"Escape," the boy-god said, "is vain," And shook the diamonds from his wings: "I'll bind thee captive to my train, Fairest of earthy things!" "Go, saucy archer, go! I freedom's value know: Begon, I pray--to none I'll say Love, honor, and obey!" "Speed, arrow, to thy mark!" he cried-- Swift as a ray of light it flew! Love spread his purple pinions wide, And faded from her view! Joy filled that maiden's eyes-- Twin load-stars from the skies!-- And one bright day her lips DID say, "Love, honor, and obey!" My Mother's Bible. This book is all that's left me now!-- Tears will unbidden start-- With faltering lip and throbbing brow I press it to my heart. For many generations past, Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped, She, dying, gave it me. Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear; Who round the hearth-stone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still! My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters dear; How calm was my poor mother's look Who leaned God's word to hear! Her angel face--I see it yet! What vivid memories come!-- Again that little group is met Within the halls of home! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried: Where all were false I found thee true, My counselor and guide. The mines of earth no treasures give That could this volume buy: In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. "The Dog-Star Rages." Unseal the city fountains, And let the waters flow In coolness from the mountains Unto the plains below. My brain is parched and erring, The pavement hot and dry, And not a breath is stirring Beneath the burning sky. The belles have all departed-- There does not linger one! Of course the mart's deserted By every mother's son, Except the street musician And men of lesser note, Whose only earthly mission Seems but to toil and vote! A woman--blessings on her!-- Beneath my window see; She's singing--what an honor!-- Oh! "Woodman, spare that tree!" Her "man" the air is killing-- His organ's out of tune-- They're gone, with my last shilling, [See Notes (1)] To Florence's saloon. [See Notes (2)] New York is most compactly Of brick and mortar made-- Thermometer exactly One hundred in the shade! A furnace would be safer Than this my letter-room, Where gleams the sun, a wafer, About to seal my doom. The town looks like an ogre, The country like a bride; Wealth hies to Saratoga, And Worth to Sunny-side. [See Notes (3)] While fashion seeks the islands Encircled by the sea, Taste find the Hudson Highlands More beautiful and free.