their dewy kisses on my feet And the honeysuckle scents each shady nook; By the meadow and the bushes, where the blackbirds build their nests, Up the hill, beneath the shadow of the pine, Till the breath of Ocean meets us, dancing o'er his sparkling crests, And our faces feel the tingling of the brine. And my heart leaps gayly upward, like the foam upon the sea, As I watch the breakers tumbling with a roar, And the ships that dot the azure seem to wave a hail to me, And to beckon to a wondrous, far-off shore.  

  Just a simple little picture, yet its charm is o'er me still, And again my boyish spirit seems to glow, And once more a barefoot urchin am I wandering at will Down that little country road I used to know.  

 

 

     THE BULLFROG SERENADE 

    When the toil of day is over And the dew is on the clover, And the night-hawk whirls in circles overhead; When the cow-bells melt and mingle In a softened, silver jingle, And the old hen calls the chickens in to bed; When the marshy meadows glimmer With a misty, purple shimmer, And the twilight flush is changing into shade;     When the firefly lamps are burning And the dusk to dark is turning,—   Then the bullfrogs chant their evening serenade:    "Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep! Better go 'round! Better go 'round! Better go 'round,"      First the little chaps begin it, Raise their high-pitched voices in it, And the shrill soprano piping sets the pace; Then the others join the singing Till the echoes soon are ringing With the big green-coated leader's double-bass. All the lilies are a-quiver, And the grasses by the river Feel the mighty chorus shaking every blade, While the dewy rushes glisten As they bend their heads to listen To the bullfrogs' summer evening serenade:    "Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep! Better go 'round! Better go 'round! Better go 'round!"      And the melody they're tuning Has the sweet and sleepy crooning That the mother hums the baby at her breast, Till the world forgets its sorrow And the cares that haunt the morrow, And is sinking, hushed and happy, to its rest Sometimes bubbling o'er with gladness, Sometimes soft and fall of sadness, Through my dreaming rings the music they have played, And my memory's dearest treasures Have been fitted to the measures Of the bullfrogs' summer evening serenade:    "Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep! Better go 'round! Better go 

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