552 HELEN L. BOSTVVICK. [1850-60. Little words, that must be thei-e, Little words, cut deep and true, Bleeding mothers' hearts anew — Sweet, pet name, and " Aged Two." Oh ! can sorrow's hovering plume Round our pathway cast a gloom Chill and darksome, as the shade By an infant's coffin made ! From our arms an angel flies, And our startled, dazzled eyes Weeping round its vacant place, Cannot rise its path to trace, Cannot see the angel's face ! THE ORIGIN OF DIMPLES. My mischief-loving maiden Bell ! Sit here and listen while I tell — Awhile your saucy tongue to tame — A pretty tale without a name. Save this, of " How the Dimples Came." A merry girl, the story goes, With eyes of violet, cheeks of rose, One day, with feet that noiseless stepp'd, Behind her lover, tiptoe crept ; And peep'd, with many a bow and bend, While he, all unsuspecting, penn'd A timorous sonnet to the maid, Which doubted, hoped, despair'd, and pray'd. She peep'd, and read, too pleased by half. And smiled, and smiled, but durst not laugh ; And so a strange event occurr'd ; It happen'd thus, as I have heard : The dainty mouth, too small, I doubt, To let so much of smiling out. Became a prison most secure, And held the lovely legions sure. Wearied, at length, of durance vile, Impatient grew each captive smile ; Still, fain some outlet new to seek. They wreathed and coil'd in either cheek, Still at the ruby portals fast, Vainly sought exit, and at last Grown desperate, so the story closes, Cleft a new passage through the roses ! Love's kiss half heal'd the tender harm, And gave the wound its dearest charm ; Since not unthankful, Beauty keeps Her cheek less sacred than her lips. And while they smile their prudent " No," So fair the deepening dimples show. That Love, reminded of his claim. May take the guerdon without blame : And this is How the Dimples Came. TOO LATE! " I'm weary with my walk, Mabel, Yet 'tis only half a mile. Through the meadow, to the shadow Of the oak-tree by the stile. " And 'twas there I sat an hour, Mabel, By this jeweled watch of mine. Looking over through the clover. Till the mowers went to dine. " They were merry at their labor, Laughing, singing, all save one : Silent, lonely, toiled he only, Joylees, 'neath the harvest sun. " But I thought of his mirthful frolics, In the olden harvest times. Of the laughter that came after All his riddles and his rhymes. " Of one nooning in that oak-shade, When the saucy, gleaning girls Bade him, as he prized their fovor, Weave a chaplet for their curls.
