P.P.S.
Parthenon.

Sotto Voce.

      Sing we of the summer,
        Of the old, old days,
      Of the reed songs and the murmur
        Of the waterways. 
Let thy song be merry, ever mine be sad; Let thy sigh be airy, even ofttimes glad; For then comes a sadness I cannot explain, Like the deep-plunged echo of a sea’s refrain;
      And it dooms the sweetness
        Of her winsome ways
      To the dead completeness
        Of the old, old days.

      Sing, Oh! then with joyance,
        Thou, my mandolin;
      Drown each dread annoyance
        Deep, thy soul within;
Whisper ever lowly of her glad, true eyes; Sing her name, love, slowly, thou can’st sympathize; Teach my heart, my wilful heart, the faith of peace, Promising her constancy with time’s increase. 
     Bar, Oh! break the sadness
        Of the doubter’s sin;
     Sing eternal gladness,
        Thou, my mandolin.

HAROLD MARTIN BOWMAN.
Inlander.

On Tying Daphne’s Shoe.

Tying her shoe, I knelt at Daphne’s feet;
My fumbling fingers found such service sweet,
And lingered o’er the task till, when I rose,
Cupid had bound me captive in her bows.

J. STUART BRYAN.
Virginia University Magazine.

II.  COMEDY

Chappie’s Lament.

I walked one day with Phyllith
Ovah in Bothton town,
I in me long Pwinth Albert,
She in a new Worth gown,

I talked that day with Phyllith,
Ovah in Bothton town,
Of things intenth and thoulful,
Begged her me love to cwown.

I pawted that day fwom Phyllith
Ovah in Bothton town;
She’d be a bwothah to me, she said,
But wouldn’t be Mitheth Bwown.

FERRIS GREENSLET.
Wesleyan Literary Monthly.

Marigold.

I love confinement in thy bonds,
I love thy little stock to hold,
    Thy very scent,
    Aye, marigold!

I’ll love confinement of thy bonds,
I’ll love thy little stocks to hold,
    Thy every cent,
    I marry gold!

HENRY SAFFORD CANDEE.
Trinity Tablet.

An Idyl of the Strap.

She spoke to me, her voice was low
      And sweet,
With hidden thought I could not know
      Replete. 
She cast on me a lingering look
That all my inmost being shook,
And, as our glances mixed, she took
      My seat.

Red and Blue.

The Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous.

AN ARABIAN LEGEND.

Translated from the Arabic.

Far off in the waste of desert sand,
The Jim-jam rules in the Jou-jou land: 
He sits on a throne of red-hot rocks,
And moccasin snakes are his curling locks;
And the Jou-jous have the conniption fits
In the far-off land where the Jim-jam sits—­
If things are nowadays as things were then. 
Allah il Allah!  Oo-aye!  Amen!