'They have saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They have bridled a hundred black.' Old Ballad. 'He turned in his saddle, now follow who dare. I ride for my country, quoth * *.' - Lawrence.
'Gillian's dead, God rest her bier, How I loved her many years syne; Marion's married, but I sit here, Alive and merry at three-score year, Dipping my nose in Gascoigne wine.' - Wamba's Song, Thackeray....
The shore-boat lies in the morning light, By the good ship ready for sailing; The skies are clear, and the dawn is bright, Tho' the bar of the bay is fleck'd with white, And the wind is fitfully wailing;...
Dear Bell, I enclose what you ask in a letter, A short rhyme at random, no more and no less, And you may insert it, for want of a better, Or leave it, it doesn't much matter, I guess;...
Oh! wind that whistles o'er thorns and thistles, Of this fruitful earth like a goblin elf; Why should he labour to help his neighbour Who feels too reckless to help himself?...
Calm and clear! the bright day is declining, The crystal expanse of the bay, Like a shield of pure metal, lies shining 'Twixt headlands of purple and grey,...
'Aye, squire,' said Stevens, 'they back him at evens; The race is all over, bar shouting, they say; The Clown ought to beat her; Dick Neville is sweeter Than ever, he swears he can win all the way. ...
On the fields of Col'raine there'll be labour in vain Before the Great Western is ended, The nags will have toil'd, and the silks will be soil'd, And the rails will require to be mended. ...