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 desponding 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, Sweet, when the morn is gray; I have a liking old For thee, though manifold How one (or two at most) Useless, except to roast- How they who use fusees Go mad, and beat their wives; Confound such knavish tricks! 'Still with their neighbors; After his labors. Cats may have had their goose Still why deny its use Thoughtfully taken? We're not as tabbies are: Smith, take a fresh cigar! Jones, the tobacco-jar! Here's to thee, Bacon! Charles Stuart Calverley THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD WITH HIS SON O what harper could worthily harp it, 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 Should be to the insects who crave Your compassion — and then, look behind you At yon barley-ears! Don't they look brave As they undulate - (undulate, mind you, From unda, a wave). The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it Sounds here (on account of our height)! And this hillock itself — who could paint it, With its changes of shadow and light? Is it not- (never, Eddy, say “ain't it ") — Then yon desolate eerie morasses, The haunts of the snipe and the hern- How it interests e'en a beginner He's asleep - he is wagging his head. 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— 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, Frightening people out of their wits, - Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. It was on the terrible Earthquake-day Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, That a chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out. But the deacon swore (as deacons do, It should be so built that it couldn' break daown: "Fur," said the deacon, "'t's mighty plain That the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, Is only jest T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." So the deacon inquired of the village folk The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees, The hubs of logs from the "Settler's Ellum," Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin, too, Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! Children and grandchildren where were they? EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; it came and found |