Was pecking some carrion down below;
A poor little lamb, half alive, half-dead,
And the crow at each peck turned up its head
With a cunning glance at the linnet above--
What a demon is Liberty left of Love!

Then an eagle hovered far up in the sky,
And the linnet trembled, but could not fly;
With a swoop to the earth the eagle fell,
And rose up anon with a savage yell.
The birds in the woodlands dared not move.
What a despot is Liberty left of Love!

By and bye there arrived, with chattering loud,
Chaffinch and sparrow and finch, in a cloud;
Round and around in their fierce attack,
They plucked the feathers from breast and back;
And the poor little linnet all vainly strove,
Fighting with Liberty left of Love.

"Alas!" it said, with a cry of pain,
"Carry me back to my cage again;
There let me dwell in peaceful ease,
Piping whatever songs I please;
Here, if I stay, my death shall prove,
Liberty dieth left of Love."

TO THE REV. A. A. IN THE COUNTRY FROM HIS FRIEND IN LONDON.

(AFTER HEINE.)

Thou little village curate,
Come quick, and do not wait;
We'll sit and talk together,
So sweetly _tete-a-tete_.

Oh do not fear the railway
Because it seems so big--
Dost thou not daily trust thee
Unto thy little gig.

This house is full of painters,
And half shut up and black;
But rooms the very snuggest
Lie hidden at the back.
Come! come! come!

THE CURATE TO HIS SLIPPERS.

Take, oh take those boots away,
That so nearly are outworn;
And those shoes remove, I pray--
Pumps that but induce the corn!
But my slippers bring again,
Bring again;
Works of love, but worked in vain,
Worked in vain!

AN ATTEMPT TO REMEMBER THE "GRANDMOTHER'S APOLOGY."

(WITH MANY APOLOGIES TO THE LAUREATE.)

And Willie, my eldest born, is gone, you say, little Anne,
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man;
He was only fourscore years, quite young, when he died;
I ought to have gone before, but must wait for time and tide.

So Harry's wife has written; she was always an awful fool,
And Charlie was always drunk, which made our families cool;
For Willie was walking with Jenny when the moon came up the dale,
And whit, whit, whit, in the bush beside me chirrupt the nightingale.

Jenny I know had tripped, and she knew that I knew of it well.
She began to slander me. I knew, but I wouldn't tell!
And she to be slandering me, the impertinent, base littl