Tom Wilson rides on the right hand side, An' he touches the whistle, low an' clear, "Lu-lu! Loo-loo! Loo-oo!" So it goes on all day an' all night 'Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore; Old maids and bachelors say it ain't right For folks to do courtin'- with such a roar. But the engineers their kisses will blow HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. SHAKESPEARE. To be or not to be-that is the question! The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks Devoutly to be wished! To die—to sleep : To sleep! perchance to dream! Ay; there's the rub; For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause! There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, That patient merit of the unworthy takes, Who would fardels bear, Το groan and sweat under a weary life; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; THE BELLS OF SHANDON. FATHER PROUT. With deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood, Fling 'round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder, where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee; That sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee. I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine; While at a glibe rate brass tongues would vibrate. Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee. I've heard bells tolling "old Adrian's Mole" in, Their thunders rolling from the Vatican, And cymbals glorious, swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame; But thy sounds are sweeter than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly! Oh! the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosko From the tapering summits of tall minarets. That sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee! HYMN TO THE NIGHT. LONGFELLOW. I heard the trailing garments of the night I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light I felt her presence by its spell of might, The calm, majestic presence of the Night, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, From the cool cisterns of the midnight air The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,- O, holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of care, Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night. SCENE FROM HAMLET. Enter the KING, QUEEN, HAMLET, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS. King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death The memory be green; and that it us befitted To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, The imperial jointress of this warlike state, Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st, 'tis common; all that live, must die, Iam. Ay, madam, it is common. If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee? Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems. 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customery suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, To give these mourning duties to your father: |