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“I can't imagine, lovely She,
Why we might not united be,
Right well, I doubt not, we 'd agree:

: I háte a lonely, separate bed; Come, faírest, loveliest Sue, let 's wed, And leave that dull, cold blooded elf, Hardhearted Ir to mind itself; Three never were good company; What thínk'st thou, my own darling Sue?” “I 'm quite of yoúr mind," She replied, “And will stay ever by your side Through good and bad, through death and life, Your dutiful and loving wife.” So said so done; the two are wed; And as they lay that night in bed 'Twas thús deriding It they said: "Ír will have all the ghosts tonight; Pray Gód it may survive till light.” The morning came and Ir, before Well risen the sun, tapped at their door: "Make háste, make haste; it 's rising time; Already we have lost the prime.” “We come, we come immediately;" Upstarting quick thus answered She; But HÉ: “I 'll not a foot go,” cried And túrned him on the other side. “You will, my dear." "My dear, I wont." "You will indeed.” “What if I don't?" “ “And will you, cán you, say me nay Ere yét well fled my bridal day?” "I cán and will; you must obey.” Not Í indeed.” “You shall, I say; Come back to bed." "No, dear, I wont." (You will and must.” “What if I don't ?"




"Don't talk so loud; that It has ears."
“I don't care if the whole world hears."
As thús they argued, to the door
Ír with a táp came as before:
“Not ready yet?” “No!" with a shout
At ónce both disputants cried out.
“Then good bye; if I longer wait,
Fór a cool walk I 'll be too late.”
“Good bye! good bye! we 'll follow straight.”
And só at last away It went,
Happy and with itself content,
And where it liked best the day spent.
What though it lay alone all night,
It slept till noon or rose at light
Júst as it pleased; let it set out,
Stop short to rest, or turn about,
Nó one was there to make a rout,
And answer “Come, Love” with “I wont,”
And “Múst Love," with “What if I don't?”
In vain with oft reverted eye
Strove fr its comrades to descry: -
“Though not in sight they'll come anon”
Yés, It; but wait not them upon;
The first point settled, their debate
Túrns on the next; good It, don't wait;
Enjoy the precious liberty
Already mourned by He and SHE.

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Walking from Silian in the PUSTERTHAL to LANDRO in the valley of Ampezzo, July 22, 1854.


"GOODHEÁRTED, kind and generous, to a fault,
In áll his dealings scrupulously just,
He were the model of a perfect man
Hád he his senses; but this constant laughing,
Nothing but laughing, morning noon and night
Is évidence, alas! but too convincing,
Our good Democritus is gone stark mad.
Let 's send to Athens for Hippocrates;
Perháps the wise physician knows some herb
Pótent to chase thought's fever and bring back
Composure to the agitated brain.”
Cóme to Abdéra and his finger laid
Upón his patient's pulse Hippocrates,
Nothing wrong finding, asks Democritus:
At whát so merry?” But Democritus,
Instead of answering, only laughed the more:
“At whát so merry, good Democritus ?”
But still Democritus only laughed the more;
Until at last, after a long, long fit,
Tired thus he said to the amazed physician:
“Go back to Athens, good Hippocrates,
Unless you 'd have me die downright with laughing.”
“Hów or at what?” “Why at the learned Doctor
Who, sent to cure me, makes me ten times worse.
Before you came I used to amuse myself
With laughing at the silly people here

Who thought me mad because a little wiser,
A véry little wiser, than themselves;
And now my laughing 's doubled at the sage
Athénian Doctor who would cure my madness.
Go back to Athens, good Hippocrates,
Or stay and cure the people of Abdéra,
And leave me to myself to laugh at both
Dóctor and patients.” So Hippocrates
Went back to Athens, saying he had found
In áll Abdéra only one man sane
And that one sáne man was Democritus.

The story 's nó less true told of the poet
Whó with his pen in hand keeps laughing, laughing,
Still laughing at the follies he sees round him,
With this one only difference, that the poet
Finds séldom an Hippocrates to judge him.

Near MONTEBELLO, while walking from VICENZA to VERONA, Aug. 15 — 16, 1854.

I can put up with people of all sorts, if only they have money, I can find beauty in all kinds of eyes, if only they are funny, I can live anywhere in town or country where it's only sunny, I can eat fish of any kind, fresh, salt or pickled, except tunny, But curse me, if I can without a massy crystal spoon eat honey.

Küssnacht, on the VIERWALDSTÄTTER SEE, Sept. 20,



If háppy you would be tomorrow
Todáy must be a day of sorrow,
For Fortune 's never tired of ranging
And Lúck of all things loves place-changing:
Todáy good luck, tomorrow bad;
Sorry today, tomorrow glad;
Take úp, put down; now none, now all;
So spíns teetotum, twirls the ball;
Lúcky, we bless kind Providence,
Unlúcky, with no jot more sense
Upbraid the Author of all ill,
For mán must be religious still,
And have his Oberon and his Puck,
Thát for his good, this for his ill luck.

TAUERNHAUS, FEHRLEITEN, at the foot of the Gross-GLOCKNER, July 16, 1854.


The first draught of cold water when you 're thirsty
Is not delicious only but divine,
Bálsam and nectar or whatever more
The grateful heart can say or think of praise;
The sécond draught falls short of the delicious,
Though not unpleasant, though even pleasant still;
The third palls on the taste and you turn from it
Avérse, and will no more, not even one drop;
Fórced to the fourth you swallow with displeasure,

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