Good Junipero, the Padre,
Slowly read the King's commands,
In relation to the missions
To be built in heathen lands.
And he said: " The good Saint Francis
Surely has some little claim,
Yet I find that here no mission
Is assigned unto his name. "

Then the Visitador answered:
" If the holy Francis care
For a mission to his honor,
Surely he will Iead you there;
And it may be by the harbor
That the Indian legends say
Lies by greenest hills surrounded
To the north of Monterey. "

Spoke Junipero the Padre:

Good Heaven! this mystery of life explain,
Nor let me think I bear the load in vain;
Lest, with the tedious passage cheerless grown,
Urged by despair I throw the burden down.

 Good Gad! who's this? What's this, my son?
What a strange figure, 'faith—of fun!
I see the folks can make in town
The clown a fop—the fop a clown;
The last time you to London went,
Remember then you home was sent
With tail which reached all down your back!
And now you've nothing left—but neck .
 ‘Ah! wonder not, sir, for, egad,
The London people all are mad;
There rages now a sad disorder
(Amongst the low plebeian order),
A strange chimera of the brain,
Occasioned by the works of Paine;
A disappointed man—quite crazy,

A good day's work, two contracts made,
A very pretty swinging trade;
If these, with management and skill,
Won't buy a coach, then nothing will;
I've got another in my eye,
That I shall talk of by and by;
And if I come upon it souse,
Why that will yield a country house. She
Husband, why don't you come to bed? He
I've other matters in my head. She
Yes, you have more than what are good,
And more by half than what you should;

The good dame looked from her cottage
At the close of the pleasant day,
And cheerily called to her little son
Outside the door at play:
"Come, Peter! come! I want you to go,
While there is light to see,
To the hut of the blind old man who lives
Across the dike, for me;
And take these cakes I made for him--
They are hot and smoking yet;
You have time enough to go and come
Before the sun is set."

Then the good wife turned to her labor,
Humming a simple song,
And thought of her husband working hard
At the sluices all day long;

Good Christians all, both great and small, I pray you lend an ear,
And listen with attention while the truth I do declare;
When you hear this lamentation, it will cause you to all turn pale —
All about the suffocation in the mines of Avondale.

On the sixteenth day of September, in eighteen sixty-nine,
Those miners all, they got a call to go work in the mines;
But little did they think of death would gloom their vale
Before they would return again from the mines of Avondale.

The women, and the children, too, their hearts were filled with joy

Written in the time of the great drought Anno 1662 By a lover of New-England's Prosperity

Isaiah, 5. 4. — What could have been done more to my vineyard, that I have not done in it? wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wilde grapes?

The Authors request unto the Reader

Good christian Reader judge me not
As too censorious,
For pointing at those faults of thine
Which are notorious.

For if those faults be none of thine

Good-by, the tears are in my eyes;
Farewell, farewell, my prettiest;
Farewell, of women born the best;
Good-by, the saddest of good-bys.
Farewell, with many vows and sighs
My sad heart leaves you to your rest;
Farewell, the tears are in my eyes;
Farewell, from you my miseries
Are more than now may be confessed,
And most by thee have I been blessed,
Yea, and for thee have wasted sighs;
Good-by, the last of my good-bys.

Good Bishop Valentine
Wandered all the night
Seeking out young lovers
And urging them to write:
With bags full of sugar-plums,
Rose and violet bowers,
Hearts, doves, true-love knots,
And lace-paper flowers.

Good Bishop Valentine
By the moon's beam
Went seeking out young maidens
And urging them to dream:
With ribbons for their ringlets,
Love's silken strings,
Orange-blossom posies
And gold wedding-rings.

Good and great God! How sho'd I feare
To come to Thee, if Christ not there!
Co'd I but think, He would not be
Present, to plead my cause for me;
To Hell I'd rather run, then I
Wo'd see Thy Face, and He not by.