praise,
Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any.

Dan Phoebus loves your book--trust me, friend Hone--
The title only errs, he bids me say:
For while such art, wit, reading, there are shown,
He swears,'tis not a work of _every day_.

* * * * *

ACROSTICS

TO CAROLINE MARIA APPLEBEE

_An Acrostic_

Caroline glides smooth in verse,
And is easy to rehearse;
Runs just like some crystal river
O'er its pebbly bed for ever.

Lines as harsh and quaint as mine
In their close at least will shine,
Nor from sweetness can decline,
Ending but with _Caroline_.

_Maria_ asks a statelier pace--
"_Ave Maria_, full of grace!"
Romish rites before me rise,
Image-worship, sacrifice,
And well-meant but mistaken pieties.

_Apple_ with _Bee_ doth rougher run.
Paradise was lost by one;
Peace of mind would we regain,
Let us, like the other, strain
Every harmless faculty,
Bee-like at work in our degree,
Ever some sweet task designing,
Extracting still, and still refining.

TO CECILIA CATHERINE LAWTON

_An Acrostic_

Choral service, solemn chanting,
Echoing round cathedrals holy--
Can aught else on earth be wanting
In heav'n's bliss to plunge us wholly?
Let us great _Cecilia_ honour
In the praise we give unto them,
And the merit be upon her.

Cold the heart that would undo them,
And the solemn organ banish
That this sainted Maid invented.
Holy thoughts too quickly vanish,
Ere the expression can be vented.
Raise the song to _Catherine_,
In her torments most divine!
Ne'er by Christians be forgot--
Envied be--this Martyr's lot.
_Lawton_, who these _names_ combinest,
Aim to emulate their praises;
Women were they, yet divinest
Truths they taught; and story raises
O'er their mouldering bones a Tomb,
Not to die till Day of Doom.

ACROSTIC,

TO A LADY WHO DESIRED ME TO WRITE HER EPITAPH

(1830)

Grace Joanna here doth lie:
Reader, wonder not that I