Volume 103 — TO MELENDA.

I remember—do you?—the remarkable sky light That flooded the heavens one evening in May, How together we talked tête-à-tête in the twilight, When the glow of the sunset had faded away. Then you showed me your album. I looked at its pages. With yourself as my guide and companion went through Its contents—there were people of all sorts and ages, But the portrait I fancied the most was—of you. And you saw that I did. Which perhaps was the reason Of your "No!" when I asked "May I have it?" You swore You were going to be shot at the close of the season, And you couldn't spare that, as there weren't any more. But at length I prevailed, or at least you relented, After ever so many excuses—in fine We agreed to a compact, you only consented On condition I gave you a portrait of mine. Well, I promised, of course. And I write you these verses With your face—you'll forgive me—quite close to my own. There's a charm in your look that completely disperses All my cares in a way that is yours, dear, alone. And although I am pleased, since I won in the end—a More ridiculous bargain has never, I vow, Been arranged than a picture of pretty MELENDA, In exchange for the photograph sent to you now. We did not meet again through some horrible blunder, Which a merciless Fate must be asked to explain, And I sometimes sit smoking, and wearily wonder If I ever am destined to see you again. Yet wherever the future may possibly find you, To this final request do not answer me Nay, When I ask that this gift of myself may remind you Of the friend who was with you that evening in May.