I. NOONDAY.

Two angry men — in heat they sever,

And one goes home by a harvest field:—

“Hope's nought,” quoth he, “and vain endeavor;

I said and say it, I will not yield!

“As for this wrong, no art can mend it,

The bond is shiver'd that held us twain;

Old friends we be, but law must end it,

Whether for loss or whether for gain.

“Yon stream is small — full slow its wending;

But winning is sweet, but right is fine;

And shoal of trout, or willowy bending —

Though Law be costly — I'll prove them mine.

“His strawberry cow slipped loose her tether,

And trod the best of my barley down;

His little lasses at play together

Pluck'd the poppies my boys had grown.

“What then?— Why naught! She lack'd of reason;

And they — my little ones match them well:—

But this — Nay all things have their season,

And‘ tis my season to curb and quell.”