YE’VE heard of Meg Goldlocks of… The stoniest damsel that ever was… Yet, her beauty distress’d, with i… Of the lasses for miles around Wi… Mary of Howdon, with Robin would…

‘YOU little like the sonnet? Yo… But what are you? a creaking wicke… A cricket in the grass, allow Me, slut! to say a very cricket!— ’A chatter-box, or at the best’—

‘BEWARE! yon bird now in glee o… May drop into a snare:’ So sung we when a day of the past… away But not when Alf, was near.

I NEVER said my verse you’d moc… Nor how you’d giggled at my gramma… You, on whom Fame her door has lo… I little mark’d your empty clamour… I merely said that when you’d call…

‘You naughty Bee!’ the Red Rose… ‘To come at noon by Envy driven, And wound the bloom whose beauty m… The Sun to linger in the heaven! ’I little dream’d, while I did gr…

I READ in an old book the myth Of the Hellenian damsel with The magic needle, when there fell On me a power—a mystic spell— I could not well to others tell.

AS ever a bard in such pitiful pl… Was ever such seen by yon stars in… A-pit or a-bed, by day and by nigh… I’m plagued by the magic of two ha… A leaf in a whirlwind, I’m sent t…

I SAW but once that lovely one, Nor need I see her twice to love; She broke upon me like the dawn, And o’er my soul her magic wove— Yea, forced the lion stern to own

THEY cry, ‘How light the heart a… From which proceed such strains of gladness!’ They can’t discern the pangs that… And seek to drive the bard to madn…

AH! a lovely jewel was Mary of C… And now she is cold in the clay, We think of the heart-cheering ima… As we pass down the old waggon way… Her air was a magical air, and the…

‘You wont!’ the Rose’s accents ri… ‘I will!’ the Golden Bee’s are ri… And tho’ the winds, to aid her, sp… Soon with the breeze-tost bloom he… swinging.

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…

THE vision will vanish for ever, That gildeth this moment thy track… And in vain were the noblest endea… To call the enchantment back. Yet pine not; a balm—an ovation

WHY thus mourn o’er star-hopes fa… They are only from thy ken, By a passing vapour shaded, And will soon appear again: Would thou prove a moral warrior,

’TIS little Robin Redbreast Was piping on the spray, ‘And pray, mamma, what shall we do To bring him up this way?’ Mamma into the pantry goes,