Blue, blue is the sea to-day, Warmly the light Sleeps on St. Andrews Bay— Blue, fringed with white. That’s no December sky!

Ye who will help me in my dying pa… Speak not a word: let all your voi… Let me but hear some soft harmonio… And I shall die at peace. Music entrances, soothes, and gran…

There’s a fiddler in the street, And the children all are dancing: Two dozen lightsome feet Springing and prancing. Pleasure he gives to you,

I had a plant which would not thri… Although I watered it with care, I could not save the blossoms fair… Nor even keep the leaves alive. I strove till it was vain to striv…

My lamp is out, my task is done, And up the stair with lingering fe… I climb. The staircase clock stri… Good night, my love! good night, m… My solitary room I gain.

These verses have I pilfered like… Out of a letter from my C. C. C. In London, showing what befell hi… With other things, of interest to… One page described a night in open…

On the field of Waterloo we made… That ever out of Elba he decided… For we finished him that day, and… And yield himself to Maitland on… ’Twas a stubborn fight, no doubt,…

How many the troubles that wait On mortals!—especially those Who endeavour in eloquent prose To expound their views, and orate. Did you ever attempt to speak

You found my life, a poor lame bir… That had no heart to sing, You would not speak the magic word To give it voice and wing. Yet sometimes, dreaming of that ho…

How often have the critics, traine… To look upon the sky Through telescopes securely chaine… Forgot the naked eye. Within the compass of their glass

When we have laid aside our last e… And said farewell to one or two th… And issued from the house of life… To find a lodging in the house of… With eyes fast shut, in sunless ch…

Oh, who may this dead warrior be That to his grave they bring? ’Tis William, Duke of Normandy, The conqueror and king. Across the sea, with fire and swor…

Beside the drowsy streams that cre… Within this island of repose, Oh, let us rest from cares and woe… Oh, let us fold our hands to sleep… Is it ignoble, then, to keep

Last night, when at parting Awhile we did stand, Suddenly starting, There fell on my hand Something that burned it,

Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Sw...