UNBROKEN.

I. At a quaint shop, wherein were sold All curious objects rare and old,— Books, carvings, porcelain and plate Of fashion odd and out of date— I found this china drinking cup, And, for a trifle, picked it up. II. See, ’tis a wine cask, wreathed about With broad, green vineyard leaves without, Round which a ring of peasants dance With vigor more than elegance, While laughter, loud and long, is seen Breaking their parted lips between. III. Maddest of all the merry group Which thus encircles stave and hoop, The farmer in his cap and blouse Roars a right jovial vintage rouse, Nor heeds—so drowned in wine is he— How Jean with Julie’s cheek makes free. IV. Midway around the leafy cask His goodwife’s face, like some old mask Of Laughter, glows beneath the vine The while she foots it, warm with wine And, like her frolic comrades, bent On festal mirth and merriment. V. Standing upon my mantel there, No blood of grape, or dark or fair, Exhales its balmy breath for me; And, save a carven rosary From some spoiled convent, three or four Odd trinkets are its only store. VI. Yet, on their swift unending round— Without a motion or a sound— These noisy peasants will keep up Their revels round my drinking cup, Until, by some uncareful maid, In fragments on the floor they’re laid. Charles H. Lüders.