A nymph too he beheld, in many a turn, Guiding the sweet rill from its fontal urn,— Say, can you blame?—No! none that saw and heard A muse beholding in each fervent trait, Or haply as there stood beside the maid Thus all conspir'd—each power of eye and ear, Five Acts of Parliament 'gainst private stealing! But yet from who despairs of grace? There's no spring-gun or man-trap in that face! CHOLERA CURED BEFORE HAND. Or a premonition promulgated gratis for the use of the Useful Classes, specially those resident in St. Giles's, Saffron Hill, Bethnal Green, &c.; and likewise, inasmuch as the good man is merciful even to the beasts, for the benefit of the Bulls and Bears of the Stock Exchange. PAINS ventral, subventral, In stomach or entrail, Think no longer mere prefaces For grins, groans, and wry faces; But off to the doctor, fast as ye can crawl! Yet far better 'twould be not to have them at all. Now to 'scape inward aches, For tho' gin and whiskey The diabolus ipse, Call'd Cholery Morpus; [to feed him, Who with horns, hoofs, and tail, croaks for carrion Tho' being a devil, no one never has seed him! Ah! then my dear honies, There's no cure for you For loves nor for monies : You'll find it too true. Och the hallabaloo! Och! och! how you'll wail, Shall turn you as blue As the gas-light unfragrant, That gushes in jets from beneath his own tail ;— "Till swift as the mail, He at last brings the cramps on, So without further blethring, And don't pig in sties that would suffocate sows! Quit Cobbett's, O'Connel's, and Beelzebub's banners, And whitewash at once bowels, rooms, hands, and manners! COLOGNE. IN Köhln, a town of monks and bones, But tell me, nymphs! what power divine ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE FROM THE SAME CITY. As I am rhymer, And now at least a merry one, Mr. Muin's Rudesheimer And the church of St. Geryon Are the two things alone That deserve to be known In the body and soul-stinking town of Cologne. WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. PARRY seeks the polar ridge; Rhymes seeks S. T. Coleridge, Author of works, whereof-tho' not in Dutch- TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. YOUR poem must eternal be, And without head or tail. METRICAL FEET. LESSON FOR A BOY. Trochée trips from long to shōrt; From long to long in solemn sort Slow Spondée stalks; strong foot! yet ill able Evěr to come up with Dactyl trisÿ llǎblě. Ïāmics march from shōrt tò lõng ;— With ǎ leap and ǎ bound the swift Anăpæests throng; [rȧcer. Strikes his thundering hoofs like ǎ proud high-bred |