Who'll buy a little boy? Look, yonder is he, Fast asleep, sly rogue on his mother's knee; So bold a young imp 'tisn't safe to keep, So I'll part with him now, while he's sound asleep....
Here stood the city of the dead; look round - Dost thou not mark a visionary band, Druids and bards upon the summits stand, Of the majestic and time-hallowed mound?...
Grey-cowled monk, whose faith so earnest Guides these Indians' childlike hearts, As their hands to toil thou turnest, Teaching them the Builder's arts, Speak thy thought! as now they gather...
"Halt! Who goes there?" the sentry's call Rose on the midnight air Above the noises of the camp, The roll of wheels, the horses' tramp. The challenge echoed over all, "Halt! Who goes there?" ...
When my mother is n't here, And I just won't go to bed, And it's cold outside and near Christmas; and the kitchen-shed 'S covered thick with frost and snow; Then my nurse she says, "Oh! oh!...
The kettle descants in a cozy drone, And the young wife looks in her husband's face, And then at her guest's, and shows in her own Her sense that she fills an envied place;...
"Sixpence a week," says the girl to her lover, "Aunt used to bring me, for she could confide In me alone, she vowed. 'Twas to cover The cost of her headstone when she died. And that was a year ago last June;...
"And now to God the Father," he ends, And his voice thrills up to the topmost tiles: Each listener chokes as he bows and bends, And emotion pervades the crowded aisles....
"Would it had been the man of our wish!" Sighs her mother. To whom with vehemence she In the wedding-dress the wife to be - "Then why were you so mollyish As not to insist on him for me!"...
"My bride is not coming, alas!" says the groom, And the telegram shakes in his hand. "I own It was hurried! We met at a dancing-room When I went to the Cattle-Show alone,...
They sit and smoke on the esplanade, The man and his friend, and regard the bay Where the far chalk cliffs, to the left displayed, Smile sallowly in the decline of day....
He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there, A type of decayed gentility; And by some small signs he well can guess That she comes to him almost breakfastless. ...
"You see those mothers squabbling there?" Remarks the man of the cemetery. One says in tears, ''Tis mine lies here!' Another, 'Nay, mine, you Pharisee!' Another, 'How dare you move my flowers...