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Your madcap fancy runs too riot, girl.
Will you shut
- Poor Red Riding Hood !
Thus it is : Mere children read such stories literally, But the more elderly and wise, deduce A moral from the fiction. In a word, The wolf that you must guard against is - LOVE. -I thought love was an infant; “ toujours enfant.” – The world and love were young together, child, And innocent - alas ! time changes all things. – True, I remember, love is now a man. And, the song says, “a very saucy one"But how a wolf?
LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.
- In ravenous appetite,
- I shall remember,
- You'll do wisely.
– Nor, in my grandam's cottage, nor elsewhere, Will I e'er lift the latch for him myself, Or bid him pull the bobbin.
Well, my dear, You've learned your lesson.
- Yet one thing, my mother, Somewhat perplexes me.
Say what, my love, I will explain.
- This wolf, the story goes, Deceived poor grandam first, and ate her up: What is the moral here? Have all our grandmas Been first devoured by love ?
- Let us go in; The air grows cool-you are a forward chit.
THE WITHERED ROSEBUD.
BY J K. MITCHELL.
Au, why does this rose-bud more beautiful seem,
Than when gracing the stem where it grew; All withered and pale, of a flower but the dream?
'Tis because it was given by you
'Tis because the sweet floweret had lingered awhile
On the bosom of beauty and youth,
And came to me breathing her truth.
And now, though its leaflets are gone to decay,
And mournfully drooping its stem,
'T will still be of roses the gem.
Like its fragrance, still lingering, fond memory the while,
Will couple this blossom with thee,
That came with the rose-bud to me.