_Her Mother'S Beautiful Eyes_

I met a young girl on the street; I was a stranger to her, no more. But the glance of her brown eyes, shy and sweet, Set me to dreaming of days of yore. Ah! she does not know, but long ago When life was as cloudless as June's blue skies, Her mother was all the world to me; And she Has her mother's beautiful eyes.

She lifted her lashes, and let them fall; Raised them and dropped them as I passed by. A grizzled old stranger, that was all She saw, for she could not know that I In the dear, dear past Too sweet to last Had found my Eden, my paradise. In her mother's beautiful eyes.

I loved, and was loved. But a word was said In thoughtless jest, and the work was done. The hopes I had cherished, lay blasted, dead-- My rival pleaded his suit, and won. And their child--ah me! is fair to see; I wonder if she's as good and wise, As sweet and kind, and pure of mind As the one who bequeathed her those beautiful eyes.

She has her father's step, and air. Her father's brow, and his pale, dark cheek. And her father's tawny, curling hair. And her father's mouth, half sweet, half weak. All very true. And "she's like her father through and through," I said when we met on the street that day, "And not like her mother in any way." Then I caught my breath with a start of surprise, (That she did not see) For the child of my rival glanced up at me With her mother's beautiful eyes.

1871.