JUST let the Owl of Evil howl; To mourners of each rank and stati… Come, troll the Golden Bowl! And quaff me with a deep potation. Each sparkling droplet to the soul

ELF Rumour? Ay, the airy fay, That treads the air unseen by any; From town to town, her bugle’s blo… And merry are her pranks, and many… Her news our ears now charm, our f…

A SYREN, with her mirror bright… His ear enchants; and while he lis… His image on his dazzled sight, A very jewel gleams and glistens. Ah, could he peer into yon brook,

‘LOVE’S a pleasure, love’s a tre… Why the joys of love withstand?’ Alf so pleadeth, Effie heedeth And—What ails the lily-wand? Lighter grow her airs and lighter—

THE wind comes from the west to-n… So sweetly down the lane he blowet… Upon my lips, with pure delight, From head to foot my body gloweth. Where did the wind, the magic find

DEAR critics, pray, what have I… That thus you frown so? tell me tr… ‘You’ve for your neck a halter spu… In blaming of our race unduly!’ Don’t hang me, pray!—Just praise…

SHE is not fashioned to command, Nor once, for grace, in her is sho… A form that peers the lily-wand— An air the lily’s self might own; Not such her vaunt, tho’ such ench…

IN trumpet-toned accents I heard A voice in a vision to cry;'€” ‘By threat of no tyrant deterred, We rear up our banner on high. ’No longer, tho’ feeble and poor,

DIES not the soul when dust to d… Even as we are in earth-life are w… Save from the worn-out garment ren… That may have proved a fetter to t… Not unto demons void of good conve…

BALOO, my sweet baby—the blossom… I dandle’t till weary, and sigh, With not a bare drop in my bosom To silence its pitiful cry. The red moon above us right rarely…

(Suggested by an old verse.) THRO’ the dark and dreary night, Golden slumbers kiss thine eyes; Sleep, and in the early light With a golden smile arise!

Misfortune is a darling, ever Most faithful to the minstrel race… Let low-bred wretches shun them, n… Yet acted she a part so base. True, oft by her the bard discover…

FLY not away, wee birdie, pray! No weasels we, no evil-bringers, Would make thee bear the pangs tha… Too oft the hearts of sweetest sin… Long may thy nest with eggs be ble…

CAN this be her? Her dark eyes… Two planets in the midnight heaven… Her cheeks the blood-dyed rose—her… The snow upon the mountains driven… Her tongue’s a silver bell to hear…

MY little boy, thy laughter Goes to my bosom core, And sends me yearning after The days that are no more. Adown my cheek is stealing