Who now of threatening famine dare complain,
When every female forehead teems with grain?
See how the wheat-sheaves nod amid the plumes:
Our barns are now transferred to drawing-rooms,
And husbands who indulge in active lives,
To fill their granaries, may thresh their wives!
Campbell, the poet, was asked by a lady to write something original in her album. He wrote,—
An original something, dear maid, you would win me
To write; but how shall I begin?
For I’m sure I have nothing original in me,