I wish one would,-I do indeed. Without some careful guide To curb his playful ways at need,» To square his days to rule and plan, Ah what, alas! were helpless man, Ah what my "poor Miss Tox!" And there must still be some, one feels, Some ardent-if not youthful-male, I can't,-my" poor Miss Tox!" RONDELS AND RONDEAUS. "TOO HARD IT IS TO SING." Too hard it is to sing In these untuneful times, When only coin can ring, And no one cares for rhymes ! Alas! for him who climbs To Aganippe's spring : Too hard it is to sing In these untuneful times! His kindred clip his wing; His feet the critic limes; If Fame her laurel bring Old age his forehead rimes : Too hard it is to sing In these untuneful times! "FAIR." BLOW, blow, Etesian gale ! Lucilla's cap is straight; Fill fast the flowing sail Of happy man and mate. "What is it, Dear?-A plate?—— Do taste this potted quail?" Blow, blow, Etesian gale! Lucilla's cap is straight. "More sugar?—No? You're pale. My Own, you work too late! Ah me, if you should fail! I'll see you to the gate." Blow, blow, Etesian gale! Lucilla's cap is straight. |