A STORY THAT NEVER GROWS OLD.

A youth and a maiden low-talking, He eager; she, shrinking and shy; A blush on her face as she listens, And yet a soft tear in her eye. Oh! sweet bloomed the red damask roses, And sweet sang the thrush on the spray, And bright was the glamour of sunshine That made the world fair on that day. But oh! not so sweet the red roses, So sweet the bird’s song from above, So bright the gold glamour of sunshine, As was the sweet glamour of love That fell on that pair in the garden, As ’mid the fair flowers they strolled; And there, as ’twas first told in Eden, Again was Love’s tender tale told.