A SECOND BIT OF DOGGREL.

ON A SECOND MEETING WITH THE SAME LADIES UNDER

SIMILAR CIRCUMSTANCES.

THE rain was pouring,

The wind was roaring,

The mist hung over the mountain ;
The forest groaned,

And the wild beasts moaned,

And thundered the swollen fountain ;

And o'er the dread scene

Like an Eastern queen

When she leads her dark hosts to war,

With a troop of clouds

Like ghosts in shrouds

Came the Night in her ebon car!

A sick man sat

'Neath his lonely shed,

With an old green hat

On his hoary head;

And a cloak round his shivering frame was cast,
For a broken lattice let in the blast.

Strange forms he had met on the bleak hill's side

Dimly through midnight mist descried,
And trembled his limbs, and up-rose his hair,
For he deemed they rode on the stormy air ;-
But this wild night, between four walls,

While the storm without

Made the horrible rout

That the stoutest heart appals,

He sat alone

As still as a stone!

As the fierce winds battled

The casements rattled

With sounds of fear

On his startled ear;

And the lightning flashed through the glittering rain, As he looked through the brightened window pane,

And he saw what had nearly turned his brain!

The spirits in white

Of a former night,

Dimly descried on the bleak hill's side,

Now froze his blood again.

The creaking door flies open wide

And in the white-robed spirits glide.

"Avaunt ye fiends of mystic ill,

Fair as ye seem yet fearful still!”

The sick man feebly cried,

"Where shall I stray?—where shall I dwell?Ye cross my way-ye haunt my cell!"

And then the same enchanting voice

That bade his soul before rejoice,

And made him laugh away his fear,

Like the silver sound of a pebbled stream,

Or the music heard in a blissful dream,

Fell sweetly on his ear.

The poor sick man though charmed was wild,
Bewildered as a cheated child,

He knew not whether to laugh or weep,

Or if he himself were awake or asleep ;

He could not tell he was under a spell;
And, half in doubt and half in despair,
He said "Are ye forms of earth or air?
Are ye bent on deeds of good or ill?

Do

ye

If ministers kind,

Why in mist and wind

wander at night on the stormy hill?

Why cross my path?

Why haunt my cell?

Do ye come in love?-do ye come in wrath? Oh quickly tell!

"Methinks I see familiar forms,

Methinks I see familiar faces ;

But why thus glide through nightly storms Where many an evil phantom paces?

"Ye smile like sweetest friends of mine,
Ye look like beings half divine;
But fiends on dread designs intent
Assume what shape they will,

While forms for holiest goodness meant
Conceal demoniac ill."

He said and then the feeble wight

Fell back, and fainted with affright.

At this the lovely ladies gazed

On the sick man's face, as if amazed ;-
Each touched with taper finger fair
Her forehead between her parted hair,
And with a significant solemn air
Exclaimed- "THE MAN IS CRAZED!"

MATRIMONY.

A SPRUCE beau gives a belle a ring—
Awhile that beau will by her dangle
Like an apron string;

But soon the belle begins to jangle,
And the fickle beau to wrangle,
Then oh, what a thing,

For vain repentant tears

The matrimonial noose appears,

Like a thorny laurel

Lined with many a sting!

Then how the lovers snarl and quarrel!

Each

Perhaps about their purses;

(Proving matrimony

Truly matter o' money)

And with cutting words,

Sharp as any swords,
Pointed as Pope's verses,

Each other maim and mangle.

year but worse and worse is,

And with bitterest curses,
They think of that close tie
Which makes so many sigh,

From which there's no retreat,

Which only true love can make sweet,
And only death can disentangle.

PATHETIC STANZAS.

TO A LADY, ON HER JOCOSELY DECLINING TO INVITE THE AUTHOR

TO DINNER, ON THE PLEA THAT HER TABLE WAS FULL.

(A Parody on the Beggar's Petition.)

I.

PITY the sorrows of a poor old man,

Whose shrunken shanks oft bear him to your door;

Say not you cannot ask him when you can,

Nor say your table hath not one place more.

II.

A board as richly spread-a roof as gay-
Each sweet domestic comfort-once were mine,
But now that wife and babes are far away,
'Tis misery indeed at home to dine!

III.

Hard is the fate of a lone married man
Whose skilful house-wife treads a distant shore,
While he, sad wretch, must manage as he can,
And all the pleasures of the past deplore.

IV.

These lantern jaws my wretchedness bespeak ;
This hairless head says coming years are few ;
This sunken eye, weak voice, and pallid cheek,
Show what bad cooks and consamahs may do.