But let me hint that you will want a wherry,
Three weeks’ spring-tide, and not a chance of neap,
Your parlours will be flooded six feet deep!”
POND’S ASTRONOMY.
“Oh Ellen! how delicious was that light
Wherein our plighted shadows used to blend,
Meanwhile the melancholy bird of night—
No more of that——the lover’s at an end.
Yet if I may advise you, as a friend,