The Lazy Minstrel. Ashby-Sterry Joseph

breeze is blowing free;

      For, O, the morning's fresh and fair,

      And bright and bracing is the air,

      Down by the summer sea.

      A pretty, winsome, merry girl,

      With all her sunny hair a-curl,

      Was dimpled bonny Bee;

      Her laugh was light, her eyes were blue,

      They always said her heart was true,

      Down by the summer sea.

      The sun is hot, the day is grand,

      And up and down the yellow sand

      Perambulateth he:

      She promised they should meet at eight,

      And from her lips should learn his fate,

      Down by the summer sea.

      He fancies it is getting late,

      For by his watch 'tis now past eight,

      Some minutes twenty-three;

      The shore he scans with eyesight keen.

      And notes the track of small bottines,

      Down by the summer sea.

      He hums a merry song and strolls,

      And tracks this pretty pair o' soles —

      His heart is full of glee!

      For now that he has found the clue,

      He follows footsteps two and two,

      Down by the summer sea.

      "But ah!" he says, and stops his song —

      "This soler system is all wrong,

      'Tis plain enough to me,

      Those prints are proofs – I can't tell whose —

      But 'quite another pair of shoes,'

      Down by the summer sea."

      The short and narrow, long and wide,

      He finds march closely side by side

      By some occult decree;

      And as he cons the footprints o'er,

      He finds that two and two make four,

      Down by the summer sea!

      He sighs, and says, "Ah, well, indeed!"

      And from his pocket takes a weed,

      And strikes the light fuzee:

      He adds, "I think I'll now go home,

      For maidens' vows are frail as foam

      Down by the summer sea!"

      REGRETS

      O FOR the look of those pure grey eyes —

      Seeming to plead and speak —

      The parted lips, the deep-drawn sighs,

      The blush on the kissen cheek!

      O for the tangle of soft brown hair,

      Fanned by the lazy breeze;

      The fleeting hours unshadowed by care,

      Shaded by tremulous trees!

      O for the dream of those sunny days,

      Their bright unbroken spell,

      And thrilling sweet untutored praise —

      From lips once loved too well!

      O for the feeling of days agone,

      The simple faith and truth,

      The Spring of time, life's rosy dawn —

      O for the love and the youth!

      HAMMOCKUITY

      If you swing in a hammock the summer day through,

      And you dream with profound assiduity,

      A new phase of content it will give unto you

      Which philosophers call "Hammockuity"!

      ALL through the lazy afternoon,

      Beneath the sycamore,

      I listen to the distant Lune,

      Or slumber to its roar;

      'Tis sweet to muse, to sleep or sing,

      When talk is superfluity;

      'Tis sweet beneath the trees to swing,

      And practise hammockuity.

      Forgotten here, I would forget

      The destiny fate weaves,

      The while I smoke a cigarette

      To music of the leaves;

      I wish my present lazy life

      A lengthy continuity;

      Away from trouble, care, and strife,

      In happy hammockuity!

      While others work, while others play,

      Or love, or laugh, or weep;

      I watch the smoke-rings curl away,

      And almost fall asleep!

      I'd give up thought of future fame —

      Despite such incongruity —

      I'd forfeit riches, power, name,

      For blissful hammockuity!

      I hate the booming busy bee

      Who dares to wake me up —

      I wonder if it's time for tea,

      Or grateful cyder-cup?

      I would I could, beneath the trees,

      Repose in perpetuity,

      And swing, and sing, and take mine ease

      In lasting hammockuity!

      MY COUNTRY COUSIN

      TO Town, about the close of dull November,

      Up comes the Country Cousin, pray remember, —

      The Cattle Show to visit in December!

      Her winsome, watchet eyes, they are the sweetest,

      Her chaussure and her gloves they are the neatest,

      Her toilette you'll consider the completest.

      She's pretty, piquante, pouting, and capricious;

      So dainty, dimpled, daring, and delicious:

      She's joyful, and she's jaunty and judicious.

      She loves to hear the latest tittle-tattle;

      On manners, music, crinoline, and cattle,

      And pictures, peers and poets will she prattle!

      She often goes out shopping with her Mother,

      The Park she sometimes visits with her Brother —

      She'd much prefer to stroll there with Another!

      The gay Mikado music sets her humming —

      And how she likes the Temple kettle-drumming,

      With those who love to go chrysanthemumming!

      She has no views on "rights" or vivisection,

      Finds politics a nuisance on reflection —

      To bores she has a most supreme objection!

      Delight she takes in anything that's merry,

      She