Accept, dear girl, this little tok… And if between the lines you seek, You’ll find the love I’ve often s… The love my dying lips shall speak… Our little ones are making merry

The Greeks had genius,—'t was a g… The Muse vouchsafed in glorious m… The boon of Fame they made their… And prized above all worldly treas… But _we_,—how do we train _our_ yo…

Full many a sinful notion Conceived of foreign powers Has come across the ocean To harm this land of ours; And heresies called fashions

O fountain of Blandusia, Whence crystal waters flow, With garlands gay and wine I’ll p… The sacrifice I owe; A sportive kid with budding horns

Why, Mistress Chloe, do you bothe… With prattlings and with vain ado Your worthy and industrious mother… Eschewing them that come to woo? Oh, that the awful truth might qui…

Many a beauteous flower doth sprin… From the tears that flood my eyes, And the nightingale doth sing In the burthen of my sighs. If, O child, thou lovest me,

“Give me my bow,” said Robin Hood… “An arrow give to me; And where 't is shot mark thou tha… For there my grave shall be.” Then Little John did make no sign…

There is a certain Yankee phrase I always have revered, Yet, somehow, in these modern days… It’s almost disappeared; It was the usage years ago,

The stars are twinkling in the ski… The earth is lost in slumbers deep… So hush, my sweet, and close thine… And let me lull thy soul to sleep. Compose thy dimpled hands to rest,

This talk about the journalists th… We’ve got a Western editor that’s… He lives here in Mizzoora where t… In ante-bellum notions that they v… But the paper he is running makes…

O mother-my-love, if you’ll give m… And go where I ask you to wander, I will lead you away to a beautifu… The Dreamland that’s waiting out… We’ll walk in a sweet posie-garden…

Last night, whiles that the curfew… I heard a moder to her dearie sing… “Lollyby, lolly, lollyby.” And presently that chylde did ceas… And on his moder’s breast did fall…

Come hither, lyttel childe, and li… For yonder fares an angell yclad i… And yonder sings ye angell as onel… And his songe ben of a garden that… To them that have no lyttel childe…

Of mornings, bright and early, When the lark is on the wing And the robin in the maple Hops from her nest to sing, From yonder cheery chamber

I ‘m going to write a letter to ou… Out West last spring to practise… I ’ll tell him all the gossip I g… For he has n’t seen the home-folks… Most generally it ‘s Marthy does…