I would my days had been in other… A moment in the long unnumbered ye… That knew the sway of Horus and o… In peaceful lands that border on t… I would my days had been in other…

The hours are passing slow, I hear their weary tread Clang from the tower, and go Back to their kinsfolk dead. Sleep! death’s twin brother dread!

“What did the dark-haired Iberian… Aryan drove him into the corners o… I am an ancient Jest! Palæolithic man In his arboreal nest

Late at e’en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing. ‘Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,

Rob Roy from the Highlands cam, Unto the Lawlan’ border, To steal awa a gay ladie To haud his house in order. He cam oure the lock o’ Lynn,

(Sidero, the stepmother of Tyro,… At fierce Sidero’s word the thral… And shore the locks of Tyro,—like… They fell in golden harvest,—but f… The maiden shuddered in her pain a…

He lived in a cave by the seas, He lived upon oysters and foes, But his list of forbidden degrees, An extensive morality shows; Geological evidence goes

O Rose the Red and White Lilly, Their mother dear was dead, And their father married an ill wo… Wishd them twa little guede. Yet she had twa as fu fair sons

Mysterious Benedetta! who That Reynolds or that Romney drew Was ever half so fair as you, Or is so well forgot? These eyes of melancholy brown,

Down Deeside cam Inveraye Whistlin’ and playing, An’ called loud at Brackley gate Ere the day dawning— ‘Come, Gordon of Brackley.

Apollo left the golden Muse And shepherded a mortal’s sheep, Theocritus of Syracuse! To mock the giant swain that woo’s The sea-nymph in the sunny deep,

HAD cigarettes no ashes, And roses ne’er a thorn, No man would be a funker Of whin, or burn, or bunker. There were no need for mashies,

In somer when the shawes be sheyne… And leves be large and longe, Hit is full mery in feyre foreste To here the foulys song. To se the dere draw to the dale,

Foul fa’ the breast first treason… That Liddesdale may safely say: For in it there was baith meat and… And corn unto our geldings gay. We were stout-hearted men and true…

(Clement Marot’s Frère Lubin, th… Some ten or twenty times a day, To bustle to the town with speed, To dabble in what dirt he may,— Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need…