I pray you pardon me, Elsie, And smile that frown away That dims the light of your lovely face As thunder clouds the day. For on the spur of the instant, Before I thought, ’twas done, And those great gray eyes flashed bright and cold, Like an icicle in the sun. I was thinking of the summer When we were boys and girls, And wandering in the blossoming woods, And the gay winds romped with your curls; And you seemed to me the same little girl I kissed in the elder-path. I kissed the little girl’s lips, and, alas! I have roused a woman’s wrath. There is not much to pardon, For why were your lips so red? The blonde curls fell in a shower of gold From the proud, provoking head, And the beauty that flashed from the splendid eyes And played round the tender mouth Rushed over my soul like a warm, sweet wind That blows from the fragrant South. And where, after all, is the harm done? I believe we were made to be gay, And all of youth not given to love Is vainly squandered away, And strewn through life-long labors, Like gold in the desert sands, Are love’s swift kisses and sighs and vows, And the clasp of clinging hands. And when you are old and lonely, In memory’s magic shrine You will see on your thin and wasting hands, Like gems, those kisses of mine; And when you muse at evening, At the sound of some vanished name, The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips And kindle your heart to flame. JOHN HAY. IN AMBUSH. Half hidden in the holly’s shade, Dark with the weight of snow o’erlaid, I see you plainly! What plot are you two hatching now, Lurking beneath the sheltering bough? You’re hiding vainly! But never mind—with eyes downcast, I’ll let you think you have not passed Before my vision. “Let’s snowball him! ’twill be such fun!” The words are whispered low by one, In soft derision. Ho! ho! so that’s your little plot! You may be sure that I shall not Attempt to foil it! Besides, I can’t for very shame Turn tail and run; and such a game, ’Twere sin to spoil it! A warning shot,—it whizzes past! Another,—fairly hit at last! Nice warm work this is! Well, fire away! Your stock runs low; Reward must come at length, you know,— Returns of kisses! Bravo! I’ve caught you both at length! In vain resist with all your strength, And blushing faces! Love’s toll, you know, ’s a warmer thing Than making snowballs just to fling From secret places! A LONG-BRANCH EPISODE. Upon the broad Atlantic sands I saw a maiden and her lover, Her dimpled fingers in his hands, Her shy blue eyes the sea looked over; With coy girl’s love to him she turned, And said, “Dear, Do you think that any one will know That you have dared to kiss me so?”