Gives your life's hour-glass a shake when the thin sand doubts Whether to run on or stop short, and guarantees Age is not all made of stark sloth and arrant ease! Jacynth, the gipsy, Berold, and the rest of it, Trickle, but anon, in such muddy driblets, Is pumped up brisk now, thro' the main ventricle, I'll tell you what I intend to do: I must see this fellow his sad life thro' And I, as he says, but a serf and thrall; But there's no mine to blow up and get done with, One day or other, his head in a morion, And breast in a hauberk, his heels he'll kick up Slain by some onslaught fierce of hiccup. And then, when red doth the sword of our duke rust, And its leathern sheath lie o'ergrown with a blue crust, Then I shall scrape together my earnings; For, you see, in the churchyard Jacynth reposes, Its a long lane that knows no turnings. I shall go journeying, who but I, pleasantly? What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all ; oil,) I shall get safely out of the turmoil And arrive one day at the land of the gipsies, And find my lady, or hear the last news of her From some old thief and son of Lucifer, His forehead chapleted green with wreathy hop, And when my Cotnar begins to operate And the tongue of the rogue to run at a proper rate, And our wine-skin, tight once, shows each flaccid dent, I shall drop in with- -as if by accident "You never knew then, how it all ended, What fortunes good or bad attended The little lady your queen befriended?" Who still preferred some slim four-year-old Smooth Jacob still robs homely Esau: Now up, now down, the world's one see-saw. Under a hedge, like Orson the wood-knight, EARTH'S IMMORTALITIES. FAME. See, as the prettiest graves will do in time, G LOVE. So, the year's done with June needs must sever; THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. Morning, evening, noon and night, "Praise God," sang Theocrite : Then to his poor trade he turned, Hard he laboured, long and well; But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, "Praise God: " Then back again his curls he threw, And cheerful turned to work anew. Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done! I doubt not thou art heard, my son: "As well as if thy voice to-day Were praising God, the Pope's great way. "This Easter-day, the Pope at Rome Said Theocrite, "Would God that I Night passed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone. With God a day endures alway, God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth, Entered in flesh the empty cell, Lived there, and played the craftsman well; And morning, evening, noon and night, And from a boy to youth he grew : The man matured and fell away But ever o'er the trade he bent, And ever lived on earth content. (He did God's will; to him, all one God said, "A praise is in mine ear; |