Yes, another man’s wife, but the honor The Fates have conferred, it would seem He doesn’t the quite appreciate,-- At least, ’tis the knowledge I gleam. From observing his attitude towards you, Which I’m sure,--and you can but agree, Is not in the least in keeping with what A husband’s towards a wife _should_ be. _She_ And his failing you think permits me Favor to accept at _your_ hands, That the vow I took at the altar Ceases to impose its demands. In sickness or health I promised, “For better or worse”,--till the day, He who gave should in his judgment See fit to take away. _He_ And you’ll let it bind you, that promise, To a man who does not care; Whose int’rest is the thoroughly selfish, In whose secrets--you do not share, Listen, dear, the priv’lege of Mortals,-- To get what we can out of life. Free yourself from the bond that is irksome And find happiness, as my wife. _She_ Nay, not so, the rule of living Holds faithful but to the one test; Nor counts it--another’s transgression, We must give of _ourselves_--our best. Of no use to appeal the exception, The truth remains fix’ed alway, So, good-bye, it _must_ be,--and, God bless you,-- _There is nothing more to say_. THE WONDROUS SONG I longed to sing a wondrous song, So wondrous, ’twould compel The admiration unreserved Of one and all as well. My pen I took in hand and strove The magic words to write, Alas! I could not of my Muse Inspiration invite. She would not humor, tho’ I begged Persistently and long For the right metre--the right thought, To best set down my song. ’Twas stately phrase I coveted, The Laurel I would court-- That of the world’s acknowledgment Of unsurpass´ed thought. At length disheartened, my appeal Knew, but to be denied, I rose and to the window moved, And marked the scene outside. All quiet stretched the land before, Enwrapt in the soft haze Which with such rare enchantment clothes Autumn’s initial days. Idly my glance the expanse swept Till it came to where lay Outside the gate, the winding road Leading to far-away. Then with the moment light was mine-- Yet not complex its thought, The inspiration which appealed Was diff’rent, from that sought. The winding road--the simple theme-- They who followed after-- The toll it wrested of sad tears, For short dole of laughter. The tranquil ways bidden farewell, To seek of its unrest, The truth alas! too oft brought home, The paths forsook, were best. Could I but so compose a lay, That one who heard might pause, Nor continue to sacrifice In an unrighteous cause.