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And Cleggs - a worthy, kind old boy -
Rejoiced to add to others' joy,

And when the day was dry,
Because it pleased the lookers-on,
He sat from morn till night - though con-

Stitutionally shy.

At first the mermen laughed, “ Pooh! pooh !"
But finally they jealous grew,

And sounded loud recalls;
But vainly. So these fishy males
Declared they too would clothe their tails

In silken hose and smalls.

They set to work, these watermen,
And made their nether robes - but when

They drew with dainty touch
The kerseymere upon their tails,
They found it scraped against their scales,

And hurt them very much.

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The merman sank - the captain too
Jumped overboard, and dropped from view

Like stone from catapult;
And when he reached the merman's lair,
He certainly was welcomed there,

But ah! with what result!

They didn't let him learn their law,
Or make a note of what he saw,

Or interesting mem.;
The lady fish he couldn't find,
But that, of course, he didn't mind -

He didn't come for them.

For though when Captain Capel sank,
The mermen drawn in double rank

Gave him a hearty hail,
Yet when secure of Captain Cleggs,
They cut off both his lovely legs,

And gave him such a tail !

When Captain Cleggs returned aboard,
His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd,

To see him altered so.
The admiralty did insist
That he upon the half-pay list

Immediately should go.

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(Spoken by SELENE, a Fairy Queen.) With all their misery, with all their sin, With all the elements of wretchedness That teem on that unholy world of theirs, They have one great and ever-glorious gift, That compensation for all they have to bear The gift of Love! Not as we use the word ; To signify more tranquil brotherhood; But in some sense that is unknown to us, Their love bears like relation to our own That the fierce beauty of the noonday sun, Bears to the calm of a soft summer's eve. It nerves the wearied mortal with hot life, And bathes his soul in hazy happiness. The richest man is poor who hath it not, And he who hath it laughs at poverty. It hath no conqueror. When Death himself Has worked his very worst, this love of theirs Lives still upon the loved one's memory. It is a strange enchantment, which invests The most unlovely things with loveliness. The maiden, fascinated by this spell, Sees everything as she would have it be; Her squalid cot becomes a princely home; Its stunted shrubs are groves of stately elms; The weedy brook that trickles past her door Is a broad river, fringed with drooping trees;

And of all marvels the most marvelous,
The coarse unholy man who rules her love
Is a bright being — pure as we are pure;
Wise in his folly — blameless in his sin;
The incarnation of a perfect soul;
A great and ever-glorious demi-god.


Roll on, thou ball, roll on! Through pathless realms of space

Roll on ! What though I'm in a sorry case ? What though I cannot meet my bills ? What though I suffer toothache's ills ? What though I swallow countless pills ? Never you mind !

Roll on!

Roll on, thou ball, roll on! Through seas of inky air

Roll on ! It's true I've got no shirts to wear; It's true my butcher's bill is due ; It's true my prospects all look very blue; But don't let that unsettle you ! Never you mind !

Roll on!

[It rolls on.]

ONLY A DANCING GIRL. Only a dancing girl,

With an unromantic style, With borrowed color and curl,

With fixed mechanical smile,

With many a hackneyed wile,
With ungrammatical lips,
And corns that mar her trips !
Hung from the "flies" in air,

She acts a palpable lie,
She's as little a fairy there

As unpoetical I!

I hear you asking, Why-
Why in the world I sing
This tawdry, tinseled thing?

No airy fairy she,

As she hangs in arsenic green, From a highly impossible tree

In a highly impossible scene

(herself not over clean). For fays don't suffer, I'm told, From bunions, coughs, or cold.

And stately dames that bring

Their daughters there to see, Pronounce the “dancing thing”

No better than she should be

With her skirt at her shameful knee And her painted, tainted phiz: Ah, matron, which of us is ?

(And, in sooth, it oft occurs

That while these matrons sigh, Their dresses are lower than hers,

And sometimes half as high;

And their hair is hair they buy,
And they use their glasses too,
In a way she'd blush to do.)

But change her gold and green

For a coarse merino gown, And see her


the scene Of her home, when coaxing down

Her drunken father's frown, In his squalid cheerless den; She's a fairy truly, then !

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