Oh, there's many a lass and many a swain
That knows of his shafts made there;
For Cupid spares naught of a deep heart-pain.
Though love be all his care.
And I think he should make a reflection or two,
When he rests over there from his play. Don't you?

ROBERT L. MUNGER.
_Yale Courant_.


~To Ruby Lips.~

Two ruby lips are hers; a pair
Of eyes a cynic to ensnare,
A tinted cheek, a perfect nose,
A throat as white as winter's snows,
And o'er her brow bright golden hair.

But, though she's everything that's fair,
My captured fancy's focused where
A saucy smile suffuses those
Two ruby lips.

Why longer wait their sweets to share?
We're safe behind the portière.
A moment, then, that no one knows--
Ah! now she's flown, _couleur de rose_,
With, one might hint (but who would dare?)