Est-il donc devenu cet homme au vaste orgueil
Dans sa triste métamorphose,
Si peu, si peu, si peu, qu’il n’est plus qu’une chose,
Qu’une date, qu’un nom plaqués sur un cercueil.
Ce seul homme aujourd’hui posthume,
Tout orné de talismans d’or,
Hier prenait son...
I Thought it was the little bed
I slept in long ago;
A straight white curtain at the head,
And two smooth knobs below.
I thought I saw the nursery fire,
And in a chair well-known
My mother sat, and did not tire
With reading all alone.
If I should make the slightest sound
To show that I ’m awake,
She ’...
O Lovely Mary Donnelly, it ’s you I love the best!
If fifty girls were round you, I ’d hardly see the rest.
Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will,
Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still.
Her eyes like mountain water that ’s flowing on a rock,
How clear they are! how dark they are! and they give me many a shock....
One evening walking out, I o’ertook a modest colleen,
When the wind was blowing cool, and the harvest leaves were falling:
“Is our way by chance the same? might we travel on together?”
“Oh, I keep the mountain side,” she replied, “among the heather.”
“Your mountain air is sweet when the days are long and sunny,
When the grass grows round the rocks, and...
A Lay of Leadenhall
[A singular man, named Nathaniel Bentley, for many years kept a large hardware-shop in Leadenhall Street, London. He was best know as Dirty Dick (Dick, for alliteration’s sake, probably), and his place of business as the Dirty Warehouse. He died about the year 1809. These verses accord with the accounts respecting himself and his house.]
IN a dirty old...
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,—
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
...
