WHEN brave Leander was immersed,
And through the waters passed,
We ’re very sure he was my first,
But he was not my last.
And my whole garments which he wore,—
This young enthusiast,—
Laid in my first upon the shore,
Would have become my last.
[72]
MY first is my last, and my first is my whole;
My whole is my last and my first;
My whole is a ball I attempted to roll,
But I think of all balls ’t was the worst.
[73]
MY first is old and yellow,
Withered and seamed by age;
A most discerning fellow,
Oracular and sage.
My last comes in the winter,
But not in storm or blast;
The sluggard and the printer
Will often take my last.
My whole is a goddess of fabulous fame.
Or a long line of articles, somewhat the same.