? the little mean thing! 
Why I stick it up here, just in sight, — 
"Tis a fancy of mine,—‘‘ A strange fancy !” you say ; 
** No accounting for tastes!” In this instance, you may, 
For the flower... . But I'll tell you to-night. 
Some six hours hence, when the Lady Moon 
Looks down on that bastion’d wall, 
When the twinkling stars dance silently 
On the rippling surface of the sea, 
And the heavy night-dews fall ; 

Sa a 

a a ICRI 
EE SAIN 20 A UNE SENET NTO 

