Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-08-19
sEAsoNABLE POEMS.


Answered.
took my sorrow whore the swelling fields
Lay circled by the low, caressing sky.
The soft enchantment that the morning yields
Held all the murmurous air, and onlyI
MARRIED the rejoicing day, and drew apart.
When joy came flooding till my pulse leapec
high,
told my gladness to the woods deep heart
And all the forest answered with q sigh.
She heeds-sweet Nature-nay, she is not
dumb
When from my prisoned soul the bars shall fall,
There waits an answer to my every cry.
Though yet her speech may not know in some
Glad times my soul, bond-sundered, shall recall
In thousandfold the sure and blest reply.
Mamie Mayo Fitzhugh, in Harper's Magazine
An Episode.
We had met on the bluff
She was dashing and slim
In white-flannel frock and q yachting-h hat
trim,
And her eyes looking under its tip tilted brim
Were pretty enough.
In few weelzs-a hun.
She believed was rich.
had thought her an heiress-the pert little
witch;
But we both were mistaken, and there was the
We had met on the bluff.
Kate Masterson, in Judge
VINO Will Care FOR Mother Now?
Mother at the washtub signing,
AS she rinses, rubs and wrings;
While upon tho clothesline drying
Hang q host Of other things
To be sprtnkled, starched and ironed-
How her tired fingers ache.
Every frill, and tuck and rufle
1t had been her task to make
Have them dried and ironed by night, ma.
Thus had ordered Queenly Eve:
And be sure you pack them right ma
For you know that shall leave
In the morning for the sea.shore;
So have everything in place.
Don't forget to sew on buttons,
Darn my hose and mend the lace"
Mother, at the washtub signing,
Hastens now her work along;
While at the piano, trying
Ger and DER her latest song
Sits sweet Eve, with Inspiration
Written on her fair young brow,
And she sings with thrilling sweetness:
Who will care for mother nowH"
-Mittens Willett in Jury.
The Seaside Bellies Lament.
There's enough salt water
For any Ewes daughter
By the sea;
There's q good enough breeze
Blows over the seas;
There's plenty Of air,
And little to spare
You'll agree
All these are good things which we fully ap-
plaud
But young men are not there, and the sea is q
fraud.
Poets tell Of the glow
That the bright moonbeams throw
On the sea;
They talk by the hour
OF its peace and its power,
But then poets are slow,
And besides they don't know;
You'll agree,
That the place where you never behold man
face
No poet can boom; it's no kind of q place.
The sea breAthes balm
And measureless calm,
So they say;
And its sunlighted breast
Tells Of infinite rest;
There Is health in it's bre ath
For the tired to death
Every day.
But the young mans a stubborn, prolonged 40.
sentee,
And the sea is humbug; I don't like the sea.
S. w. Foss, in Yankee Blade.
To Write q Romance.
TAKE
maiden fair
So very fair (they always saw
That none beside in any way
With her compare.
hero TALL
With mustache trim and hair a-curl,
Who somewhere CHANGED to meet the girl
And comes to call
villain grim,
With shaggy brow and glazing eye,
Who turks about when they are by,
And follows him.
A dusky dell
A shadowy, secluded spot
struggle and ptstol-shet-
A fendish yell
A conquered foe,
reunited, happy pair,
Two lines Of poetry, and-there,
The book will go.
H M. Eaton, in Judge