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KING CHARLES II.

Here lies our sovereign lord the king,
Whose word no man relies on;
He never says a foolish thing,

Nor ever does a wise one.
Written on the Bedchamber Door of Charles II.

EARL OF ROCHESTER.

JAMES THOMSON.

A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems Who, void of envy, guile, and lust of gain, On virtue still, and nature's pleasing themes, Poured forth his unpremeditated strain : The world forsaking with a calm disdain, Here laughed he careless in his easy seat; Here quaffed, encircled with the joyous train, Oft moralizing sage: his ditty sweet He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat.

Stanza introduced in'o Thomson's "Castle of Indolence," Cant.1. LORD LYTTELTON,

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Ye men of wit and social eloquence !
He was your brother, bear his ashes hence !
While powers of mind almost of boundless range,
Complete in kind, as various in their change,
While eloquence, wit, poesy, and mirth,
That humbler harmonist of care on earth,
Survive within our souls, while lives our sense
Of pride in merit's proud pre-eminence,
Long shall we seek his likeness, long in vain,
And turn to all of him which may remain,
Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,
And broke the die - in moulding Sheridan !

Monody on the Death of Sheridan.

BYRO .

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Because I

found a home in haunts by others scorned,

The partial wood-gods overpaid my love,

And through my rock-like, solitary wont

Shot million rays of thought and tenderness.

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HAWTHORNE

HARP of New England Song,

That even in slumber trembled with the touch

Of poets who like the four winds from thee waken
All harmonies that to thy strings belong,-
Say, wilt thou blame the younger hands too much
Which from thy laureled resting place have taken
Thee crowned one in their hold? There is a name
Should quicken thee! No carol Hawthorne sang,
Yet his articulate spirit, like thine own,

Made answer, quick as flame,
To each breath of the shore from which he sprang,
And prose like his was poesy's high tone.

But he whose quickened eye

Saw through New England's life her inmost spirit,-
Her heart, and all the stays on which it leant,—

Returns not, since he laid the pencil by

Whose mystic touch none other shall inherit !

What though its work unfinished lies? Half-bent

The rainbow's arch fades out in upper air;

The shining cataract half-way down the height
Breaks into mist; the haunting strain, that fell
On listeners unaware,
Ends incomplete, but through the starry night
The ear still waits for what it did not tell.

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN

Publishers: Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston

HUMOROUS POEMS

Such a paragond is wom and
That, you see, it must be true
The is always eastly better
thaw the brave stras the can do!"

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Letcle creps' up quite undikacione

An' peeked on thin the winder Let

An' there sat Sulby all alone
With as one high to hender.

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us line, Uncle Daw; Let us live and Love, Biddy: What's the world to a

when his wife is a

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