So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout,
And whittled the boughs away;
The boys and their mother set up a shout,
Said he, "You're in, and you can't get out,
Bellow as loud as you may."

Off he went, and he growled a tune
As he strode the fields along;

"T is said a buffalo fainted away,
And fell as cold as a lump of clay,

When he heard the giant's song.

But whether the story 's true or not,
It is not for me to show;

There's many a thing that's twice as queer
In somebody's lectures that we hear,
And those are true, you know.

*

What are those lone ones doing now,
The wife and the children sad?

O, they are in a terrible rout,

Screaming, and throwing their pudding about, Acting as they were mad.

They flung it over to Roxbury hills,
They flung it over the plain,

And all over Milton and Dorchester too
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw ;
They tumbled as thick as rain.

*

Giant and mammoth have passed away,
For ages have floated by;

The suet is hard as a marrow-bone,
And every plum is turned to a stone,
But there the puddings lie.

And if, some pleasant afternoon,
You'll ask me out to ride,

The whole of the story I will tell,

And you shall see where the puddings fell,
And pay for the punch beside.

TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A GENTLEMAN."

IN THE ATHENÆUM GALLERY.

T may be so,

perhaps thou hast

A warm and loving heart;

I will not blame thee for thy face,
Poor devil as thou art.

That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose,
Unsightly though it be, —

In spite of all the cold world's scorn,
It may be much to thee.

Those eyes, among thine elder friends
Perhaps they pass for blue,-

No matter, - if a man can see,
What more have eyes to do?

Thy mouth, that fissure in thy face,

By something like a chin,

May be a very useful place

To put thy victual in.

I know thou hast a wife at home,
I know thou hast a child,
By that subdued, domestic smile
Upon thy features mild.

That wife sits fearless by thy side,
That cherub on thy knee;
They do not shudder at thy looks,
They do not shrink from thee.

Above thy mantel is a hook, —

A portrait once was there; It was thine only ornament,

Alas! that hook is bare.

She begged thee not to let it go,
She begged thee all in vain ;

She wept,

and breathed a trembling prayer

To meet it safe again.

It was a bitter sight to see
That picture torn away;

It was a solemn thought to think
What all her friends would say!

And often in her calmer hours,
And in her happy dreams,

Upon its long-deserted hook

The absent portrait seems.

Thy wretched infant turns his head
In melancholy wise,

And looks to meet the placid stare
Of those unbending eyes.

I never saw thee, lovely one, —
Perchance I never may;

It is not often that we cross
Such people in our way;

But if we meet in distant years,
Or on some foreign shore,
Sure I can take my Bible oath,
I've seen that face before.

TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A LADY."

IN THE ATHENEUM GALLERY.

|ELL, Miss, I wonder where you live,
I wonder what 's your name,

I wonder how you came to be
In such a stylish frame;

Perhaps you were a favorite child,
Perhaps an only one;
Perhaps your friends were not aware
You had your portrait done!

Yet you must be a harmless soul;
I cannot think that Sin
Would care to throw his loaded dice,
With such a stake to win;

I cannot think you would provoke
The poet's wicked pen,

Or make young women bite their lips,
Or ruin fine young men.

Pray, did you ever hear, my love,
Of boys that go about,

Who, for a very trifling sum,

Will snip one's picture out? I'm not averse to red and white,

But all things have their place, I think a profile cut in black

Would suit your style of face!

I love sweet features; I will own
That I should like myself
To see my portrait on a wall,
Or bust upon a shelf;
But nature sometimes makes one up
Of such sad odds and ends,

It really might be quite as well
Hushed up among one's friends!

THE COMET.

HE Comet!

He is on his way,

And singing as he flies;

The whizzing planets shrink before
The spectre of the skies;

Ah! well may regal orbs burn blue,
And satellites turn pale,

Ten million cubic miles of head,
Ten billion leagues of tail!

On, on by whistling spheres of light,
He flashes and he flames;

He turns not to the left nor right,

He asks them not their names;