With the same frank, handsome face she knew, A smile as bright, and an eye as black-- "Phoebe," he said, "I have wandered far; Are you glad to see your playmate back?" The kitten still purred on the kitchen hearth, And the ancient clock, with its frame of oak, In the corner stood, like a sentinel, And challenged time with its measured stroke. A pleased light shone in the maiden's eyes; Ah, love, young love, it is very sweet! Reuben had gone, but she sat quite still, And the knitting lay untouched at her feet. Just then the dame came bustling in, And went to the oven without ado. "Why, Phoebe, child, what have you done? The bread is baked as black as my shoe!" And Phoebe started, and blushed for shame, Took up her knitting and dropped it down; And when her aunt said, "What ails you, child?" She hastily answered, "Reuben Brown." Ah, love! young love! it is very sweet, In field, or hamlet, or crowded mart; But it burns with the brightest, purest flame In the hidden depths of a young maid's heart. THE LOST HEART. One golden summer day, Along the forest-way, Young Colin passed with blithesome steps alert. His locks with careless grace Rimmed round his handsome face And drifted outward on the airy surge. So blithe of heart was he, He hummed a melody, And all the birds were hushed to hear him sing. Across his shoulders flung His bow and baldric hung: So, in true huntsman's guise, he threads the wood. The sun mounts up the sky, The air moves sluggishly, And reeks with summer heat in every pore. His limbs begin to tire, Slumbers his youthful fire; He sinks upon a violet-bed to rest. The soft winds go and come With low and drowsy hum, And ope for him the ivory gate of dreams. Beneath the forest-shade There trips a woodland maid, And marks with startled eye the sleeping youth. At first she thought to fly, Then, timid, drawing nigh, She gazed in wonder on his fair young face. When swiftly stooping down Upon his locks so brown She lightly pressed her lips, and blushing fled. When Colin woke from sleep, From slumbers calm and deep, He felt--he knew not how--his heart had flown. And so, with anxious care, He wandered here and there, But could not find his lost heart anywhere. Then he, with air distraught, And brow of anxious thought, Went out into the world beyond the wood. Of each that passed him by, He queried anxiously, "I prithee, hast thou seen a heart astray?" Some stared and hurried on, While others said in scorn. "Your heart has gone in search of your lost wits"