When hearts are trumps | Page 2

and when 'tis right:
But tell me this, all other
things above,--
Can it feel, Sage, the thing that man calls "Love"?
To Phyllis Reading a Letter.
A smile is curving o'er her creamy cheek,
Her bosom swells with all a
lover's joy,
When love receives a message that the coy
Young
love-god made a strong and true heart speak
From far-off lands; and
like a mountain-peak
That loses in one avalanche its cloy
Of ice
and snow, so doth her breast employ
Its hidden store of blushes; and
they wreak
Destruction, as they crush my aching heart,--

Destruction, wild, relentless, and as sure
As the poor Alpine hamlet's;
and no art
Can hide my agony, no herb can cure
My wound. Her

very blush says, "We must part."
Why was it always my fate to
endure?
A Rose from her hair.
She gave me a rose from her hair,
And she hid her young heart within
it.
I could hardly speak from despair,
Till she gave that rose from
her hair,
And leaned out over the stair
With a blush as she stooped
to pin it.
She gave me a rose from her hair,
And she hid her young
heart within it.
When I told her my Love.
When I told her my love,
She was maidenly shy,
And she bit at her
glove.
I gave Cupid a shove;
Yes, I begged him to try,
When I told her my
love
What was she thinking of
As she uttered that sigh
And she bit at her
glove?
And pray what does it prove
That she stopped there to sigh,
When I
told her my love
And she bit at her glove?
My Lady, you Blushed.
My lady, you blushed.
Was my love a surprise?
How quickly they
hushed!
A curl of yours brushed
All else from my eyes.
My lady, you
blushed.
You say that I gushed,
And they all heard my sighs?
How quickly
they hushed!
Your roses were crushed;
N'importe wherefores and whys.
My lady,

you blushed.
The American Slave.
Come, muster your pleasantest smile, my dear,
And put on your
prettiest gown.
Forget about Jack for a while, my dear,
His lordship
has just come to town.
He's come here to get him a wife, my dear,
And you have been put up
for sale
With a marvellous income for life, my dear,
To balance
your side of the scale.
His lordship is feeble and old, my dear,--
What odds? All the sooner
he'll die.
And he has a sore need of your gold, my dear:
See the
good you can do if you'll try.
And then a real lady you'll be, my dear,
Not only by nature but name;

Mamma'll be so proud,--you can see, my dear,
No one thinks it, as
you do, a shame.
So bend your proud head. Are you faint, my dear?
Keep the tears
back, be buoyant and brave.
Keep that pose! Now a portrait we'll
paint, my dear,
To be called "The American Slave."
Sell Her,--That's Right.
Sell her,--that's right! She is young, she is fair;
There's the light of the
sun in the coils of her hair.
And her soul is as white as the first flakes
of snow
That are falling to-night. 'T is a bargain, a "go"
Sell
her,--that's right!
Sell her,--that's right! For a bag full of gold.
Put her down in your
ledger, and label her "Sold"
She's only a beauty with somebody's
name,
And the Church for a pittance will wash out the shame.
Sell
her,--that's right!

Time and Place.
Hasten on! The mad moonlight is beaming
On the hatred and love
'twixt us two;
And it beams on the maid who is dreaming,
And the
grave made for me or for you.
Time and place,--love and life in the balance,
Fear and hope in the
glance of your eye.
Draw your blade! Forget not we are gallants

Who can laugh at our fate as we die.
On your guard! There'll be blood on the metal
Ere she wakes from
her innocent dreams;
There's a long list of kisses to settle,
And
some love sighs and death sighs, it seems.
Bare your arm! Strike for
life and the maiden!
Take that! You are cautious, I fear
Speed the
blow,--'tis with happiness laden
For him who does not remain here
That and that! I am wounded,--it's over
Those kisses were destined
for you;
But now she is yours and you love her,
Go tell her that I
loved her too
Blood on the Rose.
Is it dew on the rose?
'T is the same that I gave him
Last night when
I chose
To warn him and save him;
That he pinned on his breast
With a smile at his danger,
And a
smile, not in jest,
That was sweeter and stranger
Here are footprints of foes!
Oh, my heart!--I can feel
It is blood on
the rose
And a sliver of steel.
In Old Madrid.
I strolled the streets in quest of any love,
In old Madrid long centuries
ago;
I caught the perfume of a scented glove,
I saw a sweet face in a
portico.

She laughed--then paled. She leaned out; whispered, "Fly!" And then I
felt the sting of steel, the hiss
Of curses in my ear, and knew that I

Had forfeited my life--and lost a