DENT. I. THERE is a town, of little note or praise, And the nigh savour of the hissing sweets The hungry nose that threads the sinuous maze; The sceptic wisdom, positive in doubt, All creeds and fancies, like the hunter's torch, Caught each from each, perfection find in Dent, Where what they cannot get they do without. GEOLOGY. II. In that small town was born a worthy wight, The fate of Galileo had been thine. ANGELS have wings? Well, let them growMay it be long before you know Whether they have or not. But geese have wings, and quills as good, But oh dear lady, why contrive Conceited more than ever: I will not call these pens divine, And that's enough, however. TRANSLATIONS. FROM THE GERMAN. THERE is an angel that abides That is his home, and there he hides The rose-bud is his humble home, If e'er he sees a maiden meek, Oh, lovely maiden, dost thou know 'Tis the Angel of the Rose, |