Part 5 (1/2)

Or, 'Please leave off, you naughty boy!'

(But this, of course, is just her way, She wouldn't wish you to obey.)

The lover, in a trembling voice, Demands the hand of his lovee, And begs the lady of his choice To share some cottage-by-the-sea; With _her_ a prison would be nice, A coal-cellar a Paradise!

'Love in a cottage' sounds so well; But oh, my too impatient bride, No drainage and a constant smell Of something being over-fried Is not the sort of atmosphere That makes for wedded bliss, my dear.

And when the bills are rather high, And when the money's rather low, See poor Virginia sit and sigh, And ask why Paul _must_ grumble so!

He slams the door and strides about, And, through the window, Love creeps out.

'Tis said that Cupid blinds our sight With fire of pa.s.sion from above, Nor ever bids us see aright The many faults in those we love; Ah no! I deem it otherwise, For lovers have the clearest eyes.

They see the faults, the failures, and The great temptations, and they know, Although they cannot understand, That they would have the loved one so.

Believe me, Love is never blind, His smiling eyes are wise and kind.

Tho' lovers quarrel, yet, I ween, 'Tis but to make it up again; The suns.h.i.+ne seems the more serene That follows after April rain; And love should lead, if love be true, To perfect understanding too.

If in our hearts this love beats strong, We shall not ever seek to earn Forgiveness for some fancied wrong, Nor need to pardon in return; But learn this lesson as we live, 'To understand is to forgive.'

And all you little girls and boys Will find this out yourselves, some day, When you have done with childish toys And put your infant books away.

Ah! then I pray that hand-in-hand You tread the paths of Loverland.

_MORAL_

Don't fall in love, but, when you do, Take care that he (or she) does too; And, lastly, to misquote the bard, If you _must_ love, don't love too hard.

XXII

HOMELAND

The tour is over! We must part!

Our mutual journey at an end.

O bid farewell, with aching heart, To guide, philosopher, and friend; And note, as you remark 'Good-bye!'

The kindly tear that dims his eye.

The tour is ended! Sad but true!

No more together may we roam!

We turn our lonely footsteps to The spot that's known as Home, Sweet Home.

Nor time nor temper can afford A more protracted trip abroad.

O Home! where we must always be So hopelessly misunderstood; Where waits a tactless family, To tell us things 'for our own good'; Where relatives, with searchlight eyes, Can penetrate our choicest lies.

Where all our kith and kin combine To prove that we are worse than rude, If we should criticise the wine Or make complaints about the food.

Thank goodness, then, to quote the pome, Thank goodness there's 'no place like Home!'