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Whén in death I shall cálm recline,
Oh! beár my watch to my mistress dear;
Téll her I róse when it pointed Nine,
On évery morning all round the year.
Bíd her not shed one tear of sorrow
To súlly a gém so precious and bright,
But a pocket of crimson velvet borrow,
And háng it beside her bed every night.
When the light of mine eyes is o’er,
Táke my spécs to Optician's Hall,
And let the porter that answers the door,
Shów them to all that happen to call.
Then if some bárd, who roams forsaken,
Should bég a peep through them in pássing along,
Oh! lét one thought of their master awaken
Your wármest smile for the child of song.
Keep this inkbottle, now o'erflowing,
To write your létters when I 'm laid low;
Néver, Oh! never one drop bestowing
On any who hów to write don't know.
But if some pále, wan - wasted scholar
Shall dip his goosequill at its brim,
Then, then my spirit around shall hover,
And hállow each jet black drop for him.
Sue blúshed, and yet I did not count it Y,
Nor É though on the ground she bent her eye,
Nor S although she sighed when she said Nó –
Foól! that knew not that maíds still spell YES só.
CARLSRUHE, Jan. 26, 1856.
"Thou knów'st not what liberty is,” to me said
A red démocrat ónce, with a shake of his head;
“I 'm not súre that I do," replied í, “but let 's see:
It 's that thou mayst whatever thou lik’st do to mé,
Whilst í am prevented by imprisonment and fine
From doing to thee what to do I'd incline.”
CARLSRUHE, Jan. 14, 1856.
JOHN 's not to my mind, I abóminate his lýing
But William 's far worse with his nothing but truth.
WÉLL, the world makes bút snail's prógress!"
Thús to Thomas once said William,
Ás from church home, on a Sunday,
Árm in árm they walked together.
“Hów is 't possible the world should
Máke fast prógress," answered Thomas,
“While we rear our children úp in
The same errors we were reared in,
While we teach our children, William,
Nót the truths our lives have taúght us,
Bút the liés we were brought up in ?”
"Áh, poor children!” answered William,
“Let them spórt their hour of súnshine;
Tíme enough they 'll learn the black truth,
Time enough be wise and wrétched."
“Very well; but while successive
Génerations spend their whole lives
Still unlearning the same fálsehoods,
Hów 's the world to make fast prógress ?”
CARLSRUHE, March 2, 1856.
A FORGÉT-ME-NOT grew by the side of the broók
Where Máry went down with her pail to fetch wáter;
She laid down her pail, plucked the flower, heaved a sigh,
And till she came back for 't that dáy had no water.
Der gelehrte Arbeiter.
Nimmer labt ihn des Baumes Frucht, den er mühsam erziehet:
Nur der Geschmack geniesst, was die Gelehrsamkeit pflanzt.
WRONG! as óften, my Schiller; the gardener enjóys more
In digging and fencing and plánting and watering,
Than the finest taste ever enjoyed in the fruit.
We áll look with pleásure at Téll on thy cánvas,
But thine was the rápture of putting him thére.
THOU wouldst be háppy and know'st not that would –
Would, would alóne – keeps thee from being háppy.
LÍTTLE children, take it kindly
When your parents fóg and chide ye
Fór each lié they catch you télling
Little children must not tell lies.
“Bút big people often téll lies;
Whý mayn't wé do like big people ?”.
Just because ye are little children,
Ánd don't know how to beháve yet;
Dón't know how yet tó discriminate
Which are right and which are wróng lies,
Which lie 's dangerous, which lie såfe is,
Whích from God comes, which from Sátan.
“Bút our parents always say to us:
"Yé must néver never téll lies."
To be súre; no parents like to
Háve lies told them by their children.
Évery lié ye téll your párents,
Tó your parents is an injury;
Hów can they their children rúle, if
By their children hoáxed and cheated ?