LOVE'S CHALLENGE.

I picked this trifle from the floor, Unknowing from whose tender hand It fell,—but now would fain restore A thing which hath my heart unmanned.

I say unmanned, for 't is not now A manly mood to dream of Love, When each bold champion knits his brow, And for War's gauntlet doffs his glove.

But we're exempt, and have no heart Of wreak within us for the fray; And therefore teach our souls the art With life and life's concerns to play.

Yet, lady, trust me, 't is not all In play that I proclaim intent, When next thou lett'st thy gauntlet fall, To take it as a challenge meant.

REPLY.

SIR CARPET-KNIGHT, who canst not fight, Thy gallantries are not for me; The man whom I with love requite Must sing in a more martial key.

I have two brothers on the field, And one beneath it,—none knows where; And I shall keep my spirit steeled To any save a soldier's prayer.

If thou have music in thy soul, Yet hast no sinew for the strife, Go teach thyself the war-drum's roll, And woo me better with a fife!