The lark is silent in his nest,
    The breeze is sighing in its flight,
  Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest. 
    Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

  Sweet dreams attend thee in thy sleep,
    To soothe thy rest till morning’s light,
  And angels round thee vigil keep. 
    Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

  Sleep well, my love, on night’s dark breast,
    And ease thy soul with slumber bright;
  Be joy but thine and I am blest. 
    Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

A COQUETTE CONQUERED

  Yes, my ha’t ’s ez ha’d ez stone—­
  Go ‘way, Sam, an’ lemme ’lone. 
  No; I ain’t gwine change my min’—­
  Ain’t gwine ma’y you—­nuffin’ de kin’.

  Phiny loves you true an’ deah? 
  Go ma’y Phiny; whut I keer? 
  Oh, you need n’t mou’n an’ cry—­
  I don’t keer how soon you die.

  Got a present!  Whut you got? 
  Somef’n fu’ de pan er pot! 
  Huh! yo’ sass do sholy beat—­
  Think I don’t git ’nough to eat?

  Whut’s dat un’neaf yo’ coat? 
  Looks des lak a little shoat. 
  ’T ain’t no possum!  Bless de Lamb! 
  Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam!

  Gin it to me; whut you say? 
  Ain’t you sma’t now!  Oh, go ’way! 
  Possum do look mighty nice,
  But you ax too big a price.

  Tell me, is you talkin’ true,
  Dat ’s de gal’s whut ma’ies you? 
  Come back, Sam; now whah ’s you gwine? 
  Co’se you knows dat possum’s mine!

NORA:  A SERENADE

  Ah, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away,
    While Night like a spirit steals up o’er the hills;
  The thrush from his tree where he chanted all day,
    No longer his music in ecstasy trills. 
  Then, Nora, be near me; thy presence doth cheer me,
    Thine eye hath a gleam that is truer than gold.

  I cannot but love thee; so do not reprove me,
    If the strength of my passion should make me too bold. 
  Nora, pride of my heart—­
    Rosy cheeks, cherry lips, sparkling with glee,—­
  Wake from thy slumbers, wherever thou art;
    Wake from thy slumbers to me.

  Ah, Nora, my Nora, there ’s love in the air,—­
    It stirs in the numbers that thrill in my brain;
  Oh, sweet, sweet is love with its mingling of care,
    Though joy travels only a step before pain. 
  Be roused from thy slumbers and list to my numbers;
  My heart is poured out in this song unto thee. 
  Oh, be thou not cruel, thou treasure, thou jewel;
    Turn thine ear to my pleading and hearken to me.

OCTOBER

  October is the treasurer of the year,
    And all the months pay bounty to her store;
  The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,
    And fill her brimming coffers more and more. 
  But she, with youthful lavishness,
  Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,
    And decks herself in garments bold
    Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.