With sighs that softly ebb and flow,

And her plain face in such dismay,

It seems unkind to look her way:

Until all cheerful back will come

Her cheerful gleaming spirit home:

And one would think that poor Miss Loo

Asked nothing else, if she had you.

[Pg 9]

[Pg 9]

THE TAILOR

Few footsteps stray when dusk droops o'er

The tailor's old stone-lintelled door:

There sits he stitching half asleep,

Beside his smoky tallow dip.

'Click, click,' his needle hastes, and shrill

Cries back the cricket 'neath the sill.

Sometimes he stays, and o'er his thread

Leans sidelong his old tousled head;

Or stoops to peer with half-shut eye

When some strange footfall echoes by;

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