THE REJECTED SUITOR.

Not often does a sadder sightWake sympathetic strain,Than glimpse of some rejected wightWhose suit has proved in vain;Who often pinched necessitiesFor bouquets, sweet and rare,For tickets to the carnival,The opera, or fair;

Not often does a sadder sight

Wake sympathetic strain,

Than glimpse of some rejected wight

Whose suit has proved in vain;

Who often pinched necessities

For bouquets, sweet and rare,

For tickets to the carnival,

The opera, or fair;

A SUITOR NON-SUITED.

Whose pocket oft was visitedThe candy box to fill;The dollar spent that should have goneTo pay his laundry bill.Especially the case is sad,If he who seeks a wifeHas, step by step, encroached uponThe shady side of life.The fly no darker prospect viewsThat in the inkstand peers,Than he, whose unrequited loveMust leak away in tears.At such a time how ill the smileBecomes the rival face;The “ha, ha, ha’s!” the winks and nods,Seem sadly out of place.And then comparisons are drawnAt the expense, no doubt,Of him whose overflowing cupSeems full enough without.While he who moves away, alas!Of every grace so free,To criticism opens wideThe door, as all may see.His mind is not reflecting nowOn fashions, style, or art,On proper pace, or rules of grace;But on his slighted heart.He now but sees his promised joysAll foundering in his view,His castles tumbling down, that highIn brighter moments grew.To know that now those ruby lipsAnother’s mouth will press,And now that soft and soothing handAnother’s brow caress,—Oh, dark before, and dark behind,And full of woe and painIs life to him, whose heavy lossMakes up a rival’s gain.The gravel-walk beneath his feetCannot too sudden ope’,To gather in the wretch, who mournsThe death of every hope.The swallows, whispering in a row,Seem mocking at his tear,And in the cawing of the crowHe seems to catch a sneer;The cattle grazing in the fieldAwhile their lunch delay,To gaze at him, who moves alongIn such a listless way.Perhaps he’ll know a thousand griefsEre death has laid him low.Perhaps, beside an open grave,He’ll shed the tear of woe;Perhaps he’ll turn him from the sodsThat hide a mother’s face,A father’s smile, a brother’s hand,Or sister’s buried grace;But there can hardly come a timeWhen life will look so drear,Or can so little reason showWhy he should linger here.

Whose pocket oft was visited

The candy box to fill;

The dollar spent that should have gone

To pay his laundry bill.

Especially the case is sad,

If he who seeks a wife

Has, step by step, encroached upon

The shady side of life.

The fly no darker prospect viewsThat in the inkstand peers,Than he, whose unrequited loveMust leak away in tears.At such a time how ill the smileBecomes the rival face;The “ha, ha, ha’s!” the winks and nods,Seem sadly out of place.

The fly no darker prospect views

That in the inkstand peers,

Than he, whose unrequited love

Must leak away in tears.

At such a time how ill the smile

Becomes the rival face;

The “ha, ha, ha’s!” the winks and nods,

Seem sadly out of place.

And then comparisons are drawnAt the expense, no doubt,Of him whose overflowing cupSeems full enough without.While he who moves away, alas!Of every grace so free,To criticism opens wideThe door, as all may see.

And then comparisons are drawn

At the expense, no doubt,

Of him whose overflowing cup

Seems full enough without.

While he who moves away, alas!

Of every grace so free,

To criticism opens wide

The door, as all may see.

His mind is not reflecting nowOn fashions, style, or art,On proper pace, or rules of grace;But on his slighted heart.He now but sees his promised joysAll foundering in his view,His castles tumbling down, that highIn brighter moments grew.

His mind is not reflecting now

On fashions, style, or art,

On proper pace, or rules of grace;

But on his slighted heart.

He now but sees his promised joys

All foundering in his view,

His castles tumbling down, that high

In brighter moments grew.

To know that now those ruby lipsAnother’s mouth will press,And now that soft and soothing handAnother’s brow caress,—Oh, dark before, and dark behind,And full of woe and painIs life to him, whose heavy lossMakes up a rival’s gain.

To know that now those ruby lips

Another’s mouth will press,

And now that soft and soothing hand

Another’s brow caress,—

Oh, dark before, and dark behind,

And full of woe and pain

Is life to him, whose heavy loss

Makes up a rival’s gain.

The gravel-walk beneath his feetCannot too sudden ope’,To gather in the wretch, who mournsThe death of every hope.The swallows, whispering in a row,Seem mocking at his tear,And in the cawing of the crowHe seems to catch a sneer;The cattle grazing in the fieldAwhile their lunch delay,To gaze at him, who moves alongIn such a listless way.

The gravel-walk beneath his feet

Cannot too sudden ope’,

To gather in the wretch, who mourns

The death of every hope.

The swallows, whispering in a row,

Seem mocking at his tear,

And in the cawing of the crow

He seems to catch a sneer;

The cattle grazing in the field

Awhile their lunch delay,

To gaze at him, who moves along

In such a listless way.

Perhaps he’ll know a thousand griefsEre death has laid him low.Perhaps, beside an open grave,He’ll shed the tear of woe;Perhaps he’ll turn him from the sodsThat hide a mother’s face,A father’s smile, a brother’s hand,Or sister’s buried grace;But there can hardly come a timeWhen life will look so drear,Or can so little reason showWhy he should linger here.

Perhaps he’ll know a thousand griefs

Ere death has laid him low.

Perhaps, beside an open grave,

He’ll shed the tear of woe;

Perhaps he’ll turn him from the sods

That hide a mother’s face,

A father’s smile, a brother’s hand,

Or sister’s buried grace;

But there can hardly come a time

When life will look so drear,

Or can so little reason show

Why he should linger here.

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