354. AN ENIGMA
Six letters in my name are found,
Though only three we see and sound;
The shepherd by the running river
May hear me where the rushes quiver;
And should a stroke my whole divide,
Leaving but half on either side,
These, backward read, will surely tell
What many a toper loves too well.
355. A RIDDLE
Upon a battle-field of learned men
Hundred and fifty were by none divided.
“Now,” said the bishop, “add two-thirds of ten
And so you’ll guess the riddle just as I did.”
356.
Though the stations of mortals are many
And the last is the head of his race;
Yet he, just as often as any,
Is won by my first’s fell embrace;
Yet we most of us apt are to fall,
When our heads cease our hearts to control,
Let us hope that not one of us all
May be e’er in the state of my whole.