HE BOSPHORUS, 253
THE DIRGE OF THE DRINKER, 258
THE DEATH OF DUVAL, 261
EASTERN SERENADE, 267
DAME FREDEGONDE, 271
SONG OF THE ENNUYE, 276
THE DEATH OF SPACE, 279
CAROLINE, 281
TO A FORGET-ME-NOT, 284
THE MEETING, 286
THE MISHAP, 288
COMFORT IN AFFLICTION, 291
THE INVOCATION, 293
THE HUSBAND'S PETITION, 297
SONNET TO BRITAIN, 301

L'ENVOY.

Come, buy my lays, and read them if you list;
My pensive public, if you list not, buy.
Come, for you know me. I am he who sang
Of Mister Colt, and I am he who framed
Of Widdicomb the wild and wondrous song.
Come, listen to my lays, and you shall hear
How Wordsworth, battling for the Laureate's wreath,
Bore to the dust the terrible Fitzball;
How N. P. Willis for his country's good,
In complete steel, all bowie-knived at point,
Took lodgings in the Snapping Turtle's womb.
Come, listen to my lays, and you shall hear
The mingled music of all modern bards
Floating aloft in such peculiar strains,
As strike themselves with envy and amaze;
For you "bright-harped" Tennyson shall sing;
Macaulay chant a more than Roman lay;
And Bulwer Lytton, Lytton Bulwer erst,
Unseen amidst a metaphysic fog,
Howl melancholy homage to the moon;
For you once more Montgomery shall rave
In all his rapt rabidity of rhyme;
Nankeened Cockaigne shall pipe his puny note,
And our young England's penny trumpet blow.

SPANISH BALLADS

The Broken Pitcher.

It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo--
Alphonzo Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.

"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden, why sit'st thou by the spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why dost thou look upon me, with eyes so dark and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?"

"I do not