He said that I was proud, mother, that I look'd for rank and gold, He said I did not love him, he said my words were cold; He said I'd kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game, And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same? I did not know my heart, mother, I know it now too late; I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler mate; But no nobler suitor sought me, and he has taken wing, And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted thing. You may lay me in my bed, mother, — my head is throbbing sore; And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired before; And, if you'd please, my mother dear, your poor despond ing child, Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and mother, draw it mild! William E. Aytoun In the Bon Gaultier Ballads ODE TO TOBACCO Thou who, when fears attack, Perching, unseatest; Sweet, when the morn is gray; Possibly sweetest: I have a liking old How one (or two at most) Useless, except to roast How they who use fusees Go mad, and beat their wives; Into their gizzards. Confound such knavish tricks! Still with their neighbors; Daily absorbs a clay After his labors. Cats may have had their goose Still why deny its use Thoughtfully taken? Here's to thee, Bacon! Charles Stuart Calverley THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD WITH HIS SON O what harper could worthily harp it, Mine Edward! this wide-stretching wold (Look out wold) with its wonderful carpet Of emerald, purple, and gold! Look well at it - also look sharp, it Is getting so cold. The purple is heather (erica); The yellow, gorse - call'd sometimes "whin." You may roll in it, if you would like a You wouldn't? Then think of how kind you From unda, a wave). The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it Then yon desolate eerie morasses, The haunts of the snipe and the hern – Of filix or fern. How it interests e'en a beginner The boundless ineffable prairie; The splendor of mountain and lake With their hues that seem ever to vary; The mighty pine forests which shake In the wind, and in which the unwary May tread on a snake; And this wold with its heathery garment - But - although there is not any harm in't It's perhaps little good to dilate On their charms to a dull little varmint Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it - ah, but stay, Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, But the deacon swore (as deacons do, Is only jest T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." So the deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, That was for spokes and floor and sills; He sent for lancewood to make the thills; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees, The panels of white-wood that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these; The hubs of logs from the "Settler's Ellum," Last of its timber, - they couldn't sell 'em, Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery tips; Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin, too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he "put her through." "There," said the deacon, "Naow she'll dew!" Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! where were they? EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; - it came and found |