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And tossing and crossing,
And flowing and going,
And running and stunning,
And foaming and roaming,
And dinning and spinning,
And dropping and hopping,
And working and jerking,
And guggling and struggling,
And heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning:
And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And thundering and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,

And clattering and battering and shattering;
Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,-
And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

Robert SOUTHEY.

RAILROAD RHYME

Singing through the forests,

Rattling over ridges;
Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges;
Whizzing through the mountains,

Buzzing o'er the vale, --
Bless me! this is pleasant,

Riding on the rail!

Men of different "stations"

In the eye of fame, Here are very quickly

Coming to the same; High and lowly people,

Birds of every feather, On a common level,

Traveling together.

Gentleman in shorts,

Looming very tall; Gentleman at large,

Talking very small; Gentleman in tights,

With a loose ish mien; Gentleman in gray,

Looking rather green; Gentleman quite old,

Asking for the news; Gentleman in black,

In a fit of blues; Gentleman in claret,

Sober as a vicar; Gentleman in tweed,

Dreadfully in liquor!

Stranger on the right

Looking very sunny, Obviously reading

Something very funny. Now the smiles are thicker,

Wonder what they mean! Faith, he's got the Knicker

Bocker Magazine!

Stranger on the left

Closing up his peepers; Now he snores amain,

Like the Seven Sleepers; At his feet a volume

Gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid

From "Association!"

Ancient maiden lady

Anxiously remarks That there must be peril

'Mong so many sparks; Roguish looking fellow,

Turning to the stranger, Says it's his opinion

She is out of danger!

Woman with her baby,

Sitting vis-à-vis;
Baby keeps a-squalling,

Woman looks at me;
Asks about the distance,

Says it's tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars

Are so very shocking!

Market-woman, careful

Of the precious casket,
Knowing eggs are eggs,

Tightly holds her basket;
Feeling that a smash,

If it came, would surely
Send her eggs to pot

Rather prematurely.

Singing through the forests,

Rattling over ridges;
Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges;
Whizzing through the mountains,

Buzzing o'er the vale, -
Bless me! this is pleasant,

Riding on the rail!

John Godfrey Saxe.

REMONSTRANCE WITH THE SNAILS

Ye little snails,
With slippery tails,
Who noiselessly travel

Along this gravel,
By a silvery path of slime unsightly,
I learn that you visit my pea rows nightly.
Felonious your visit, I guess!

And I give you this warning,
That, every morning,

I'll strictly examine the pods;
And if one I hit on,
With slaver or spit on,

Your next meal will be with the gods.

I own you're a very ancient race,

And Greece and Babylon were amid;
You have tenanted many a royal dome,

And dwelt in the oldest pyramid;
The source of the Nile!-0, you have been there!

In the ark was your floodless bed;
On the moonless night of Marathon
You crawled o'er the mighty dead;

But still, though I reverence your ancestries,
I don't see why you should nibble my peas.

The meadows are yours,—the hedgerow and brook,

You may bathe in their dews at morn;
By the aged sea you may sound your shells,

On the mountains erect your horn;
The fruits and the flowers are your rightful dowers,

Then why—in the name of wonder-
Should my six pea-rows be the only cause

To excite your midnight plunder?
I have never disturbed your slender shells;

You have hung round my aged walk;
And each might have sat, till he died in his fat,

Beneath his own cabbage stalk;
But now you must fly from the soil of your sires;

Then put on your liveliest crawl,
And think of your poor little snails at home,

Now orphans or emigrants all.

Utensils domestic and civil and social

I give you an evening to pack up;
But if the moon of this night does not rise on your flight,

To-morrow I'll hang each man Jack up.
You'll think of my peas and your thievish tricks,

With tears of slime, when crossing the Styx.

ANONYMOUS.

THE BUGLE

The splendor falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,

And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying.
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark! O hear! how thin and clear,

And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

TENNYSON.

1

THE SKYLARK

Bird of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place, 0, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud

Far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying!
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling place,
O, to abide in the desert with thee!

James Hoga.

TO A WATER FOWL

Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seekist thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

On the chafed ocean-side?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, —
The desert and illimitable air,

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

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