A PICTURE.

A little maid, with sweet brown eyes, Upraised to mine in sad surprise; I held two tiny hands in mine, I kissed the little maid farewell. Her cheeks to deeper crimson flushed, The sweet, shy glances downward fell; From rosy lips came—ah! so low— "I love you, do not go!"

I see it through the lapse of years— This picture, ofttimes blurred with tears. No tiny hands in mine are held, No sweet brown eyes my pulses wake— Only in memory a voice E'er bids me stay for love's sweet sake.