"_Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!_"

She mutters and digs and buries it deep--
The little green leaves are wild on the trees--
And nearer and nearer the noises creep,
That gibber and maunder and whine and weep ...
Or is it the wave and the weariless breeze,
Or _That_ she sees,
Which hobbles away in the light o' the moon?--
"_Soon, oh, soon_," hear her croon,
"_Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!_"

In the hut where the other girl sits with him--
The little green leaves hang limp on the trees--
All on a sudden the moon grows dim ...
Is it the shadow of cloud or of limb,
Cast in the door by the moaning breeze?
Or _That_ she sees,
Which limps and leers in the light o' the moon?--
"_Soon, oh, soon_," hear it croon,
"_Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!_"

It has entered in at the open door--
The little green leaves fall dead from the trees--
And she in the cabin lies stark on the floor,
And she in the woods has her lover once more ...
And--is it the hoot of the dying breeze?
Or _him_ who sees,
Who mocks and laughs in the light o' the moon:--
"_Soon, oh, soon_," hear him croon,
"_Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!_"

THE OTHER WOMAN.

You have shut me out from your tears and grief
Over the man laid low and hoary.
Listen to me now: I am no thief!--
You have shut me out from your tears and grief,--
Listen to me, I will tell my story.

The love of a man is transitory.--
What do you know of his past? the years
He gave to another his manhood's glory?--
The love of a man is transitory.
Listen to me now: open your ears.

Over the dead have done with tears!
Over the man who loved to madness
Me the woman you met with sneers,--
Over the dead have done with tears!
Me the woman so sunk in badness.

He loved me ever, and that is gladness!--
There by the dead now tell _her_ so;
There by the dead where she bows in sadness.--
He loved me ever, and that is gladness!--
Mine the gladness and hers the woe.

The best of his life was mine. Now go,
Tell her this that her pride may perish,
Her with his name, his wife, you know!
The best of his life was mine. Now go,
Tell her this so she cease to cherish.

Bury him then with pomp and flourish!
Bury him now without my kiss!
Here is a thing for your hearts to nourish,--
Bury h