THE SNAKE.

My love and I, the other day,

Within a myrtle arbor lay,

When near us, from a rosy bed,

A little Snake put forth its head.

“See,” said the maid with thoughtful eyes —

“Yonder the fatal emblem lies!

“Who could expect such hidden harm

“Beneath the rose's smiling charm?”

Never did grave remark occur

Less à-propos than this from her.

I rose to kill the snake, but she,

Half-smiling, prayed it might not be.

“No,” said the maiden — and, alas,

Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it —

“Long as the snake is in the grass,

“One may, perhaps, have cause to dread it:

“But, when its wicked eyes appear,

“And when we know for what they wink so,

“One must be very simple, dear,

“To let it wound one — do n't you think so?”