As it has been My lot to see, I think you'll own your wife As good or better than the generality. An interest in your case I really take, And therefore gladly this agreement make: An hundred eggs within the basket lie, With which your luck, to-morrow, you shall try; Also my five best horses, with my cart: And from the farm at dawn you shall depart. All round the country go, stow, Should be the rule for married folks I'll ease you of your wife, — I will, — Who governs in this house, — your spouse or you?" "Sir," said the lady, with a doubting nod, "Your question's very odd; But as I think none ought to be Ashamed to do their duty, do you see? On that account I scruple not to It always is my pleasure to obey. "Sir," said the husband, "'t is most true; "Well, if it must be so, good sir, The gray mare we prefer; So we accept your gift." John made a leg: "Allow me to present you with an egg; 'Tis my last egg remaining, The cause of my regaining, I trust the fond affection of my wife, Whom I will love the better all my life. SUPPLEMENT. BERKELEY AIKEN. UNCROWNED KINGS. O YE uncrowned but kingly kings! Made royal by the brain and heart; Of all earth's wealth the noblest part, Yet reckoned nothing in the mart Where men know naught but sordid things All hail to you, most kingly kings! O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! Whose breath and words of living flame Have waked slave-nations from their shame, And bid them rise in manhood's name, Swift as the curved bow backward springs To follow you, most kingly kings! O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! Whose strong right arm hath oft been bared Where fire of righteous battle glared, And where all odds of wrong ye dared! To think on you the heart upsprings, O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! Whose burning songs like lava poured, Have smitten like a two-edged sword Sent forth by Heaven's avenging Lord To purge the earth where serfdom clings To all but you, O kingly kings! But on a day of wintry skies A withered rose slipped from my book; And as I caught its faint perfume The soul of summer straight forsook The little tenement it loved, And filled the world with song and bloom, Missed, in their season, by my sense, So found my heart its recompense. SIR ROBERT AYTON. FAIR AND UNWORTHY. I Do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the lightest prayer That lips could speak, had power to move thee: But I can let thee now alone, I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find That kisses everything it meets; And since thou canst with more than one, Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none. The morning rose that untouched stands Armed with her briers, how sweetly smells! But plucked and strained through ruder hands, No more her sweetness with her dwells, But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her one by one. Such fate, erelong, will thee betide, When thou hast handled been awhile, Like sere flowers to be thrown aside; And I will sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love for more than one Hath brought thee to be loved by none. ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL. SLEEP, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, Of earth and folly born; Ye shall not dim the light that streams From this celestial morn. Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts, A God of purity. MARY A. BARR. WHITE Poppies. O MYSTIC, mighty flower whose frail white leaves Silky and crumpled like a banner furled, Shadow the black mysterious seed that gives The drop that soothes and lulls a restless world; Nepenthes for our woe, yet swift to kill, Holding the knowledge of both good and ill. The rose for beauty may outshine thee far, The lily hold herself like some sweet saint Apart from earthly griefs, as is a star Apart from any fear of earthly taint; The snowy poppy like an angel stands, With consolation in her open hands. |