O tell me where did Katy live, very And yet so wicked, too? Did Katy love a naughty man, Or kiss more cheeks than one? I warrant Katy did no more Than many a Kate has done. Dear me! I'll tell you all about And Ann, with whom I used to walk And all that tore their locks of black, Or wet their eyes of blue,— Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid, What did poor Katy do? Ah no! the living oak shall crash, And thunder down the hill, Before the little Katydid Shall add one word, to tell The mystic story of the maid. Whose name she knows so well. Peace to the ever-murmuring race! And when the latest one Shall fold in death her feeble wings Beneath the autumn sun, Then shall she raise her fainting voice And lift her drooping lid, And then the child of future years Shall hear what Katy did. THE DILEMMA. Now, by the blessed Paphian queen, Who heaves the breast of sweet sixteen; By every name I cut on bark Before my morning star grew dark; By Hymen's torch, by Cupid's dart, By all that thrills the beating heart; I cannot choose between the two. I saw a row of twenty beams; From every beam a rope was hung, In every rope a lover swung; That bade each luckless lover die ; And ten accused the darker hue. I asked a matron, which she deemed She answered, some thought both were fair,- I asked a maiden; back she flung The locks that round her forehead hung, I felt as if my hair would blaze; She liked all eyes but eyes of green; She looked at me; what could she mean? Ah! many lids Love lurks between, Look not beneath his azure veil, |