Oh! blest be thy kindness which hearing would give
To my fulsomest fiddle-de-dee.
The great race of Buttonhole-Bores could not live,
Were it not for Pill-Garlics like thee!
——:o:——
LALLA ROOKH.
There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream
And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;
In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet dream,
To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s song.