Aloose I cast the bridle, And ply the whip and spur; And gayly I Speed this reply, While faring on to her: "Oh, true love, fear thou not! I seek our trysting spot; And double feed be yours, my steed, If you more swiftly trot." I vault from out the saddle, And make my good steed fast; Then to my breast My love is pressed,-- At last, true heart, at last! The garden drowsing lies, The stars fold down their eyes,-- In this dear spot, my steed, neigh not, Nor stamp in restless wise! O passing sweet communion Of young hearts, warm and true! To thee belongs The old, old songs Love finds forever new. We sing those songs, and then Cometh the moment when It's, "Good steed, trot from this dear spot,-- Trot, trot me home again!" PROVIDENCE AND THE DOG. WHEN I was young and callow, which was many years ago, Within me the afflatus went surging to and fro; And so I wrote a tragedy that fairly reeked with gore, With every act concluding with the dead piled on the floor,-- A mighty effort, by the gods! and after I had read The manuscript to Daly, that dramatic censor said: "The plot is most exciting, and I like the dialogue; You should take the thing to Providence, and try it on a dog." McCambridge organized a troupe, including many a name Unknown alike to guileless me, to riches, and to fame. A pompous man whose name was Rae was Nestor of this troupe,-- Amphibious, he was quite at home outside or in the soup! The way McCambridge billed him! Why, such dreams in red and green Had ne'er before upon the boards of Yankeedom been seen; And my proud name was heralded,--oh that I'd gone incog. When we took that play to Providence to try it on a dog! Shall I forget the awful day we struck that wretched town? Yet in what melting irony the treacherous sun beamed down! The sale of seats had not been large; but then McCambridge said The factory people seldom bought their seats so far ahead, And Rae indorsed McCambridge. So they partly set at rest The natural misgivings that perturbed my youthful breast; For I wondered and lamented that the town was not agog When I took my play to Providence to try it on a dog. They never came at all,--aha! I knew it all the time,-- They never came to see and hear my tragedy sublime. Oh, fateful moment when the curtain rose on act the first! Oh, moment fateful to the soul for wealth and fame athirst! But lucky factory girls and boys to stay away that night, When the author's fervid soul was touched by disappointment's blight,-- When desolation settled down on me like some dense fog For having tempted Providence, and tried it on a dog!