Beautiful! Sir, you may say so. Thar is n't her match in the county;
Is thar, old gal,--Chiquita, my darling, my beauty?
Feel of that neck, sir,--thar's velvet! Whoa! steady,--ah, will you, you vixen!
Whoa! I say. Jack, trot her out; let the gentleman look at her paces.

Morgan!--she ain't nothing else, and I've got the papers to prove it.
Sired by Chippewa Chief, and twelve hundred dollars won't buy her.
Briggs of Tuolumne owned her. Di you know Briggs of Tuolumme?
Busted hisself in White Pine, and blew out his brains down in 'Frisco?

BEAUTIFUL , oh beautiful—
In all the mountain passes
The plenteous dowers of April showers,
Which every spring amasses,
To bring about thro' summer drought
The blossoming of the grasses.

Beautiful, oh beautiful—
The April of the ages,
Which sweetly brought its showers of thought
To poets and to sages,
Now stored away our thirst to stay
In ever-dewy pages.

BEAUTIFUL FACES are those that wear —
It matters little if dark or fair —
Whole-souled honesty printed there.

Beautiful eyes are those that show,
Like crystal panes where hearthfires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whose utterance prudence girds.

Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is honest and brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.

Beautiful feet are those that go
On kindly ministries to and fro,

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way!
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, —
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lore. lie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beaufort, fair Beaufort, thou art a favored spot,
For fate saw fit to cast in thee a noble hero's lot;
And we congratulate ourselves as in his house we stand,
As welcome guests to one of the most noted in the land.

Whose heart is warm as Southern sun, and noble, true and brave,
With patriotic fire full and restless as the wave;
Whose zeal and candor unconcealed, constrained us to admire;
Infused new zeal within our hearts and led us to aspire.

And 'mid these grand and gothic walls quite leasurely we saunter,

Beaten
to the privy,
he praises the moon

Beat on proud billowes, Boreas blow,
Swell curled Waves, high as Jove's roof,
Your incivility doth shew,
That innocence is tempest proof,
Though surely Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm,
Then strike affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

That which the world miscalls a Gaole,
A private Closet is to me,
Whilst a good Conscience is my Baile,
And Innocence my Liberty:
Locks Barres and Solitude together met,
Make me no Prisoner but an Anchorit.

I

Bear me to Dictaeus,
and to the steep slopes;
to the river Erymanthus

I choose spray of dittany,
cyperum, frail of flower,
buds of myrrh,
all-healing herbs,
close pressed in calathes

For she lies panting,
drawing sharp breath,
broken with harsh sobs,
she, Hyella,
whom no god pities

II

Dryads
haunting the groves,
nereids
who dwell in wet caves,
for all the white leaves of olive-branch,
and early roses,
and ivy wreaths, woven gold berries,
which she once brought to your altars,

A BEAM of light, from the infinite depths of the midnight sky,
Painted with infinite love a star in a convict's eye;
When, lo! the ghosts of his sins were afraid and fled with a curse,
And the soul of the man walked free in the fields of the universe!

Be ye in love with April-tide?
I' faith, in love am I!
For now 't is sun, and now 't is shower,
And now 't is frost, and now 't is flower,
And now 't is Laura laughing-eyed,
And now 't is Laura shy.

Ye doubtful days, O slower glide!
Still smile and frown, O sky!
Some beauty unforeseen I trace
In every change of Laura's face:
Be ye in love with April-tide?
I' faith, in love am I!