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In Merry
Mood

ENVOY

Dark aisles, new packs of cards,
Mermaidens' tails, cool swards.
Dawn dews and starlit seas,

White marbles, whiter words-
To live, I think of these!

WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY.

The Housekeeper

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose,
Carries his house with him where'er he goes;
Peeps out, and if there comes a shower of rain,
Retreats to his small domicile again.
Touch but a tip of him, a horn-'tis well,-
He curls up in his sanctuary shell.
He's his own landlord, his own tenant; stay
Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day.
Himself he boards and lodges; both invites
And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o' nights.
He spares the upholsterer trouble to procure
Chattels; himself is his own furniture,

And his sole riches. Wheresoe'er he roam,-
Knock when you will, he's sure to be at home.
CHARLES LAMB.

The Monkey

Monkey, little merry fellow,
Thou art Nature's Punchinello;
Full of fun as Puck could be-
Harlequin might learn of thee!

In the very ark, no doubt,
You went frolicking about;
Never keeping in your mind
Drowned monkeys left behind!

Have you no traditions—none,
Of the court of Solomon?
No memorial how you went
With Prince Hiram's armament?

Look now at him! slyly peep;
He pretends he is asleep!
Fast asleep upon his bed,
With his arm beneath his head.

Now that posture is not right,
And he is not settled quite;

There! that's better than before—
And the knave pretends to snore!

Ha! he is not half asleep:

See, he slyly takes a peep.

Monkey, though your eyes were shut,

You could see this little nut.

In Merry
Mood

In Merry
Mood

You shall have it, pigmy brother!
What, another! and another!
Nay, your cheeks are like a sack—
Sit down, and begin to crack.

There the little ancient man

Cracks as fast as crack he can!
Now good-bye, you merry fellow,

Nature's primest Punchinello.

November

MARY HOWITT.

No sun-no moon!

No morn-no noon—

No dawn-no dusk-no proper time of day—

No sky-no earthly view—

No distance looking blue—

No road-no street-no "t'other side the way"

No end to any Row

No indications where the crescents go—

No top to any steeple

No recognitions of familiar people—

No courtesies for showing 'em

No knowing 'em!

No traveling at all-no locomotion-
No inkling of the way-no notion-

"No go"-by land or ocean—

No mail-no post-

No news from any foreign coast

No park-no ring-no afternoon gentility—
No company-no nobility—

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,

No comfortable feel in any member

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds-
November!

THOMAS HOOD.

In Merry

Mood

Captain Sword

Captain Sword got up one day,

Over the hills to march away,

Over the hills and through the towns,

They heard him coming across the downs,

Stepping in music and thunder sweet,

Which his drums sent before him into the street,
And lo! 'twas a beautiful sight in the sun;
For first came his foot, all marching like one,
With tranquil faces, and bristling steel,
And the flag full of honour as though it could
feel,

And the officers gentle, the sword that hold
'Gainst the shoulder, heavy with trembling gold,
And the massy tread, that in passing is heard,
Though the drums and the music say never a
word.

In Merry And then came his horse, a clustering sound, Mood of shapely potency forward bound.

Glossy black steeds, and riders tall

Rank after rank, each looking like all;

'Midst moving repose and a threatening calm,
With mortal sharpness at each right arm,
And hues that painters and ladies love,
And ever the small flag blushed above.

And ever and anon the kettledrums beat,
Hasty power 'midst order meet;

And ever and anon the drums and fifes
Came like motion's voice, and life's;
Or into the golden grandeurs fell
Of deeper instruments mingling well,
Burdens of beauty for winds to bear;
And the cymbals kissed in the shining air,
And the trumpets their visible voices rear'd,
Each looking forth with its tapestried beard,
Bidding the heavens and earth make way
For Captain Sword and his battle array.

He, nevertheless, rode, indifferent-eyed,
As if pomp were a toy to his manly pride,
Whilst the ladies loved him the more for his

scorn,

And thought him the noblest man ever was born,
And tears came into the bravest eyes,

And hearts swell'd after him double their size,

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