Alas for ambition’s possessor! Alas for the famous and proud! The Isle of Manhattan’s best dres… Is wearing a hand-me-down shroud. The world has forgotten his glory;

The Chinatown at Bakersfield Was blazing bright and high; The flames to water would not yiel… Though torrents drenched the sky And drowned the ground for miles a…

O Reverend Ravlin, once with soun… You shook the bloody banner of you… Urged all the fiery boycotters afi… And swore you’d rather follow them… Alas, how brief the time, how grea…

'Twas a serious person with locks… And a figure like a crescent; His gravity, clearly, had come to… But his smile was evanescent. He stood and conversed with a neig…

As Death was a-riding out one day… Across Mount Carmel he took his w… Where he met a mendicant monk, Some three or four quarters drunk, With a holy leer and a pious grin,

Yawp, yawp, yawp! Under the moon and sun. It’s aye the rabble, And I to gabble, And hey! for the tale that is neve…

Come, Stanford, let us sit at eas… And talk as old friends do. You talk of anything you please, And I will talk of you. You recently have said, I hear,

O hoary sculptor, stay thy hand: I fain would view the lettered sto… What carvest thou?-perchance some… And solemn fancy all thine own. For oft to know the fitting word

I drew aside the Future’s veil And saw upon his bier The poet Whitman. Loud the wail And damp the falling tear. 'He’s dead-he is no more!' one cri…

Oh, Marcus D. Boruck, me hearty, I sympathize wid ye, poor lad! A man that’s shot out of his party Is mighty onlucky, bedad! An’ the sowl o’ that man is sad.

Filled with a zeal to serve my fel… For years I criticised their pros… Pointed out all their blunders of… Their shallowness of thought and f… Damned them up hill and down with…

Dear Bruner, once we had a little… (That is to say, 'twas I did all… About the manner of your moral wal… How devious the trail you made in… On level ground, your law-protecte…

Of life’s elixir I had writ, when… (Pray Heaven it spared him who th… Settled upon my senses with so dee… A stupefaction that men thought me… The centuries stole by with noisel…

Still as he climbed into the publi… His charms of person more apparent… Till the pleased world that watche… Saw nothing of him but his nether… Forgot his follies with his head’s…

Ira P. Rankin, you’ve a nasal nam… I’ll sound it through ‘the speakin… And wondering nations, hearing fro… The brazen twang of its resounding… Shall say: ‘These bards are an un…