THE folks, that on the first of May Wore winter coats and hose, Began to say, the first of June, "Good Lord! how hot it grows!" At last two Fahrenheits blew up, And killed two children small, And one barometer shot dead A tutor with its ball! Now all day long the locusts sang Among the leafless trees; Three new hotels warped inside out, The pumps could only wheeze; And ripe old wine, that twenty years Had cobwebbed o'er in vain, Came spouting through the rotten corks Like Joly's best champagne. The Worcester locomotives did Their trip in half an hour; The Lowell cars ran forty miles Before they checked the power; Roll brimstone soon became a drug, And loco-focos fell; All asked for ice, but everywhere Saltpetre was to sell. Plump men of mornings ordered tights, But, ere the scorching noons, Their candle-moulds had grown as loose As Cossack pantaloons! The dogs ran mad,--men could not try If water they would choose; A horse fell dead,--he only left Four red-hot, rusty shoes! But soon the people could not bear The slightest hint of fire; Allusions to caloric drew A flood of savage ire; The leaves on heat were all torn out From every book at school, And many blackguards kicked and caned, Because they said, "Keep cool!" The gas-light companies were mobbed, The bakers all were shot, The penny press began to talk Of lynching Doctor Nott; And all about the warehouse steps Were angry men in droves, Crashing and splintering through the doors To smash the patent stoves! The abolition men and maids Were tanned to such a hue, You scarce could tell them from their friends, Unless their eyes were blue; And, when I left, society Had burst its ancient guards, And Brattle Street and Temple Place Were interchanging cards. A PORTRAIT A STILL, sweet, placid, moonlight face, And slightly nonchalant, Which seems to claim a middle place Between one's love and aunt, Where childhood's star has left a ray In woman's sunniest sky, As morning dew and blushing day On fruit and blossom lie. And yet,--and yet I cannot love Those lovely lines on steel; They beam too much of heaven above, Earth's darker shades to feel; Perchance some early weeds of care Around my heart have grown, And brows unfurrowed seem not fair, Because they mock my own. Alas! when Eden's gates were sealed, How oft some sheltered flower Breathed o'er the wanderers of the field, Like their own bridal bower; Yet, saddened by its loveliness, And humbled by its pride, Earth's fairest child they could not bless, It mocked them when they sighed. AN EVENING THOUGHT WRITTEN AT SEA IF sometimes in the dark blue eye, Or in the deep red wine, Or soothed by gentlest melody, Still warms this heart of mine, Yet something colder in the blood, And calmer in the brain, Have whispered that my youth's bright flood Ebbs, not to flow again.