There once was a bird that lived u… And all he could whistle was “Fid… A very provoking, unmusical song For one to be whistling the summer… Yet always contented and busy was…

Oh, hush thee, little Dear-my-Sou… The evening shades are falling,— Hush thee, my dear, dost thou not… The voice of the Master calling? Deep lies the snow upon the earth,

See, what a wonderful garden is he… Planted and trimmed for my Little… Posies so gaudy and grass of such… Search ye the country and hunt ye… And never ye’ll meet with a garden…

Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly—… Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his shad… Through the moonlight that floats… For it’s only at night, when the s…

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…

They told me once that Pan was de… And so, in sooth, I thought him; For vainly where the streamlets le… Through flowery meads I sought hi… Nor in his dewy pasture bed

I say, as one who never feared The wrath of a subscriber’s bullet… I pity him who has a beard But has no little girl to pull it! When wife and I have finished tea…

Fisherman Jim lived on the hill With his bonnie wife an’ his littl… 'T wuz “Blow, ye winds, as blow y… Naught we reck of your cold and no… For happy and warm were he an’ his…

Hush, bonnie, dinna greit; Moder will rocke her sweete,- Balow, my boy! When that his toile ben done, Daddie will come anone,-

'Tis spring! the boats bound to th… The breezes, loitering kindly over The fields, again bring herds and… The grateful cheer of honeyed clov… Now Venus hither leads her train,

One day upon a topmost shelf I found a precious prize indeed, Which father used to read himself, But did not want us boys to read; A brown old book of certain age

The gods let slip that fiendish gr… Upon me last week Sunday— No fiercer storm than racked my fo… E’er swept the Bay of Fundy; But now, good-by

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,

The mountain brook sung lonesomeli… Ez if it waited for a child to jin… The wild-flowers uv the hillside b… The music uv the little feet that… The magpies, like winged shadders,…

As forth he pours the new made win… What blessing asks the lyric poet— What boon implores in this fair sh… Of one full likely to bestow it? Not for Sardinia’s plenteous stor…