_THE LOVER'S APPEAL._


Tell me when you'll wed me?
Sweetest, name the day:
Hope has well nigh fled me,
Joy has slipped away.
Dearest, why this strange delay?
Must I sigh till we are gray?
With a smile,
"Wait awhile,
We are young," you say.

Do you know the reason
Why the nightingale
Through the drear night season
Pipes her tuneful tale?
She was, once, like you, a maid,
Who her wedding day delayed,
And her swain,
All in vain,
For her favor prayed.

She had been a maiden
Fair to look upon,
Sweet as breezes laden
With the scent of dawn.