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THE Don, he has bestrode his steed,

His squire, he rides behind him; They're on the road for Lombardie, To tilt against a windmill.

Four stout, strong arms the windmill has,
And sets them all in motion,
And round they go, clish-clash, slap-dash,
Against Don Quixote's 'notion'.

"We had best go back," Don Quixote cries; "This giant is a strong one;

How hard he hits about the head!

My 'notion' was a wrong one."

"Mirror of knighthood! right and wrong
Depend still the event on,"
Quoth Sancho, reining Dapple round;
"Let's go some other scént on."

"Not now, not now," the knight replies; "My lance, see how it 's shattered,

And, though my spirit 's fresh and strong, The flesh feels sore and battered."

So home they went, both knight and squire,

Tired, dusty, crowned with glory. The windmill's tórn sails, to this day, The truth vouch of my story.

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And in memorial, fair to see,

Have written on a táll post:

"La Mancha's knight and squire slew here A mighty giant, álmost."

ROSAMOND, March 12, 1860.

WIND, WOMAN AND KING.

WIND, woman and king,
I once heard a fool sing,
Agree in one thing:
Not a jack-straw or hair
For the absent they care,

But throw their arms round

Whoso nearest is found.

And the fool he sang true,

For I have not heard from you

Now for more than a year,

My Mary Anne dear,

And that year seems an ever

And from the king never,

And as for Sir Wind,
He's no doubt very kind
And flusters about

And makes a great rout
When he meets me out,
But though I sat lone
By this ingle hearth-stone
All October, November,
And dreary December,
And long January,
And bleak February,

And March and April,

And am sitting here still

In the sweet Month of May,
When the world's looking gay,
And though past my door,
Times a hundred and more,

He went post day and night,
He never thought right

Even one odd time to stop,

And in on me pop

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FORGET the past, fear not the morrow,
and baffle Sorrow:

Enjoy today

For things will go I do what thou will
As from the first they have gone still.

GREEN HILLS (Co. Dublin), April 28, 1860.

"Gott nur siehet das Herz."

SCHILLER.

ONLY God sees the heart. True, of all hearts Except thine own, ingenuous, well loved Schiller! Who nothing hast to hide, and hidest nothing, And God and Man alike see through and through. ROSAMOND, March 16, 1860.

I KNOW some wiseacres who think,
Old wood to burn, old wine to drink,
Old friends to love, old books to read,
Old hay wherewith your horse to feed,
Áre of all old things thé five best,
And turn their nose up at the rest.
Fools! my old fiddle's four old strings

Are worth the whole of their five old things.

ROSAMOND, March 24, 1860.

THE lamp no light shows, when I'm far

Away from thee;

The fire no heat throws, when I'm far

Away from thee;

The sun shines clouded, when I'm far
Away from thee;

The moon 's not risen yet, when I'm far
Away from thee;

Heavy my heart weighs, when I'm far
Away from thee;

A blank the world lies, when I'm far

Away from thee;

Spring flowers droop withered, when I 'm far

Away from thee;

The lark a dirge sings, when I'm far

Away from thee;

Time's tread 's a déad march, when I 'm far

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But be thou merry, though thou 'rt far

Away from me;

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