Sing for the Garish Eye He thought he saw an Albatross "You'd best be getting home," he said; He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four He looked again, and found it was "Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing! He thought he saw a Kangaroo That worked a coffee-mill: He looked again, and found it was "Were I to swallow this," he said, "I should be very ill!" 875 Lewis Carroll. SING FOR THE GARISH EYE SING for the garish eye, When moonless brandlings cling! Let the froddering crooner cry, And the braddled sapster sing. For never, and never again, Will the tottering beechlings play, For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, The wracking globe unstrung, Of a day that knows no night! Of sparkling frets in spray, The bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, Hasten, O hapful blue, Blue, of the shimmering brow, Hasten the deed to do That shall roddle the welkin now! For never again shall a cloud Out-thribble the babbling day, When bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, And the throngers croon in May! W. S. Gilbert. THE SHIPWRECK UPON the poop the captain stands, And pipes on deck the topsail hands "Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!" "Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay! For we must luff for Falmouth Bay The good ship was a racing yawl, But ere they made the Foreland Light, The wind it blew great gales that night, Full three sheets in the wind. And right across the tiller head To heave the trysail brace. Uffia What ship could live in such a sea? And right upon the Scilly Isles "Saved! saved!" with joy the sailors cry, And scandalize the skiff; As taut and hoisted high and dry And since that day in Falmouth Bay, The younkers hear the boatswains say 877 E. H. Palmer. UFFIA WHEN sporgles spanned the floreate mead Uffia gopped to meet her love Who smeeged upon the equat sea. Dately she walked aglost the sand; The boreal wind seet in her face; Harriet R. White. 'TIS SWEET TO ROAM 'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light And the crystal song of the woodbine bright And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon And the wolf rings out with a glittering shout, The Ocean Wanderer 879 KING ARTHUR WHEN good King Arthur ruled the land, He stole three pecks of barley meal, A bag-pudding the king did make, The king and queen did eat thereof, And what they could not eat that night, HYDER IDDLE HYDER iddle diddle dell, A yard of pudding is not an ell; A tailor's goose will never fly. Unknown. Unknown. THE OCEAN WANDERER BRIGHT breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave And mocks the mutiny of Memory's gloom. Oh! who can feel the crimson ecstasy That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious Tree? While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose: |