new her hopes and fears.
But alas, one autumn morning
She left her home below,
And she left us there a-weeping--
Twenty years ago.

They bore her to the church-yard,
With slow and solemn pace;
And there I took my last fond look
On her dear, peaceful face.
They lowered her in her silent grave,
While we bowed our heads in woe,
And they heaped the sods above her head--
Twenty years ago.

That low, sweet voice--my mother's voice--
I never can forget;
And in those loving eyes I see
The big tears trembling yet.
I try to tread the "narrow way;"
I stumble oft I know:
I miss--how much!--the helping hand
Of twenty years ago.

Mary--(Mary I will call you--
'Tis not the old-time name)
Sainted Mary--blue-eyed Mary--
Are you in heaven the same?
Are your eyes as bright and beautiful,
Your cheeks as full of glow,
As when the school-boy kissed you, May,
Twenty years ago?

How we swung upon the grape-vine
Down by the Genesee;
And I caught the speckled trout for you,
While you gathered flowers for me:
How we rambled o'er the meadows
With brows and cheeks aglow,
And hearts like God's own angels--
Twenty years ago.

[Illustration: HOW, WE SWUNG UPON THE GRAPE-VINE DOWN BY THE GENESEE,
AND I CAUGHT THE SPECKLED TROUT FOR YOU, WHILE YOU GATHERED FLOWERS FOR
ME]

How our young hearts grew together
Until they beat as one;
Distrust it could not enter;
Cares and fears were none.
All my love was yours, dear Mary,
'Twas boyish love, I know;
But I ne'er have loved as then I loved--
Twenty years ago.

How we pictured out the future--
The golden coming years,
And saw no cloud in all our sky,
No gloomy mist of tears;
But ah--how vain are human hopes!
The angels came--and O--
They bore my darling up to heaven--
Twenty years ago.

I will not tell--I cannot tell--
What anguish wrung my soul;
But a silent grief is on my heart
Though the years so swiftly roll;
And I cannot shake it off, May,
This lingering sense of woe,
Though I try to drown the memory
Of twenty years ago.

I am fighting life's stern battle, May,
With all my might and main;
But a seat by you and mother there
Is the dearest prize to gain;
And I know you both are near me,
Whatever winds may blow,
For I feel your spirits cheer me
Like twenty years ago.

BETZKO

A HUNGARIAN LEGEND

Stibor had led in many a fight,
And broken a score of swords
In furious frays