But I was given a paroquet--
How I did nurse him if unwell!
He's imbecile but lingers yet.
He's green, with an enchanting tuft;
He melts me with his small black eye:
He'd look inimitable stuffed,
And knows it--but he will not die!
I had a kitten--I was rich
In pets--but all too soon my kitten
Became a full-sized cat, by which
I've more than once been scratched and bitten:
And when for sleep her limbs she curled
One day beside her untouched plateful,
And glided calmly from the world,
I freely own that I was grateful.
And then I bought a dog--a queen!
Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!
She lives, but she is past sixteen,
And scarce can crawl across the rug.
I loved her beautiful and kind;
Delighted in her pert bow-wow:
But now she snaps if you don't mind;
'T were lunacy to love her now.
I used to think, should e'er mishap
Betide my crumple-visaged Ti,
In shape of prowling thief, or trap,
Or coarse bull-terrier--I should die.
But ah! disasters have their use;
And life might e'en be too sunshiny:
Nor would I make myself a goose,
If some big dog should swallow Tiny.
CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY.
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.
[A farmers daughter, during the rage for albums, handed
to the author an old account-book ruled for pounds,
shillings, and pence, and requested a contribution.]
| £. | s. | d.
This world's a scene as dark as Styx, | | |
Where hope is scarce worth | | 2 | 6
Our joys are borne so fleeting hence | | |
That they are dear at | | | 18
And yet to stay here most are willing, | | |
Although they may not have | | 1 |
WILLIS GAYLORD.
ON THE BRINK.
I watched her as she stooped to pluck
A wild flower in her hair to twine;
And wished that it had been my luck
To call her mine;
Anon I heard her rate with mad,
Mad words her babe within its cot,
And felt particularly glad
That it had not.
I knew (such subtle brains have men!)
That she was uttering what she shouldn't;
And thought that I would chide, and then
I thought I wouldn't.
Few could have gazed upon that face,
Those pouting coral lips, and chided:
A Rhadamanthus, in my place,
Had done as I did.
For wrath with which our bosoms glow
Is chained there oft by Beauty's spell;
And, more than that, I did not know
The widow well.
So the harsh phrase passed unreproved:
Still mute--(O brothers, was it sin?)--
I drank unutterably moved,
Her beauty in.
And to myself I murmured low,
As on her upturned face and dress
The moonlight fell, "Would she say No,--
By chance, or Yes?"
She stood so calm, so like a ghost,
Betwixt me and that magic moon,
That I already was almost
A finished coon.
But when she caught adroitly up
And soothed with smiles her little daughter;
And gave it, if I'm right, a sup
Of barley-water;
And, crooning still the strange, sweet lore
Which only mothers' tongues can utter,
Snowed with deft hand the sugar o'er
Its bread-and-butter;
And kissed it clingingly (ah, why
Don't women do these things in private?)--
I felt that if I lost her, I
Should not survive it.
And from my mouth the words nigh flew,--
The past, the future, I forgat 'em,--
"Oh, if you'd kiss me as you do
That thankless atom!"
But this thought came ere yet I spake,
And froze the sentence on my lips:
"They err who marry wives that make
Those little slips."
It came like some familiar rhyme,
Some copy to my boyhood set;
And that's perhaps the reason I'm
Unmarried yet.
Would she have owned how pleased she was,
And told her love with widow's pride?
I never found out that, because
I never tried.
Be kind to babes and beasts and birds,
Hearts may be hard though lips are coral;
And angry words are angry words:
And that's the moral.
CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY.
THE V-A-S-E.
From the maddening crowd they stand apart,
The maidens four and the Work of Art;
And none might tell from sight alone
In which had culture ripest grown,--
The Gotham Millions fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,
The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,--
For all loved Art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
* * * * *
Long they worshipped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke
The Western one from the nameless place,
Who blushingly said: "What a lovely vace!"
Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.
But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred
To crush the stranger with one small word
Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
She cries: "'T is, indeed, a lovely vaze!"
But brief her unworthy triumph when
The lofty one from the home of Penn,
With the consciousness of two grand papas,
Exclaims: "It is quite a lovely vahs!"
And glances round with an anxious thrill,
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.
But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,
And gently murmurs: "Oh pardon me!
"I did not catch your remark, because
I was so entranced with that charming vaws!"
_Dies erit prægelida_
_Sinistra quum Bostonia._
JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE.
LARKS AND NIGHTINGALES.
Alone I sit at eventide:
The twilight glory pales,
And o'er the meadows far and wide
Chant pensive bobolinks.
(One might say nightingales!)
Song-sparrows warble on the tree,
I hear the purling brook,
And from the old "manse o'er the lea"
Flies slow the cawing crow.
(In England 'twere a rook!)
The last faint golden beams of day
Still glow on cottage panes,
And on their lingering homeward way
Walk weary laboring men.
(Oh, would that we had swains!)
From farm-yards, down fair rural glades
Come sounds of tinkling bells,
And songs of merry brown milkmaids,
Sweeter than oriole's.
(Yes, thank you--Philomel's!)
I could sit here till morning came,
All through the night hours dark,
Until I saw the sun's bright flame
And heard the chickadee.
(Alas we have no lark!)
We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,
No swains, no nightingales,
No singing milkmaids (save in books):
The poet does his best--
It is the rhyme that fails!
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.
OF BLUE CHINA.
There's a joy without canker or cark,
There's a pleasure eternally new,
'T is to gloat on the glaze and the mark
Of china that's ancient and blue;
Unchipped, all the centuries through
It has passed, since the chime of it rang,
And they fashioned it, figure and hue,
In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.
These dragons (their tails, you remark,
Into bunches of gillyflowers grew),--
When Noah came out of the ark,
Did these lie in wait for his crew?
They snorted, they snapped, and they slew,
They were mighty of fin and of fang,
And their portraits Celestials drew
In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.
Here's a pot with a cot in a park,
In a park where the peach-blossoms blew,
Where the lovers eloped in the dark,
Lived, died, and were changed into two
Bright birds that eternally flew
Through the boughs of the may, as they sang;
'T is a tale was undoubtedly true
In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.
ENVOY
Come, snarl at my ecstasies, do,
Kind critic; your "tongue has a tang,"
But--a sage never heeded a shrew
In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.
ANDREW LANG.
A RIDDLE.[14]
THE LETTER "H."
'T was in heaven pronounced, and 't was muttered in hell,
And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;
On the confines of earth 't was permitted to rest,
And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed;
'T will be found in the sphere when 't is riven asunder,
Be seen in the lightning and heard in the thunder.
'T was allotted to man with his earliest breath,
Attends him at birth, and awaits him in death,
Presides o'er his happiness, honor and health,
Is the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth.
In the heaps of the miser 't is hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost on his prodigal heir.
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound,
With the husbandman toils, and with monarchs is crowned.
Without it the soldier, the seaman may roam,
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home!
In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion be drowned.
'T will not soften the heart; but though deaf be the ear,
It will make it acutely and instantly hear.
Yet in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower,
Ah, breathe on it softly,--it dies in an hour.
CATHARINE FANSHAWE.
[14] Sometimes attributed to Byron.
A THRENODY.
"The Ahkoond of Swat is dead."--_London Papers._
What, what, what,
What's the news from Swat?
Sad news,
Bad news,
Comes by the cable led
Through the Indian Ocean's bed,
Through the Persian Gulf, the Red
Sea and the Med-
Iterranean--he's dead;
The Ahkoond is dead!
For the Ahkoond I mourn,
Who wouldn't?
He strove to disregard the message stern,
But he Ahkoodn't.
Dead, dead, dead;
(Sorrow Swats!)
Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,
Swats whom he had often led
Onward to a gory bed,
Or to victory,
As the case might be,
Sorrow Swats!
Tears shed,
Shed tears like water,
Your great Ahkoond is dead!
That Swats the matter!
Mourn, city of Swat!
Your great Ahkoond is not,
But lain 'mid worms to rot.
His mortal part alone, his soul was caught
(Because he was a good Ahkoond)
Up to the bosom of Mahound.
Though earthy walls his frame surround
(Forever hallowed be the ground!)
And sceptics mock the lowly mound
And say "He's now of no Ahkoond!"
His soul is in the skies,--
The azure skies that bend above his loved Metropolis of Swat.
He sees with larger, other eyes,
Athwart all earthly mysteries--
He knows what's Swat.
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!
Fallen is at length
Its tower of strength,
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned;
Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
The great Ahkoond of Swat
Is not!
GEORGE THOMAS LANIGAN.
LINES TO MISS FLORENCE HUNTINGTON.
Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy,
Shall we seek for communion of souls
Where the deep Mississippi meanders,
Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?
Ah no,--for in Maine I will find thee
A sweetly sequestrated nook,
Where the far winding Skoodoowabskooksis
Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook.
There wander two beautiful rivers,
With many a winding and crook;
The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis,
The other--the Skoodoowabskook.
Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned
In geography, atlas, or book,
How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis,
When joining the Skoodoowabskook!
Our cot shall be close by the waters
Within that sequestrated nook--
Reflected in Skoodoowabskooksis
And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook.
You shall sleep to the music of leaflets,
By zephyrs in wantonness shook,
And dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis,
And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook.
When awaked by the hens and the roosters,
Each morn, you shall joyously look
On the junction of Skoodoowabskooksis
With the soft gliding Skoodoowabskook.
Your food shall be fish from the waters,
Drawn forth on the point of a hook,
From murmuring Skoodoowabskookis,
Or wandering Skoodoowabskook!
You shall quaff the most sparkling of water,
Drawn forth from a silvery brook
Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis,
And then to the Skoodoowabskook!
And you shall preside at the banquet,
And I will wait on thee as cook;
And we'll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis,
And sing of the Skoodoowabskook!
Let others sing loudly of Saco,
Of Quoddy, and Tattamagouche,
Of Kennebeccasis, and Quaco,
Of Merigonishe, and Buctouche,
Of Nashwaak, and Magaguadavique,
Or Memmerimammericook,--
There's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis,
Excepting the Skoodoowabskook!
ANONYMOUS.
V.
NONSENSE.
NONSENSE.
Good reader, if you e'er have seen,
When Phoebus hastens to his pillow,
The mermaids with their tresses green
Dancing upon the western billow;
If you have seen at twilight dim,
When the lone spirit's vesper hymn
Floats wild along the winding shore,
The fairy train their ringlets weave
Glancing along the spangled green;
I you have seen all this, and more--
God bless me! what a deal you've seen!
THOMAS MOORE.
THE PURPLE COW.
I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I rather see than be one.
GELETT BURGESS.
PSYCHOLOPHON.
[Supposed to be translated from the Old Parsee.]
Twine then the rays
Round her soft Theban tissues!
All will be as She says,
When that dead past reissues.
Matters not what nor where,
Hark, to the moon's dim cluster!
How was her heavy hair
Lithe as a feather duster!
Matters not when nor whence;
Flittertigibbet!
Sound makes the song, not sense,
Thus I inhibit!
GELETT BURGESS.
THE BAKER'S TALE.
FROM "THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK."
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
"My father and mother were honest though poor--"
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once become dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens,
And it's handy for striking a light.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care;
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with again!'
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied, "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy, delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking a light:
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!"
CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON (_Lewis Carroll_).
JABBERWOCKY.
'T was brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'T was brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON (_Lewis Carroll_).
FOR A NOVEL OF HALL CAINE'S.
AFTER KIPLING.
He sits in a sea-green grotto with a bucket of
lurid paint,
And draws the Thing as it isn't for the God of things as
they ain't.
ROBERT BRIDGES (_Droch_).
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES.
_For occupation, nativity, etc., of authors, and the_
_American publishers of American poetical works, see_
_General Index of Authors, Volume X._
ADAMS, CHARLES FOLLEN. PAGE.
Dot Long-Handled Dipper, 328
Little Yawcob Strauss, 327
ARISTOPHANES.
Women's Chorus (_Collins' Translation_), 200
ARNOLD, MATTHEW.
Slaying of Sohrab, The, 28
BARHAM, RICHARD HARRIS (_Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq._).
Jackdaw of Rheims, The, 331
BLANCHARD, LAMON.
Ode to the Human Heart, 428
BOKER, GEORGE HENRY.
Countess Laura, 55
BRIDGES, ROBERT (_Droch_).
For a Novel of Hall Caine's, 460
BROOKS, CHARLES TIMOTHY.
Wives of Weinsberg, The (_German of Bürger_), 200
BROWNELL, HENRY HOWARD.
Lawyer's Invocation to Spring, The, 435
BROWNING, ROBERT.
Ivàn Ivànovitch, 102
BUCHANAN, ROBERT.
Fra Giacomo, 76
BÜRGER, GOTTFRIED AUGUST.
Wives of Weinsberg, The (_Brooks' Translation_), 200
BURGESS, FRANK GELETT.
Psycholophon, 456
Purple Cow, The, 455
BURLEIGH, WILLIAM HENRY.
Deborah Lee, 400
BURNS, ROBERT.
Address to the Toothache, 307
BUTLER, SAMUEL.
Hudibras' Sword and Dagger (_Hudibras_), 254
BUTLER, WILLIAM ALLEN.
"Nothing to wear", 213
BYRON, GEORGE NOEL GORDON, LORD.
Prisoner of Chillon, The, 88
CALVERLEY, CHARLES STUART.
Arab, The, 413
Auld Wife, The, 407
Cock and the Bull, The, 402
Disaster, 441
Forever, 424
Lovers and Reflection, 409
Motherhood, 440
Ode to Tobacco, 387
On the Brink, 443
CANNING, GEORGE.
Epitaph on Marquis of Anglesea's Leg, 292
Friend of Humanity and the Knife Grinder, The, 398
Song of One eleven years in Prison, 293
CARLETON, WILL.
New Church Organ, The, 316
CHAMBERS, ROBERT WILLIAM.
Recruit, The, 321
CLAUDIUS, MATTHIAS.
Hen, The (_Translation_), 436
CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH.
Latest Decalogue, The, 315
COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR.
Epigrams, 286
Metrical Feet, 429
COLLINS, MORTIMER.
Darwin, 383
COLLINS, WILLIAM.
Women's Chorus (_Greek of Aristophanes_), 200
COLMAN, GEORGE, THE YOUNGER.
Gluggity Glug (_The Myrtle and the Vine_), 245
Toby Tosspot, 257
COURTHOPE, WILLIAM JOHN.
Ode to the Roc, 437
COWPER, WILLIAM.
Diverting History of John Gilpin, The, 276
Nose and the Eyes, The, 310
On the Loss of the Royal George, 182
DAVIS, THOMAS OSBORNE.
Sack of Baltimore, The, 127
DOBSON, [HENRY] AUSTIN.
Before Sedan, 101
DODGSON, CHARLES LUTWIDGE (_Lewis Carroll_).
Baker's Tale, The (_The Hunting of the Snark_), 456
Jabberwocky, 459
DOLE, NATHAN HASKELL.
_Larks and Nightingales_, 447
DOWLING, BARTHOLOMEW.
Revelry of the Dying, 170
EURIPIDES.
Sacrifice of Polyxena, The (_Symord's Translation_), 5
FANSHAWE, CATHERINE MARIA.
Riddle, A (_The Letter "H"_), 450
FIELD, EUGENE.
Compliment, The, 342
FIELDS, JAMES THOMAS.
Nantucket Skipper, The, 343
FORRESTER, ALFRED H. (_Alfred Crowquill_).
My Nose, To, 421
FOSS, SAM WALTER.
He'd Had No Show, 351
FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN.
Paper, 289
GAYLORD, WILLIS.
Lines written in an Album, 443
GILBERT, WILLIAM SCHWENCK.
Captain Reece, 297
Terrestrial Globe, To the, 309
Yarn of the "Nancy Bell," The, 301
GILMAN, CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON.
Conservative, A, 422
GOLDSMITH, OLIVER.
Elegy on Madam Blaize, 266
Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, 263
GREENE, ALBERT GORTON.
Old Grimes, 264
HALL, JOSEPH.
Hollow Hospitality, 384
HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE.
Alnwick Castle, 312
HARRINGTON, SIR JOHN.
Of a Certaine Man, 199
HARTE, [FRANCIS] BRET.
Dow's Flat, 368
Jim, 364
Plain Language from Truthful James, 374
Pliocene Skull, To the, 360
Ramon, 176
Society upon the Stanislaus, The, 372
HAY, JOHN.
Banty Jim, 366
Jim Bludso of the Prairie Bell, 358
Little Breeches, 362
HEMANS, FELICIA DOROTHEA BROWNE.
Bernardo del Carpio, 85
Casabianca, 184
HICKEY, EMILY HENRIETTA.
Sea Story, A, 193
HOGG, JAMES.
Women Fo'k, The, 197
HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL.
Ode for a Social Meeting., 383
One-Hoss Shay, The, 345
Rudolph the Headsman (_This is It_), 293
HOOD, THOMAS.
Art of Book-Keeping, The, 305
Dream of Eugene Aram, The, 157
Faithless Nelly Gray, 268
Faithless Sally Brown, 271
Morning Meditations, 261
Nocturnal Sketch, 430
HUGO, VICTOR MARIE.
Sack of the City, The (_Translation_), 26
HUNT, LEIGH.
Sneezing, 421
INGELOW, JEAN.
High-Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire, 145
IRWIN, WALLACE.
From "Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum", 394
KINGSLEY, CHARLES.
Sands o' Dee, The, 181
Three Fishers, The, 183
LAMB, CHARLES.
Farewell to Tobacco, A, 389
LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE.
Iphigeneia and Agamemnon, 3
LANG, ANDREW.
Of Blue China, 448
LANIGAN, GEORGE THOMAS.
Threnody, A, 451
LELAND, CHARLES GODFREY.
Hans Breitmann's Party, 325
Ritter Hugo, 324
LOCKER-LAMPSON, FREDERICK.
On an Old Muff, 235
LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH.
Wreck of the Hesperus, The, 186
LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL.
America (_A Fable for Critics_), 337
Grave-Yard, The (_A Fable for Critics_), 261
What Mr. Robinson Thinks (_Biglow Papers_), 339
MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD.
Roman Father's Sacrifice, The (_Virginia_), 16
MAGINN, WILLIAM.
Irishman and the Lady, The, 320
MOORE, THOMAS.
Nonsense, 455
Orator Puff, 273
NEWELL, EGBERT HENRY (_Orpheus C. Kerr_).
Poems for a National Anthem, 415
O'BRIEN, FITZ-JAMES.
Second Mate, The, 189
OGDEN, EVA L.
Sea, The, 227
O'KEEFFE, JOHN.
"I am a friar of orders gray" (_Robin Hood_), 247
PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD.
Lucius Junius Brutus over the body of Lucretia
(_Brutus_), 14
PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH.
Belle of the Ball, The, 207
PUNCH.
Collegian to his Bride, The, 434
PUNCH'S "POETICAL COOKERY BOOK."
Roasted Sucking-Pig, 385
RILEY, JAMES WHITCOMB.
Griggsby's Station, 349
ROCHE, JAMES JEFFREY.
V-A-S-E-, The, 446
ROGERS, SAMUEL.
Ginevra, 81
RUSSELL, IRWIN.
De Fust Banjo, 377
Nebuchadnezzar, 380
SAXE, JOHN GODFREY.
Echo, 211
Proud Miss MacBride, The, 228
Railroad Rhyme, 431
SCHILLER, JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON.
Diver, The (_Translation_), 44
SCOLLARD, CLINTON.
Khamsin, 42
SCOTT, DUNCAN CAMPBELL.
At the Cedars, 178
SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM.
Antony's Oration (_Julius Cæsar_), 20
Dagger of the Mind, A (_Macbeth_), 120
Murder, The (_Macbeth_), 122
Othello's Remorse (_Othello_), 67
SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE.
Trial of Beatrice (_The Cenci_), 68
SMITH, HORACE.
Gouty Merchant and the Stranger, The, 275
SMITH, SYDNEY.
Recipe for Salad, A, 387
SOUTHEY, CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES.
Young Gray Head, The, 132
SOUTHEY, ROBERT.
God's Judgment on a wicked Bishop, 52
Well of St. Keyne, The, 204
STANTON, FRANK LEBBY.
Plantation Ditty, A (_Comes One with a Song_), 376
STEPHEN, JAMES KENNETH.
Lapsus Calami, 422
STERLING, JOHN.
Rose and the Gauntlet, The, 131
STILL, JOHN.
Good Ale, 248
STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY.
Sea, The, 192
SWIFT, JONATHAN.
Tonis ad Resto Mare, 319
Vowels, The: An Enigma, 311
SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES.
Nephelidia, 411
SYMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON.
Sacrifice of Polyxena, The (_Greek of Euripides_), 5
TAYLOR, JEFFREYS.
Milkmaid, The, 259
TENNYSON, ALFRED, LORD.
Rizpah, 151
THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE.
Little Billee, 296
Sorrows of Werther, 204
WHEWELL, WILLIAM.
Physics, 434
WILKINS, WILLIAM,
In the Engine-Shed, 165
WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER.
Parrhasius, 8
WILLSON, ARABELLA M.
To the "Sextant", 355
WOLCOTT, OR WOLCOT, JOHN (_Peter Pindar_).
Pilgrims and the Peas, The, 249
Razor-Seller, The, 287
ANONYMOUS.
Belagholly Days, 420
Cosmic Egg, The, 436
Drummer-Boy's Burial, The, 172
Echo and the Lover, 210
Fine old English Gentleman, The, 255
King John and the Abbot of Canterbury, 241
Life's Love, 382
Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon, 453
Modern Hiawatha, The, 414
Modern House that Jack Built, The, 396
My Love, 427
Mystified Quaker in New York, The, 352
Perils of Thinking, 380
Saddened Tramp, A, 395
Saint Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes, 239
Siege of Belgrade, 426
Swell's Soliloquy, The, 341
Too Great a Sacrifice, 394
Twa Corbies, The, 126
Vicar of Bray, The, 251
Woman, 197
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