Low is the cry of the bird As he chants in the moonlight, Low is the sound of the war-cry-- Ogallalla! Ogallalla! Great are the warriors of the Ogallallas! Strong of arm and fearless of danger, Where wait the foemen-- Warriors will meet them where the white sun Is burning on the plain. In the air resounds the war-cry-- In the air resounds that cry. Wildest sound to combat calling, Bold the onset of the warriors charge. Shrill is the cry of the wolf As he howls in the moonlight, Shrill is the sound of the war-cry-- Ogallalla! Ogallalla! Mr. Barnabee (Professor Andover--dignified, staid and circumscribed; a misogynist if there ever was one) took huge delight in accentuating the satire of his character's advice to the bevy of school girls in his charge to-- BEWARE OF LOVE. Whoever heard of Homer making sonnets to an eye-brow? Or Aristotle singing to a maiden with his lute? Imagine wise old Plato, with his pale and massive high-brow. Wrinkling it by thinking how his love he'd prosecute; Do you think Professor Agassiz learned all he knew by sighing? Or that Mr. Herbert Spencer thought out ethics at a ball? If our own lamented Emerson of love had been a-dying, We never should have heard of his philosophy at all. Can love teach youthful maidens anything at all of Botany? Or Mathematics cause a thrill erotic in the heart? Will flirting give a lady brains--if she hasn't got any?-- Or solve the esoteric problems hid in Ray's Third Part? You may lose yourself completely in pursuing Etiology, Or safely throw yourself away upon a Cubic Rule; But nowhere else in nature will you find such useless "ology," As in a man who's dead in love and makes himself a fool. Quite in contrast, is the delicate little waltz song of Edith's (Camille D'Arville) in which the ring of the blue bells sounds the gladsomeness of springtime and the intoxication of love. THE BREATH OF MAY. Ah! The breath of May! Never was wine Half so divine; Never the air As fresh or as fair. Ah! Delight of May! When every bud Upon the tree Lays bare its heart To every bee. Ah! The breath of May. Glowing sunshine everywhere Flings a gleaming, golden snare-- Flowers here-- And there-- Are blowing in May air. Ah! The joy of May! When to the heart Love doth impart All the delight Love can excite. Ah! The joy of Spring! When every bird Hath found its mate, And every heart Hath had its sate. Ah! Love is King! Love and music everywhere, Weaving rapture's joyous snare, Love is here-- Is there-- Is wafted on May air.