THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN. It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side, It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, "I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see; I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont-and I will swim this here." And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, Out spoke the ancient fisherman-"O what was that, my daughter?" Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound, THE TREADMILL SONG. The stars are rolling in the sky, And we can feel the rattling wheel Then tread away, my gallant boys, Why should not wheels go round about Wake up, wake up, my duck-legged man, What though you're awkward at the trade, So lean upon the rail, my lad, They've built us up a noble wall, Here, tread upon the long man's toes, And punch the little fellow's ribs, And tweak that lubber's ear He's lost them both-don't pull his hair, But poke him in the further eye, Hark! fellows, there's the supper-bell, If ever they should turn me out, THE SEPTEMBER GALE. I'm not a chicken; I have seen And though I was a youngster then, The day before, my kite-string snapped, The wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat- It came as quarrels sometimes do, When married folks get clashing; There was a heavy sigh or two, Before the fire was flashing A little stir among the clouds, Before they rent asunder A little rocking of the trees, And then came on the thunder. Lord! how the ponds and rivers boiled, And all below a clatter- It chanced to be our washing-day, I saw the shirts and petticoats I lost, ah! bitterly I wept I lost my Sunday breeches! I saw them straddling through the air, I saw them chase the clouds, as if That night I saw them in my dreams, How changed from what I knew them! The dews had steeped their faded threads, The winds had whistled through them; I saw the wide and ghastly rents Where demon claws had torn them; I have had many happy years, But those young pantaloons have gone, And not till fate has cut the last Of all my earthly stitches, This aching heart shall cease to mourn THE MUSIC-GRINDERS. There are three ways in which men take One's money from his purse, And very hard it is to tell Which of the three is worse; You're riding out some pleasant day, It's hard to meet such pressing friends It's very hard to lose your cash, And so you take your wallet out, Perhaps you're going out to dine- He tells you of his starving wife, Poor little, lovely innocents, All clamorous for bread And so you kindly help to put You're sitting on your window-seat You hear a sound, that seems to wear As if a broken fife should strive And nearer, nearer still, the tide There's something like a human voice, And something like a drum; You sit, in speechless agony, Until your ear is numb. Poor "home, sweet home," should seem to be A very dismal place; Your "auld acquaintance," all at once, Is altered in the face; Their discords sting through Burns and Moore, You think they are crusaders, sent To crack the voice of Melody, And break the legs of Time. But hark! the air again is still, It cannot be it is it is A hat is going round! No! Pay the dentist when he leaves And pay the owner of the bear, That stunned you with his paw, And buy the lobster, that has had But if you are a portly man, Put on your fiercest frown, And talk about a constable To turn them out of town; Then close your sentence with an oath, And if you are a slender man, Go very quietly and drop THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS. I wrote some lines once on a time And thought, as usual, men would say |