Nell

Nellie Rakerfield
Came from an estate in Scotland,
Two years old, and won a championship.
It was not her fault that her foals
Were few, and mostly died or were runted.
She worked every day when she raised them,
Never was tired of dragging her
Nineteen hundred pounds
About the farm and the roads, with
Great loads behind it.

She never kicked, bit, nor crowded
In the stall,
Was always ready at a chirp
And seemed to have forgotten delicate care.

But the day they hitched her

ACT IV.

Enter Beefington and Puddingfield.

Pudd. Well, Coachey, have you got two inside places?
Coach. Yes, your Honour.
Pudd. [ seems to be struck with Casimere's appearance. He surveys him earnestly, without paying any attention to the Coachman, then doubtingly pronounces ] Casimere!
Cas. [ turning round rapidly, recognizes Puddingfield, and embraces him.
Cas. My Puddingfield!
Pudd. My Casimere!
Cas. What, Beefington too! [ discovering him ] then is my joy complete.
Beef. Our fellow-traveller, as it seems.

ACT II . Scene — a Room in an ordinary Lodging-House, at Weimar. — Puddingfield and Beefington discovered, sitting at a small deal table, and playing at All-Fours. — Young Pottingen, at another table in the corner of the room, with a pipe in his mouth, and a Saxon mug of a singular shape beside him, which he repeatedly applies to his lips, turning back his head, and casting his eyes towards the Firmament — at the last trial he holds the mug for some moments in a directly inverted position; then replaces it on the table, with an air of dejection, and gradually sinks into a profound slumber.

IN CHARACTER .

Too long the triumphs of our early times,
With civil discord, and with regal crimes,
Have stain'd these boards; while Shakspeare's pen has shewn
Thoughts, manners, men, to modern days unknown.
Too long have Rome and Athens been the rage ;
And classic Buskins soil'd a British Stage.

To-night our Bard, who scorns pedantic rules,
His Plot has borrow'd from the German schools;
— The German schools — where no dull maxims bind

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view
This Dungeon, that I'm rotting in,
I think of those Companions true
Who studied with me at the U--
--NIVERSITY of Gottingen,--
--NIVERSITY of Gottingen.

Sweet kerchief, check'd with heav'nly blue,
Which once my love sat knotting in!--
Alas! MATILDA then was true!--
At least I thought so at the U--
--NIVERSITY of Gottingen,--
--NIVERSITY of Gottingen.

Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew
Her neat Post-Waggon trotting in!
Ye bore MATILDA from my view.
Forlorn I languish'd at the U--

I INTENDED an ode,
— And it turned to a Sonnet.
It began a la mode ,
I intended an Ode;
But Rose crossed the road
— In her latest new bonnet;
I intended an Ode;
— And it turned to a Sonnet.

Rose kissed me to-day.
— Will she kiss me to-morrow?
Let it be as it may,
Rose kissed me to-day
But the pleasure gives way
— To a savor of sorrow; —
Rose kissed me to-day, —
— Will she kiss me to-morrow?

O Englishwoman on the Pincian,
I love you not, nor ever can —
Astounding woman on the Pincian!

I know your mechanism well-adjusted,
I see your mind and body have been trusted
To all the proper people:
I see you straight as is a steeple;
I see you are not old;
I see you are a rich man's daughter;
I see you know the use of gold,
But also know the use of soap-and-water;
And yet I love you not, nor ever can —
Distinguished woman on the Pincian!

You have no doubt of your preiminence,
Nor do I make pretence

I

Close by the Mamertine
Her eyes swooped into mine.
O Jove supreme!
What gleam
Of sovereignty! what hate —
Large, disproportionate!
What lust
August!
Imperial state
Of full-orbed throbbings solved
In vast and dissolute content —
Love-gluts revolved
In lazy rumination, rent,
As then, by urgence of the immediate sting!
The tiger spring
Is there; the naked strife
Of sinewy gladiators, knife
Slant-urged, Locusta drugs,
Suburran rangings, Messalina hugs;

I

The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
O perpetual revolution of configured stars,
O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,