THE LITTLE BROWN MAN. The more the people sneer At her dear: "Then d'ye see," says he, "my plan, D'ye see," says he, "my plan, My plan, d'ye see, 's to-laugh at that!" Sing merrily, sing merrily, the Little Brown Man! When at last laid fairly level, And the priest (he getting worse) 'Gan discourse Of Death and of the Devil, THE BUCKET. Our little sinner sighed, "Please your reverence, my plan, Please your reverence, my plan, My plan, d'ye see, 's to-laugh at that!' Sing merrily, sing merrily, the Little Brown Man! Translation of WILLIAM MAGINN. THE BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure; TO CELIA. Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, And now, far removed from the loved habitation, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, SAMUEL WOODWORTH. TO CELIA. DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. WHEN WE TWO PARTED. I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, But thou thereon did'st only breathe, And sent'st it back to me; Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. TOO LATE. They name thee before me, In secret we met; In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? In silence and tears. LORD BYRON. TOO LATE. "Douglas, Douglas, tendir and treu." Old Ballad. COULD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, In the old likeness that I knew, I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas: |