FROM all that I have seen or hea… This world, is but an empty show, And only can the heart afford What tends to bitter strife and wo… Nay in its clutch, do what we will…

AH me, my heart is like to break, The envied rose upon my cheek, The blood red rose is cold and ble… Since he has slighted me. A very shadow lone and pale,

THE memories of moments flown, Into my spirit’s glass assemble; And as they enter, one by one, My heart-strings into music trembl… Even as the harp, the breezelet sw…

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…

FROM the pipe-end off it glides, Many hued appearing; What, if cynic harsh derides, Sets the boys a-staring. In their eyes gleam its dyes,

A LITTLE brooklet trilled a son… As merry as the day was long, At which a music-hater stung To frenzy said: 'I’ll bind thy to… And quell thy merriment:' That…

I’m as loyal a subject as Britain… Our Queen she is gracious, and ge… But another this moment demandeth… ’Tis Annie, the lass with the two… The hair of my idol’s a stream of…

THE hopes that allured me To cope with the worst, At length have secured me The tortures accurst, Of fever and grief,

LA, what a Night! The hag has… In hue to prove a chimla sweeper; And did the North not blow his ho… No star would dare to show its pee… How black her look!—(Just like th…

HER harp she takes, from string t… Her little snowy fingers, glancing… Into Night’s ear a wild spell fli… And all the while my heart is danc… Why thus, fond heart, thus dancest…

AH, deem not when thy minstrel tu… His harp to hours and glories vani… His star of stars, his moon of moo… Can ever from his heart be banish’… Each tune he wakes, each note that…

Mother wept, and father sigh’d; With delight a-glow Cried the lad, “To-morrow,” cried… “To the pit I go.” Up and down the place he sped,

LO the day begins to rise, And the shadows of the night, Overtaken with surprise, Blushing fly his presence bright; Cease thy briny tears to flow,

LITTLE ANNA young and fair, How with heart a-dancing, I descry her image rare, O’er the footway glancing. Ah, those locks of dusky hue,

‘I HATE outlandish things, and o… I’ve little liking for the sonnet; ’Tis for a lazy Muse, and one Who hath a bumler in her bonnet. ‘Tis a humdrum song, and tho’ not…