Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's com mand. Then, kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KING, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear, While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. AUCTION EXTRAORDINARY. LUCRETIA DAVIDSON. I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And declared that to save their own hearts' blood from spilling, Of such a vile tax they would not pay a shilling. Of every description, all flocked to the sale. The bachelors all were sold off in a trice: And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, ORATOR PUFF. Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice, THOMAS MOORE. The one squeaking thus, and the other down so; Oh! oh! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator's surely enough. But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, "My voice is for war," asked him, "Which of them, pray?" Oh! oh! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator's surely enough. Reeling homewards, one evening, top-heavy with gin, "Sinking fund," the last words as his noddle came down. Oh! oh! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator's surely enough. "Oh! save!" he exclaim'd, in his he-and-she-tones, Help me out! help me out!-I have broken my bones!" "Help you out!" said a Paddy, who passed, "what a bother! Why, there's two of you there; can't you help one another?” Oh! oh! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator's surely enough. IN CHURCH-DURING THE LITANY. "I'm glad we got here early, Nell; I'm glad they go so soon away. 'Bowed sweetly to the Smiths? Oh! yes— [Responds] Good Lord, deliver us.' "I hate those haughty Courtenays! Their dresses aren't as nice as mine. "To-day the rector is to preach I hate to give. But then one must, You know we have a forward seat; "Did you know Mr. Gray had gone ? I trust that we with Cupid's darts [Responds] 'Behold the sorrow of our hearts, And, Lord, with mercy, Hear our prayer!" ANON. THE DEATH OF THE WARRIOR KING. CHARLES SWAIN. There are noble heads bowed down and pale, Deep sounds of woe arise, And tears flow fast around the couch Where a wounded warrior lies; Upon his lofty brow, And the arm of might and valor falls, I saw him 'mid the battling hosts, I saw the routed Saracens Flee from his blood-dark brand. I saw him in the banquet hour For dearly as he loved renown, He loved that spell-wrought strain Light Conquest's torch again. Then seemed the bard to cope with Time, And triumph o'er his doom Another world in freshness burst Oblivion's mighty tomb! Like lions to the fight, While horse and foot-helm, shield and lance, Swept by his visioned sight! But battle shout and waring plume, The drum's heart-stirring beat, The glittering pomp of prosperous war, Are sights and sounds the dying king It was the hour of deep midnight, When, with sable clock and 'broidered pall, Dull and sad fell the torches' glare On many a stately crest- GODIVA. I waited for the train at Coventry; I hung with grooms and porters on a bridge, To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped Not only we, the latest seed of Time, New men, that in the flying of a wheel TENNYSON. Upon his town, and all the mothers brought His beard a foot before him, and his hair A yard 'behind. She told him of their tears, And pray'd him, "If they pay this tax, they starve." |