THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. 1797-1839. I'd be a butterfly born in a bower, Where roses and lilies and violets meet. Why don't the men propose, Mamma? Why don't the Men propose? She wore a wreath of roses Friends depart, and memory takes She wore a Wreath. them Teach me to forget. Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, The rose that all are praising Long, long ago. The Rose that all are praising. Oh pilot, 't is a fearful night! Fear not, but trust in Providence, Absence makes the heart grow fonder:1 The Pilot. Ibid. Isle of Beauty. 1 I find that absence still increases love. -CHARLES HOPKINS: To C. C. Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweeteneth it. HOWELL: Familiar Letters, book i. sect. i. No. 6. CLARKE. The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, The Mistletoe Bough. Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands, And many friends I've met; Not one fair scene or kindly smile Can this fond heart forget. Oh, steer my Bark to Erin's Isle. THOMAS DRUMMOND.1 1797-1840. Property has its duties as well as its rights.2 Letter to the Landlords of Tipperary. MCDONALD CLARKE. 1798-1842. Whilst twilight's curtain spreading far, Death in Disguise. Line 227. (Boston edition, 1833.) SAMUEL LOVER. 1797-1868. A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping. The Angel's Whisper. Reproof on her lips, but a smile in her eye.1 For drames always go by conthraries, my dear." Rory O' More. 1 Captain Drummond was the inventor of the Drummond light. 2 DISRAELI: Sybil, book i. chap. xi. 8 Mrs. Child says: "He thus describes the closing day Now twilight lets her curtain down, : Ibid. And pins it with a star. 4 See Scott, page 482. 5 See Middleton, page 172. 1 "Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure, tell. Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs. Widow Machree. THOMAS HOOD. 1798-1845. There is a silence where hath been no sound, Sonnet. Silence. We watch'd her breathing through the night, As in her breast the wave of life Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied; We thought her dying when she slept, I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky; But now 't is little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy. 1 See Shakespeare, page 46. The Death-Bed. Ibid. I remember, I remember. She stood breast-high amid the corn Thus she stood amid the stooks, When he is forsaken, Ruth. Ibid. What can an old man do but die? Spring it is cheery. Ode to Melancholy. And there is even a happiness There's not a string attuned to mirth But evil is wrought by want of thought, Oh would I were dead now, Ibid. The Lady's Dream. And have a good cry! A Table of Errata. Straight down the crooked lane, And all round the square. A Plain Direction. For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying. Morning Meditations. A man that's fond precociously of stirring Must be a spoon. Seem'd washing his hands with invisible soap O bed! O bed! delicious bed! Ibid. Miss Kilmansegg. Her Christening. That heaven upon earth to the weary head! Her Dream. He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, 1 See Burton, page 185. Ibid. Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold ! Bright and yellow, hard and cold. Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless, Her Moral. Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess, Another tumble! That's his precious nose! Ibid. Ibid. O God! that bread should be so dear, |