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And poor old Honesty, as thin as want,
Well named – God-wot;
Old Winter-Daisy ;-
Howe'er thy stalk be crazy?
'T is likely that sour leaf,
To garden thief,
Converse with flowers,
Away! dull weeds, Born without beneficial use or needs! Fit only to deck out cold winding-sheets ; And then not for the milkmaid's funeral-bloom,
Or fair Fidele's tomb, —
To tantalize – vile cheats!
Frigid and rigid,
Or the warm sun resplendent; Indifferent of culture and of care, Giving no sweets back to the fostering air, Churlishly independent
I hate ye, of all breeds ! Yea, all that live so selfishly - to self, And now by interchange of kindly deeds, –
Hence ! — from my shelf !
“SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.”
CABLES entangling her,
Buccaneers, rangers, Pirates, and Sallee-men, Algerine galleymen, Tornadoes and typhons, And horrible syphons, And submarine travels Thro' roaring sea-navels ; Everything wrong enough, Long-boat not long enough, Vessel not strong enough ; Pitch marring frippery, The deck very slippery, And the cabin — built sloping, The Captain a-toping, And the Mate a blasphemer That names his Redeemer With inward uneasiness; The cook, known by greasiness, The victuals beslubbered, Her bed — in a cupboard'; Things of strange christening, Snatched in her listening, Blue lights and red lights, And mention of dead lights, And shrouds made a theme of, Things horrid to dream of, — And buoys in the water To fear all exhort her ; Her friend no Leander; Herself no sea gander,
And ne'er a cork jacket On board of the packet; The breeze still a-stiffening, The trumpet quite deafening; Thoughts of repentance, And doomsday and sentence ! Everything sinister, Not a church minister, Pilot a blunderer, Coral reefs under her, Ready to sunder her; Trunks tipsy-topsy, The ship in a dropsy; Waves oversurging her, Sirens a-dirging her, Sharks all expecting her, Sword-fish dissecting her, Crabs with their hand-vices Punishing land vices; Sea-dogs and unicorns, Things with no puny horns, Mermen carnivorous, – “ Good Lord deliver us!”
A PATHETIC BALLAD.
Tim TURPIN he was gravel blind,
And ne'er had seen the skies :
Forgot to dot his eyes.
So, like a Christmas pedagogue,
Poor Tim was forced to do, Look out for pupils, for he had
A vacancy for two.
There's some have specs to help their sight
Of objects dim and small;
And could not see at all.
Now Tim he wooed a servant maid,
And took her to his arms; For he, like Pyramus, had cast
A wall-eye on her charms.
By day she led him up and down
Where'er he wished to jog,
The life of any dog.