Eeny, meeny, clean peeny,
If you want a piece and jeely,
Just walk out!

That neither fame, nor love might wanting be
To greatness, Cary, I sing that, and thee.
Whose house, if it no other honour had,
In only thee, might be both great, and glad.
Who, to upbraid the sloth of this our time,
Durst valour make, almost, but not a crime.
Which deed I know not, whether were more high,
Or thou more happy, it to justify
Against thy fortune: when no foe, that day,
Could conquer thee, but chance, who did betray.
Love thy great loss, which a renown hath won,
To live when Broeck not stands, nor Ruhr doth run.

Once in the breezy coppice didst thou dance,
And nightingales amid thy foliage sang;
Form'd by man's cruel art into a lance,
Oft hast thou pierced, (the while the welkin rang
With trump and drum, shoutings and battle clang,)
Some foeman's heart. Pride, pomp, and circumstance,
Have left thee, now, and thou dost silent hang,
From age to age, in deep and dusty trance.

What is thy change to ours? These gazing eyes,
To earth reverting, may again arise
In dust, to settle on the self-same space;
Dust, which some offspring, yet unborn, who tries

His little hands were meekly clasped,
And to that cheek so fair,
A ringlet carelessly had strayed,
And lightly lingered there.

Beneath those silken lids that drooped,
Were eyes serenely bright;
An infant kneels, and angels gaze
With rapture at the sight.

Well may they strike their golden harps,
And swell their songs of praise;
An infant kneels in artless strains
Its feeble voice to raise.

Oh, what a lesson! if a child
So innocent must kneel,
Should not our sinful time-seared hearts
A deep contrition feel?

Azephyr paused by my window-seat
And floated the filmy curtain in,—
From the top of a cedar a blue-bird sang—
“The hearts of the world are all akin.”

I wondered and pondered within my own,
Of the ties of love, of the tithes of hate,
But the mother cuddled her birdlings down,
To drink in the melody of her mate.

I half believed, in my pensive mood,
Far from the hurry and bustle and din,
And its cadences clung like a trembling prayer,
“The hearts of the world are all akin.”

Over the way, ere the gathering dusk,

“I HATES TO THINK of dyin',” says the skipper to the mate;
“Starvation, shipwrecks, heart disease I loathes to contemplate.
I hates to think of vanities and all the crimes they lead to,”
Then says the mate,
With looks sedate,
“Ye doesn't reely need to.”

“It fills me breast with sorrer,” says the skipper with a sigh,
“To conjer up the happy days what careless has slipped by;
I hates to contemplate the day I ups and left me Mary.”
Then says the mate,
“Why contemplate,
If it ain't necessary?”

The loudest sound that burdens here the breeze
Is the wood's whisper; 'tis when we choose to list
Audible sound, and when we list not,
It is calm profound. Tongues were provided
But to vex the ear with superficial thoughts.
When deeper thoughts upswell, the jarring discord
Of harsh speech is hushed, and senses seem
As little as may be to share the extacy.

Brief on a flying night,
From the shaken tower,
A flock of bells take flight,
And go with the hour.

Like birds from the cote to the gales,
Abrupt—oh, hark!—
A fleet of bells set sails,
And go to the dark.

Sudden the cold airs swing:
Alone, aloud,
A verse of bells takes wing
And flies with the cloud.

While the master was wrapped in slumber the fishing-boat slipped its stake,
And drifted, and swirled, and drifted far over the broadening lake,
Till islets, and mainland, and forests came into view once more,
While the fisherman gazed and pondered the lay of the new-found shore.
But erelong he espied an opening, shown by the broken wave,
And in venturous mood he steered his boat into a narrow cave,
Where an azure mist obscured the scenes through channels long and low,
As the current bore him gently into a world of long ago.

Glimmer'd along the square-cut steep.
They chew'd the cud in hollows deep;
Their cheeks moved and the bones therein.
The lawless honey eaten of old
Has lost its savour and is roll'd
Into the bitterness of sin.

What would befal the godless flock
Appear'd not for the present, till
A thread of light betray'd the hill
Which with its lined and creased flank
The outgoings of the vale does block.
Death's bones fell in with sudden clank
As wrecks of minèd embers will.