It was a pretty monster, too,

With a crimson head, and a body blue,
And wings of a warm and delicate hue,

Like the glow of a deep carnation:

And the terrible tail that lay behind,
Reached out so far as it twisted and twined,
That a couple of dwarfs, of wondrous strength,
Bore, when he travelled, the horrible length,
Like a Duke's at the coronation.

His mouth had lost one ivory tooth,
Or the dragon had been, in very sooth,
No insignificant charmer;

And that-alas! he had ruined it,

When on new-year's day, in a hungry fit,
He swallowed a tough and a terrible bit-
Sir Lob, in his brazen armor.

Swift and light were his steps on the ground,
Strong and smooth was his hide around,
For the weapons which the peasants flung
Ever unfelt or unheeded rung,

cise of their poetical talents. Among many others, the Thesis was given out which is the motto of Lillian:

"A dragon's tail is flayed to warm

A headless maiden's heart,"

and the following was an attempt to explain the riddle. The partiality with which it had been honored in manuscript, and the frequent applications which have been made to the author for copies, must be his excuse for having a few impressions struck off for private circulation among his friends. It was written, however, with the sole view of amusing the ladies in whose circle the idea originated; and to them, with all due humility and devotion, it is inscribed.

"TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, October 26, 1822."

Arrow, and stone, and spear,
As snow o'er Cynthia's window flits,
Or raillery of twenty wits

On a fool's unshrinking ear.

In many a battle the beast had been,
Many a blow he had felt and given :
Sir Digore came with a menacing mien,
But he sent Sir Digore straight to Heaven;
Stiff and stour were the arms he wore,

Huge the sword he was wont to clasp;
But the sword was little, the armor brittle,
Locked in the coil of the dragon's grasp.

He came on Sir Florice of Sesseny Land,
Pretty Sir Florice from over the sea,
And smashed him all as he stepped on the sand,
Cracking his head like a nut from the tree.
No one till now, had found, I trow,

Any thing good in the scented youth,

Who had taken much pains to be rid of his brains, Before they were sought by the dragon's tooth.

He came on the Sheriff of Hereford,

As he sat him down to his Sunday dinner;
And the Sheriff he spoke but this brief word:
"St. Francis, be good to a corpulent sinner!"
Fat was he, as a Sheriff might be,

From the crown of his head to the tip of his toe; But the Sheriff was small, or nothing at all,

When put in the jaws of the dragon foe.

He came on the Abbot of Arnondale,

As he kneeled him down to his morning devotion; But the dragon he shuddered, and turned his tail About, "with a short uneasy motion."

Iron and steel, for an early meal,

He stomached with ease, or the Muse is a liar;
But out of all question, he failed in digestion,
If ever he ventured to swallow a friar!

Monstrous brute!-his dread renown

Made whispers and terrors in country and town;
Nothing was babbled by boor or knight,

But tales of his civic appetite.

At last, as after dinner he lay,

Hid from the heat of the solar ray,

By boughs that had woven an arbor shady,
He chanced to fall in with the Headless Lady.
Headless! alas! 't was a piteous gibe;

I'll drink Aganippe, and then describe.

Her father had been a stout yeoman,

Fond of his jest and fond of his can,

But never over-wise;

And once, when his cups had been many

He met with a dragon fast asleep,

'T was a faery in disguise:

and deep,

In a dragon's form she had ridden the storm,
The realm of the sky invading;

Sir Grahame's ship was stout and fast,
But the faery came on the rushing blast,

And shivered the sails, and shivered the mast,
And down went the gallant ship at last,

With all the crew and lading.

And the fay laughed out to see the rout,
As the last dim hope was fading;
And this she had done in a love of fun,
And a love of masquerading.

She lay that night in a sunny vale,
And the yeoman found her sleeping;
Fiercely he smote her glittering tail,
But oh! his courage began to fail,

When the faery rose all weeping.

"Thou hast lopped," she said, "beshrew thine hand!The fairest foot in faery land!

"Thou hast an infant in thine home!

Never to her shall reason come,

For weeping or for wail,

Till she shall ride with a fearless face

On a living dragon's scale,

And fondly clasp to her heart's embrace

A living dragon's tail."

The faery's form from his shuddering sight
Flowed away in a stream of light.

Disconsolate that youth departed,
Disconsolate and poor;

And wended, chill and broken-hearted,

To his cottage on the moor;

Sadly and silently he knelt

His lonely hearth beside;
Alas! how desolate he felt

As he hid his face and cried.
The cradle where the babe was laid
Stood in its own dear nook,

But long-how long! he knelt, and prayed,
And did not dare to look.

He looked at last; his joy was there,
And slumbering with that placid air
Which only babes and angels wear.
Over the cradle he leaned his head;
The cheek was warm, and the lip was red:
And he felt, he felt, as he saw her lie,
A hope-which was a mockery.
The babe unclosed her eye's pale lid :—
Why doth he start from the sight it hid?
He had seen in the dim and fitful ray,

That the light of the soul hath
gone away!
Sigh nor prayer he uttered there,
In mute and motionless despair,
But he laid him down beside his child,
And LILLIAN saw him die-and smiled.
The mother? she had gone before;

moor,

And in the cottage on the
With none to watch her and caress,
No arm to clasp, no voice to bless,
The witless child grew up alone,

And made all Nature's book her own.