Oh, dear, how will it end? Peggy and Susie how naughty you are. You little know where you are, Going so far, and so high, Nearly up to the sky. Perhaps it's a Giant who lives there,...
O once I had a true love, As blest as I could be: Patty was my turtle dove, And Patty she loved me. We walked the fields together, By roses and woodbine, In Summer's sunshine weather,...
Pray, take these pearls! - and my thanks for them You lavished, the home of my youth to gem! The thousands of hours of peaceful luster Your spirit has filled, are pearls that cluster...
Oft as I hear thee, wrapt in heavenly art, The massive message of Beethoven tell With thy ten fingers to the people's heart As if ten tongues told news of heaven and hell, -...
The heroes of the present and the past Were puny, vague, and nothingness to thee: Thou didst a span grasp mighty to the last, And strain for glory when thy die was cast....
It may indeed be fantasy when I Essay to draw from all created things Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings; And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie Lessons of love and earnest piety....
Where is the world we roved, Ned Bunn? Hollows thereof lay rich in shade By voyagers old inviolate thrown Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf and Trade. To us old lads some thoughts come home...
A sorry life, forsooth, these wretched girls are undergoing, Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, from loving favors showing, For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will be bestowing! ...
Ah! Unhappy are the maidens, who love's game are kept from playing, Nor in mellow wine may wash away their cares; Who, scared by scolding uncles' tongues, their terror are displaying, -...
A health to King Neptune, The boss of the wave! Who sits on the Ocean And makes it behave. Come fill up your bumpers And take a long pull! When he's calm he's not dry--...
In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave, And wildly along it the winter winds rave; Small shelter, I ween, are the ruined walls there, When the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kildare....
My dear Next Christmas, - It is an excellent journalistic thing, Not to say a poetical thing, To be first in the field. Behold me, therefore, advancing At the head of that motley army...
1. Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,...