Close it grows beside her portal,
Springing from a stock immortal,
Yes! and often has the Witch
Sought to tear it from its niche;
But to thwart her cruel will
The wise God renews it still.
Though it grows in soil perverse,
Heaven hath been its jealous nurse,
And a flower of snowy mark
Springs from root and sheathing dark;
Kingly safeguard, only herb
That can brutish passion curb!
Some do think its name should be
Shield-Heart, White Integrity.
Traveller, pluck a stem of moly,
If thou touch at Circe's isle,--
Hermes' moly, growing solely
To undo enchanter's wile!
EDITH M. THOMAS.
CUPID DROWNED.
"Cupid Drowned" (1784-1859), "Cupid Stung" (1779-1852), and "Cupid and
My Campasbe" (1558-1606) are three dainty poems recommended by Mrs.
Margaret Mooney, of the Albany Teachers' College, in her "Foundation
Studies in Literature." Children are always delighted with them.
T'other day as I was twining
Roses, for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, 'mid the heap,
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the little desperate elf,
The tiny traitor, Love, himself!
By the wings I picked him up
Like a bee, and in a cup
Of my wine I plunged and sank him,
Then what d'ye think I did?--I drank him.
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