After Longfellow Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon For his personal diversion, Sang the chorus U-pi-dee, Sang about the Barley Bree.

from the unpublished remains of Ed… In the oldest of our alleys, By good bejants tenanted, Once a man whose name was Wallace… William Wallace’€”reared his head…

Oh for the nights when we used to… In the firelight’s glow or flicker… With the gas turned low and our pi… And the air fast growing thicker; When you, enthroned in the big arm…

Whene’er I try to read a book, Across the page your face will loo… And then I neither know nor care What sense the printed words may b… At night when I would go to sleep…

Oh, where’s the use of having gift… And where’s the use of singing, wh… It may be one or two will say your… But where’s the use of honey, when…

In Algebra, if Algebra be ours, x and x2 can ne’er be equal powers… Unless x=1, or none at all. It is the little error in the sum, That by and by will make the answe…

I made a truce last night with So… The queen of tears, the foe of sle… To keep her tents until the morrow… Nor send such dreams to make me we… Before the lusty day was springing…

When I was young and well and gla… I used to play at being sad; Now youth and health are fled away… At being glad I sometimes play.

I loved a little maiden In the golden years gone by; She lived in a mill, as they all d… (There is doubtless a reason why). But she faded in the autumn

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

As I, with hopeless love o’erthro… With love o’erthrown, with love o’… And this is truth I tell, As I, with hopeless love o’erthro… Was sadly walking all alone,

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…

The Red King’s gone a-hunting, in… For the tall red deer to wander th… The King and Walter Tyrrel, Prin… Are all gone out upon the sport th… Last night, when they were feastin…

Ah yes, we know what you’re saying… As your eye glances over these No… ‘What asses are these that are bra… With flat and unmusical throats? Who writes such unspeakable patter…

Dear Ritchie, I am waiting for th… And tell me that the visit which h… Is to be a thing of now, and no mo… Dear Ritchie, I am waiting. The sea is at its bluest, and the…