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I seized the note — I flew up stairs —
'T'was full of love — to rhyme with dove –
In doubt I cast it in the flame,
In the dead of the night, when, from beds that
are turfy, The spirits rise up on old cronies to call, Came a shade from the Shades on a visit to
Don't shiver and shake, said the mild Apparition, I'm come to your bed with no evil design ;
I'm the Spirit of Moore, Francis Moore the
Like you I was once a great prophet on weather, And deemed to possess a more prescient knack Than dogs, frogs, pigs, cattle, or cats, all together, The donkeys that bray, and the dillies that quack.
With joy, then, as ashes retain former passion,
brought in fashion,
But, oh! from my joys there was soon à sad
cantle As too many cooks make a mull of the broth — To find that two Prophets were under my mantle, And pulling two ways at the risk of the cloth.
Unless you would meet with an awkwardish
tumble, Oh! join like the Siamese twins in your jumps ; Just fancy if Faith on her Prophets should stumble, The one in his clogs, and the other in pumps !
But think how the people would worship and
wonder, To find you “hail fellows, well met,” in your hail, In one tune with your rain, and your wind, and
your thunder, “ 'Fore God,” they would cry,“ they are both in
a tale !”
LITTLE O’P. - AN AFRICAN FACT.
It was July the First, and the great hill of Howth
tongue, “ Bash Kuku my gimmel bo gumborry bung!” Then blew a long shell, to the fright of our elf, And down came a hundred as black as himself. They brought with them guattul, and pieces of
The first was like beef, and the second like lamb ; “ Don't I know," said O’P., “what the wretches
are at ? They ’re intending to eat me as soon as I'm fat !” In terror of coming to pan, spit, or pot, His rations of jarbul he suffered to rot; He would not touch purry or doolberry-lik, But kept himself growing as thin as a stick. Though broiling the climate, and parching with
drouth, He would not let chobbery enter his mouth, But kicked down the krug shell, tho' sweetened
with natt, “ I ain't to be pisoned the likes of a rat!” At last the great Joddry got quite in a rage, And cried, “O mi pitticum dambally nage ! The chobbery take, and put back on the shelf, Or give me the krug shell, I'll drink it myself! The doolberry-lik is the best to be had, And the purry (I chewed it myself) is not bad ; The jarbul is fresh, for I saw it cut out, And the Bok that it came from is grazing about. My jumbo ! but run off to Billery. Nang, And tell her to put on her jigger and tang, And go with the Bloss to the man of the sea, And say that she comes as his Wulwul from me.” Now Billery Nang was as Black as a sweep, With thick curly hair like the wool of a sheep, And the moment he spied her, said little O’P., “ Sure the Divil is dead, and his Widow's at me!”
But when, in the blaze of her Hottentot charms,
love, A Raven preparing to bill like a Dove, With a soul full of dread he declined the grin
bliss, Stopped her Molyneux arms, and eluded her
kiss ; At last, fairly foiled, she gave up the attack, And Joddry began to look blacker than black ; “ By Mumbo ! by Jumbo ! — why here is a man, That won't be made happy do all that I can ; He will not be married, lodged, clad, and well fed, Let the Rham take his shangwang and chop off
his head ! ”
THE ANGLER’S FAREWELL.
“ Resigned, I kissed the rod.”
WELL! I think it is time to put up !
Wrist, elbow, and chine,
Stiff from throwing the line,