‘LOVE’S a pleasure, love’s a tre… Why the joys of love withstand?’ Alf so pleadeth, Effie heedeth And—What ails the lily-wand? Lighter grow her airs and lighter—

THE stars are twinkling in the sk… As to the pit I go; I think not of the sheen on high, But of the gloom below. Not rest nor peace, but toil and s…

LET England beware, ere for war… She incur not the mark of the beas… That she march not her power the… Of the blood-imbued wolf of the E… It might be her gain that State t…

THE Hartley men are noble, and Ye’ll hear a tale of woe; I’ll tell the doom of the Hartley… The year of sixty-two. ’Twas on a Thursday morning, on

Last night at the Fair did I lose… I hunted thee south and I hunted… I’d rather than lost thee have los… That all the great lords in the ki… Heart-sorry in worry and flurry di…

PERFIDIOUS damsel, with thy d… Those skill’d enchanters of a sunn… Thou, thou hast charmed the dragon… Before my soul’s Hesperides, and… Her fruit of burnished ore—the sou…

I LIKE the darling critics—like? O, how upon their work I linger, When they their weapons use to str… Not me, but some less happy singer… The treasure of their venom-bags

PARTLY from deference to the opinion of a few well-wishers, and partly from an impression that it would be proper so to do, I beg leave to state that the author of the following Lyrics ...

LAST night at the fair I met lig… And Nanny from Earsdon and bother… And yellow-hair’d Bessy and hazel… But Rosy for sweetness did bear o… Chorus.—Not Polly, nor Dolly, no…

IN the coal-pit, or the factory, I toil by night or day, And still to the music of labour I lilt my heart-felt lay; I lilt my heart-felt lay

THE sun is in the western sky And thro’ the barley, she— Comes she, the apple of my eye, The rose-cheeked Rosa Rea. Away I slink the maid to meet,

“I JEALOUS? Pooh!—Doth not… Pursue his vessel o’er the billows… No, jealous, no!—From whence thos… —'Tis but the wind among the willo… “Ha, jealous, ha!—Did darling spe…

TO-NIGHT a gilded moth took win… And round-a-round yon wax-light fl… And, while his flight did her enri… He nearer to the dazzler drew. ‘So fair art thou,’ he cried, 'to…

‘I HATE outlandish things, and o… I’ve little liking for the sonnet; ’Tis for a lazy Muse, and one Who hath a bumler in her bonnet. ‘Tis a humdrum song, and tho’ not…

FROM pleasure’s cup the sage had… Till from a surfeit plagued—till l… The blossom in his nostril stank, That once had set his heart a-glow… By duty led he then began