Calypso—The Lover’s Pocket.

Erastes saw with vain regret A hedge of guards was thickly set Around the fair one he would woo; For Flora’s aid he quick applied— “Be art of yours with Love’s allied And Cupid’s throng shall kneel to you.” Then Flora wrought that mystic flower And graced with it Love’s Sylvan bower, And there a wildling still it grows; The hue she gave was pearly white, But Love would add one more delight And mingled in a blush of rose. T’was given such an artless guise That e’en suspicion’s prying eyes Doth no intriguing plan suppose: And there within, securely hid, Beneath the blossom’s fringy lid The lover’s missive finds repose. * * * * * “Wilt thou, dear maid, thy wealth resign And drink with me love’s ruby wine— In weal or woe my fortune’s share?” She wrote and hid—“I will be thine— With love’s devotion ever mine There’s naught but I could dare.” A closely folded plan for flight (That marked the nearest moonless night,) The Orchid in its heart concealed. While vigilance unconscious slept, Two dusky steeds thro’ darkness swept Across an unfrequented field And brought the lovers quickly where A waiting priest, with pledge and prayer, The sacred bonds of wedlock sealed. Paternal pride aroused, irate, With bluster came, a moment late,— The holy rite had joined their hands, The vows were made, the pledges given That bound the twain as one in heaven, Despite his wrath and stern commands. “How could you thus,” he cried in rage, “Defy my will, disgrace my age! I’ll disinherit and disown—And you shall have eternal scorn For wedding with that lowly born— Aye, you shall reap as you have sown.” * * * * * “O, woman! thou art gall and wine— Deceit’s worst name, to me, is thine! I thought her will succumbed to mine, So cheerful, happy, she had seemed. I felt within a conscious pride In power to hold, subdue and guide— That she was conquered, fondly dreamed.” “Along the wood she walked with me, Among the wild flowers, gay and free, (I guarded her with watchful eye,) With eager hand she plucked and smiled As guileless as a happy child— No love-lorn look—no sob or sigh.” “Aye, woman’s ways and woman’s wiles Are knitted in with looks and smiles By which man’s wisdom oft is foiled. She’ll seem so gently yielding will While scheming for her own way, still— With sweet deceits will blind us, till Our dearest hopes have been despoiled.” “But, ’tis senseless nursing helpless wrath,— Shall I strew thorns along her path Whose only dower’s a father’s curse?— Drive them out with want to roam? I think I’ll take the couple home— In truth, her parents did much worse.” * * * * * Calypso, still with winning grace, Adorns the ferny, sedgey place By purling brook or shaded dell, And only Cupid knows its art Of hiding in its fragrant heart The secret, sweet, that Love would tell.