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“Fresh fish from Helicon! who 'll buy? who 'll buy?"
LORD BYRON, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,
“FRESH fish from Helicon! who 'll buy? who 'll buy?”
“Fresh fish from Helicon! who 'll buy? who 'll buy?” RoSAMOND, Febr. 29, 1860.
LOOK circumspect round you before Danger comes ; When Danger is come stand to arms, beat your drums; When Danger 's gone by, you may play with your thumbs, But your play must be short, for, behold! Danger comes, Like a race-horse, again
stand to arms;
drums: Life 's a porridge of wormwood and sweet sugar-plums. ROSAMOND, May 13, 1860.
THE TWO LOOKING-GLASSES.
Most bountiful Nature supplied us;
This glass it's placed queerly
In our own hearts what passes we see in the other,
Which is placed just as queerly
Why, deep in our friends' hearts - beside us.
"Das Gemeine geht klanglos zum Orkus hinab."
LIKE weeds which a gardener throws out on the dunghill,
The vulgar go down, unremembered, to Orcus; But we weep the high-minded, and Poetry gathers,
And encloses their bones in a cerement of amber.
With such cerement of amber I'd fain wrap thy bones round,
Highest-minded of poets, my own beloved Schiller, Did I not know thy bones more enduring than amber,
More hallowed thy bier than the tears of thy poet. ROSAMOND, March 16, 1860.
In all things else thou mayst agree
“Nay, in two things I can't agree
Say, haven't I read your riddle, nice ?"
Anniversary of my mother's death.
For what our pleasures, and our pains for what,
Their first born child's place should be nearly ready. ROSAMOND, March 27, 1860.
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,
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,"
“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.
And Villafranca people still
but they 're mistaken No pair of thieves were ever more
In haste to save their bacon;
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,
And that year seems an ever