Know ye the willow-tree Whose gray leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river; Lady, at even-tide

There lived a sage in days of yore… And he a handsome pigtail wore; But wondered much and sorrowed mor… Because it hung behind him. He mused upon this curious case,

Ye pathrons of janius, Minerva an… Who sit on Parnassus, that mounta… Descind from your station and make… Of the Prince’s pavilion in sweet… This garden, by jakurs, is forty p…

KING CANUTE was weary hearted… Battling, struggling, pushing, fig… And he thought upon his actions, w… ‘Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop… Chamberlains and grooms came after…

Aux gens atrabilaires Pour exemple donne, En un temps de miseres Roger-Bontemps est ne. Vivre obscur a sa guise,

Dear Jack, this white mug that wi… And drink to the health of sweet… Was once Tommy Tosspot’s, as jovi… As e’er drew a spigot, or drain’d… In drinking all round ’twas his jo…

When moonlike ore the hazure seas In soft effulgence swells, When silver jews and balmy breaze Bend down the Lily’s bells; When calm and deap, the rosy sleep

Before I lost my five poor wits, I mind me of a Romish clerk, Who sang how Care, the phantom da… Beside the belted horseman sits. Methought I saw the grisly sprite

When fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and… And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each,

I was a timid little antelope; My home was in the rocks, the lone… I saw the hunters scouring on the… I lived among the rocks, the lonel… I was a-thirsty in the summer-heat…

Beside the old hall-fire—upon my n… Of happy fairy days—what tales wer… I thought the world was once—all p… And my heart would beat to hear—th… And many a quiet night,—in slumber…

With ganial foire Thransfuse me loyre, Ye sacred nympths of Pindus, The whoile I sing That wondthrous thing,

Under the stone you behold, Buried, and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France,

Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight: Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark! a cry of triumph shrill

One sees in Viteall Yard, Vere pleacemen do resort, A wenerable hinstitute, ’Tis call’d the Pallis Court. A gent as got his i on it,