Yes, an’ Ponchus he’ps Pa, too, When our _butcherin’s_ to do, An’ scalds hogs—an’ says, “Take care ’Bout it, er you’ll _set the hair_!” Yes, an’ out in our back-yard He he’ps ’Lindy rendur lard; An’, wite in the fire there, he Roast’ a pigtail wunst fer me.— An’ ist nen th’ole tavurn-bell Rung, down-town, an’ he says, “Well!— Hear dat! _Lan’ o’ Caanan_, Son, Ain’t dat bell say ‘_Pigtail done!_’ —‘_Pigtail done!_ _Go call Son!—_ _Tell dat_ _Chile dat_ _Pigtail done!_’” A TWINTORETTE Ho! my little maiden With the glossy tresses, Come thou and dance with me A measure all divine; Let my breast be laden With but thy caresses— Come thou and glancingly Mate thy face with mine. Thou shalt trill a rondel, While my lips are purling Some dainty twitterings Sweeter than the birds’; And, with arms that fondle Each as we go twirling, We will kiss, with titterings, Lisps and loving words. SLUMBER-SONG Sleep, little one! The Twilight folds her gloom Full tenderly about the drowsy Day, And all his tinselled hours of light and bloom Like toys are laid away. Sleep! sleep! The noon-sky’s airy cloud of white Has deepened wide o’er all the azure plain; And, trailing through the leaves, the skirts of Night Are wet with dews as rain. But rest thou sweetly, smiling in thy dreams, With round fists tossed like roses o’er thy head, And thy tranc’d lips and eyelids kissed with gleams Of rapture perfected. THE CIRCUS PARADE The Circus!—The Circus!—The throb of the drums, And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; The clash and the clang of the cymbals that beat, As the glittering pageant winds down the long street! In the Circus parade there is glory clean down From the first spangled horse to the mule of the Clown, With the gleam and the glint and the glamour and glare Of the days of enchantment all glimmering there! And there are the banners of silvery fold Caressing the winds with their fringes of gold, And their high-lifted standards, with spear-tips aglow, And the helmeted knights that go riding below. There’s the Chariot, wrought of some marvellous shell The Sea gave to Neptune, first washing it well With its fabulous waters of gold, till it gleams Like the galleon rare of an Argonaut’s dreams. And the Elephant, too, (with his undulant stride That rocks the high throne of a king in his pride,) That in jungles of India shook from his flanks The tigers that leapt from the Jujubee-banks. Here’s the long, ever-changing, mysterious line Of the Cages, with hints of their glories divine From the barred little windows, cut high in the rear, Where the close-hidden animals’ noses appear.