THE WANDERER.
Far from my home I wander,
Forgotten by all my kin;
Heart-heavy and tired, I wonder
Is it purgatory caused by sin?
Once rich, envied and courted,
Admired, welcomed and praised;
Now, poor, neglected and shunned,
Dead to friends of former days.
How lond must I wander and sigh,
Hiding pride under mantle of want?
Oh, would that the end were nigh!
As for rest I eagerl p(?)nt.
I've battled in many a land;
I've crossed the angriest seas;
I've bled with sword in hand,
'Neath Algeria's sun-dried trees.
I've sought for the dull, red gold;
I've caught the untamed steed;
Gathered sheep to the squatter's fold,
And starved in the hour of need.
'Neath heaven I've slumbered for years,
A stone my pillow of woe;
My bread has been wet with tears,
By the watch-fire's ruddy glow.
I've wandered through Italy and France,
Africa's sun has browned my cheek,
With Spain's pretty maidens I've danced,
And I've smoked with the lively Greek.
Madeira's wine I have quaffed,
On Madeira's own sunny shore;
With joyous Teuton I've laughed,
While my heart ached to the core.
In India the tiger I've slain,
In Britain the fox have chased,
Crossed Sahara's burning plain;
Both Arab and Moor have faced.
Yet my heart longs for those days,
When I knew nothing of care and sorrow,
Cared not for the world and its ways,
And had not a thought for to-morrow.
Who'll weep by the wanderer's grave?
Who'll think of him when dead?
For home I now fondly crave,
While hope from my heart has fled.
Though wild, wanderer, and rough,
I still clin to my only boast,
I ne'er shunned a friend out of luck,
Or betrayed the trust of my host.
WILLIAM HARDING.
My Valentine.
ONCE, on a frosty winter morn,
'Twas ears and ears ago,
With listless step I wandered forth
Upon the crusted snow.
The sun was bright: adorned with pearls
And diamonds was each tree;
But all the spledors earth could boast
Were little worth to me.
Since, in my sorrowing soul there dwelt,
The doubt that brings despair,
That steals the bloom from beauty's cheek,
That marks the brow with care.
The hours and days had grown to weeks,
Had snail-like crept along;
No message came, and from my life
Had died youth's joyous song.
Mechanically I sought the spot
Where letters came and went;
What was it to my cheek and brow
The crimson blushes sent?
A valentine. I broke the seal.
The dainty, perfumed thing
Was spangled o'er with lovely flowers,
With Cupids on the wing.
But, on a wreath of roses red,
A word was traced in gold,
That, to my anxious, waiting heart,
Far more than volumes told.
Then to my daily task I went,
With firm, elastic tread;
The sunlgith all along my way
A golden radiance shed.
My eyes, no longer dimmed with tears,
Beheld each sparkling gem
That brilliant, scintillating, shone
In nature's diadem.
Although, few silver threads, as yet,
Link 'mid my shining hair.
The tell-tale looking-glass reveals
A face less fresh and fair.
My rosy, blue-eyed boy and girl
Climb on a father's knee,
While tender, loving looks proclaim
That sweet word "constancy."
No more, indeed, they come to me,
Frail messengers of bliss.
Yet, 'mong my treasures valued most,
I always reckon this.
And think, how many cheeks will glow,
How many bright eyes shine,
As trembling fingers loose the seal
Of some dear valentine.
M. L. W. E.
ANGEL OR MORTAL?
I have oft been told that the angels come,
Sometimes, to the heart they love,
And shed, o'er the sorrows of earthly life,
A balm from the world above.
And it may be so, for sitting last night
In the gloom of a darkened room,
There came a visitor pure and bright
And fair as the lily's bloom.
The Goddess of Silence reigned supreme,
Not a word did the presence speak, -
There was only the pressure of sweet warm lips,
And a touch of soft hair on my cheek.
And that nameless light that has never shone
On the sea or the land, was there;
And the fragrance of flowers and songs birds
Seemed to float on the evening air.
Now, what is it you say? "'Twas no angel that came
To brighten the gloom of that hour;
But only some woman who sought to try,
On the heart of the dreamer, her power."
Well, perhaps you are right, for many before
Have been deceived by a woman
