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Love the bronzed pipes of thy men,
And the bronzed cheeks of thy lasses !
Oh, que j'aime the “oui,” the "bah,"
From thy motley crowds that flow,
And the allgemeine "so"!
THE DEATH OF THE SEA SERPENT.
Arma virumque cano, qui first in Monongahela
he'd known her,
videbo Aut pisces, aut terras." While speaking, just two or three points on the
lea bow, Ho saw coming towards them as fast as though to a combat 'twould
(Blackskin, you know, never feels, how sweet, 'tis pro patria mori; Ovid had him in view when he said, “Nimium ne crede colori.") Now swiftly they pull towards the monster, who seeing the cutter and
gig nigh, Glares at them with terrible eyes, suffectis sanguine et igni, And, never conceiving their chief will so quickly deal him a floorer, Opens wide to receive them at once, his linguis vibrantibis ora ; But just as he's licking his lips, and gladly preparing to taste 'em, Straight into his eyeball the skipper stridentem conjicit hastam. Straight as he feels in his eyeball the lance, growing mightly sulky, At 'em he comes in a rage, ora minax, lingua trusulca. "Starn all," cry the sailors at once, for they think he has certainly
caught 'em, Præsentemque viris intentant omnia mortem. But the bold skipper exclaims, “O terque quaterque beati! Now with a will dare viam, when I want you, be only parati; This hoss feels like raising his hair, and in spite of his scaly old cortex, Full soon you shall see that his corpse rapidus vorat æquore vortex.” Hoc ait, and choosing a lance: "With this one I think I shall hit it, He cries, and straight into his mouth, ad intima viscera mittit. Screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum, As if all its waves had been lashed in a tempest por Eurum et Notum. Interea terrible shindy Neptunus sensit, et alto Prospiciens sadly around, wiped his eye with the cuff of his paletôt; And, mad at his favorite's fate, of oaths uttered one or two thousand, Such as “ Corpo di Bacco! Mehercle ! Sacre! Mille Tonnerres ! Potz
tausend !” But the skipper, who thought it was time to this terrible fight dare finem, With a scalping-knife jumps on the neck of the snake secat et dextra
crinem, And hurling the scalp in the air, half mad with delight to possess it, Shouts “ Darn it-I've fixed up his flint, for in ventos vita recessit!"
Concatenation or Chain Berse.
LASPHRISE, a French poet of considerable merit, claims the invention of several singularities in verse, and among them the following, in which it will be found that the last word of every line is the first word of the following line :
Falloit-it que le ciel me rendit amoureux,
Attentive à vouloir nous surprendre tous deux. Subjoined are examples in our own vernacular :
The more offence, the greater pain;
The less defence, the lesser gain-
The shorter life, less count I find ;
The less account, the sooner made;
The merrier mind doth thought invade-
Come, gentle death, the ebb of care;
The ebb of care the flood of life;
The joyful fare, the end of strife-
Noble in the walks of Time,
An eternal life sublime;
Beauty that shall ever be,
Onward to the fountain free;
Seeker at the Fount of Youth,
Beauty found in the quest of Truth.
Long I looked into the sky,
Sky aglow with gleaming stars,
High and grand, those golden cars,
Track untraced by human ray,
Zodiac with milky-way,
Sown like sands along the sea,
Own a feeling to be free,
Place to prove with yonder spheres,
Space and years—unspoken years.
A RINGING SONG.
The following gem is from an old play of Shakspeare's time, called The True Trojans :
The sky is glad that stars above
Do give a brighter splendor;
To make the ground more tender:
That air may be the sweeter;
With pretty chirping metre;
Feed plants and flowers so dainty ;
That beasts may live in plenty;
That men high Jove may honor;
When Peace doth smile upon her!
This jubilee last forever;
Our quiet trouble never !
Bouts Rimés, or Rhyming Ends, afford considerable amusement. They are said by Goujet to have been invented by Dulot, a French poct, who had a custom of preparing the rhymes of sonnets, leaving them to be filled up at leisure. llaving been robbed of his papers, he was regretting the loss of three hundred sonnets. His friends were astonished that he had written so many of which they had never heard. “They were blank sonnets," said he, and then explained the mystery by describing his “ Bouts Rimés.” The idea appeared ridiculously amusing, and it soon became a fashionable pastime to collect some of the most difficult rhymes, and fill up the lines. An example is appended :
nettle, pains. mettle. remains. natures. rebel. graters.
The rhymes may be thus completed
Tonder-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
And it soft as silk remains.
Use them kindly, they rebel;
And the rogues obey you well.
A sprightly young belle, who was an admirer of poetry, would often tcase her beau, who had made some acquaintance with the muscs, to write verses for her. One day, becoming quite importunate, she would take no denial. “Come, pray, do now write some poetry for me won't you? I'll help you out. I'll