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THE old song still, the old song still,
I will have nothing new;

Blackbirds and thrushes, every spring,
The same loved ditty, constant, sing,
The same, the blithe cuckoo.

And why should I that old song love
More than a thousand new?

Why, just because a thousand times,
I've heard them sung, those selfsame rhymes,
And every time by you.

For others sing new-fangled airs,
The old air sing for me;

The baby, at the nurse's breast,
Is soonest soothed and put to rest,
With its own lullaby.

ROSAMOND, RATHGAR ROAD, Sept. 30, 1859.

EPITAPH FOR JULIUS CAESAR.

I CAME, I saw, I conquered, and lie here.

ROSAMOND, Jan. 26, 1860.

WHOEVER most successfully ignores

Intrusive Nature, and has best by heart
The cant of his own city, town, or village,
The most polite man is, and the best bred,
That is to say, within the bounds of his own
City or town or village; every where

In all the world beyond, that man 's the rudest. ROSAMOND, Febr. 10, 1860.

A POET'S PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE,

WRITTEN FOR EMMA NIENDORF'S ALBUM.

TO EMMELINE.

Paper, pén, ink, hand combine
Tó write Emmeline this line;
Bút the written line is nought
Únless head inspire the thought,
Ánd the thought is mere cold form
Unless heart have clothed it warm,
Só, behold, most cruel maid,
Át thy feet the whole six laid,
Paper, pén, ink, hánd, heart, head
Wilt thou with thy poet wed?

ROSAMOND, January 23, 1860,

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WHAT race is it which a mán runs
Only once, and, as he rúns, grows
Stiffer, stiffer, every moment,
Yét runs, every moment, faster;

Faster, faster, every moment,
Every moment, stiffer, stiffer,
And the race wins never till he
Hásn't a leg or foot to stand on?

ROSAMOND, May 9, 1859.

I FOLLOW not the rhymer's trade;
To please, I have no zest;
My verse is by mere instinct made,
Like bée's cell or bird's nest.

To please himself, Correggio drew;
To please myself, I write;
Applaud or not, as ye think fit,
My verse is my delight.

ROSAMOND, Sept. 30, 1859,

EPITAPH FOR ANACREON.

GOD's providence in every thing is clear:
Choked by a raisin lies Anacreon here.

To dry the grape and eat, is an abuse;

Squeeze, strain, ferment, and drink the heavenly juice. ROSAMOND, April 28, 1859.

LOYAL and full of confidence in princes,
Saint Patrick's Dean to Prince Posterity
His helpless, orphan pages recommended;
And thankless,* as became a royal prince,
The prince received, and as his due, the homage,
And left the orphans for themselves to shift.

Less loyal, I, and of small faith in princes
And warned by the example, recommend,
After my own and daughter's death, my verses
To the sure patronage of moths and worms,
Keen connoisseurs of literary merit

And never yét known to ignore, disdainful,
The works even of the meanest among authors.

ROSAMOND, Febr. 15, 1860.

*Dublin, which has a statue of Moore, has none of Swift.

TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.

"How canst thou doubt that Time 's my sire?" Said Truth to me, one day,

As, arm in arm, with her I walked,
Far from the public way.

"I do not doubt," said I, "for Time
Is Falsehood's sire, and she
To Truth is so exceeding like,

Truth's sister she must be.”

"For shame!" said Truth, "to taunt me so;" And slipped her arm from mine;

"The fault is not in me, but in

Those purblind eyes of thine,

"That dó not, or that cannot, see The difference between

Truth's simple, unaffected air,

And Falsehood's studied mien."

So said, she turned, and left me there,
And I went on alone,

Until, methought, I heard again

Her voice's silver tone.

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