ENTRE-ACTE REVERIES.

Between the acts while the orchestra played

That sweet old waltz with the lilting measure,

I drifted away to a dear dead day,

When the dance, for me, was the sum of all pleasure;

When my veins were rife with the fever of life,

When hope ran high as an inswept ocean,

And my heart’ s great gladness was almost madness,

As I floated off to the music’ s motion.

How little I cared for the world outside!

How little I cared for the dull day after!

The thought of trouble went up like a bubble,

And burst in a sparkle of mirthful laughter.

Oh! and the beat of it, oh! and the sweet of it —

Melody, motion, and young blood melted;

The dancers swaying, the players playing,

The air song-deluged and music-pelted.

I knew no weariness, no, not I —

My step was as light as the waving grasses

That flutter with ease on the strong-armed breeze,

As it waltzes over the wild morasses.

Life was all sound and swing; youth was a perfect thing;

Night was the goddess of satisfaction.

Oh, how I tripped away, right to the edge of day!

Joy lay in motion, and rest lay in action.

I dance no more on the music’ s wave,

I yield no more to its wildering power,

That time has flown like a rose that is blown,

Yet life is a garden forever in flower.

Though storms of tears have watered the years,

Between to-day and the day departed,

Though trials have met me, and grief’ s waves wet me,

And I have been tired and trouble-hearted.

Though under the sod of a wee green grave,

A great, sweet hope in darkness perished,

Yet life, to my thinking, is a cup worth drinking,

A gift to be glad of, and loved, and cherished.

There is deeper pleasure in the slower measure

That Time’ s grand orchestra now is playing.

Its mellowed minor is sadder but finer,

And life grows daily more worth the living.