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(RONDEAU OF VILLON.)
loved of yore, in warfare bold, Nor laurelless. Now all must go ; Let this left wall of Venus show The arms, the tuneless lyre of old.
Here let them hang, the torches cold,
But thou, who Cyprus sweet dost hold, And Memphis free from Thracian snow, Goddess and queen, with vengeful blow, Smite,-smite but once that pretty scold We loved of yore!
"WHEN I SAW YOU LAST, ROSE."
HEN I saw you last, Rose,
You were only so high ;--
Like a bud ere it blows,
Now your petals unclose,
And a life,-how it grows!
In your bosom it shows
Is it Cupid? Who knows!
ON A NANKIN PLATE.
H me, but it might have been! Was there ever so dismal a fate ?" Quoth the little blue mandarin.
"Such a maid as was never seen!
She passed, tho' I cried to her 'Wait,'-
"I cried, "O my Flower, my Queen,
"But then.. she was just sixteen,-
"As it was, from her palankeen,