Upon their page, transfixed with numerous darts, Or, on one spit, let two pale pink calves' hearts Let ANGELINA there, as in a bower Of shrubs, unknown to LINDLEY, she reposes, For arts like these I've neither skill nor time; Your berth is taken, and your passage paid. "Twelve dozen shirts! twelve dozen collars," too! The horrid host of buttons and of strings Flashed on my spirit, and I thought of you. "Surely," I said, as in my chest I dived That vast receptacle of all things known“To teach this truth my outfit was contrived, It is not good for man to be alone!" Then fly with me! My bark is on the shore (Her mark A 1, her size eight hundred tons), And though she 's nearly full, can take some more Dry goods, by measurement-say GREEN and SONS. Yes, fly with me! Had all our friends been blind, We might have married, and been happy here; But since young married folks the means must find The eyes of stern society to cheer, And satisfy its numerous demands, I think 'twill save us many a vain expense, If on our wedding cards this Notice stands, "At Home, at Ballarat, just three months hence !" A SCENE ON THE AUSTRIAN FRONTIER. PUNCH. "DEY must not pass !" was the warning cry of the Austrian sen tinel To or whose little knapsack bore the books he loved so well. "They must not pass? Now, wherefore not?" the wond'ring tourist cried; "No English book can pass mit me;" the sentinel replied. The tourist laughed a scornful laugh; quoth he, "Indeed, I hope There are few English books would please a Kaiser or a Pope; But these are books in common use: plain truths and facts they tell-" "Der Teufel! Den dey most not pass!" said the startled sentinel. "This Handbook to North Germany, by worthy Mr. MURRAY, "Sturmwetter!" said the sentinel, "Comel cease dis idle babbles! I nevvare heard of him bifor, ver mosh I wish I had, tinel. “Dis Plato, too, I ver mosh fear, he will corrupt the land, He has soch many long big words, Ich kann nicht onderstand." "My friend,” the tourist said, “I fear you're really in the way to Quite change the proverb, and be friends with neither Truth nor PLATO. My books, 'tis true, are little worth, but they have served ine long, And I regard the greatness less than the nature of the wrong; So, if the books must stay behind, I stay behind as well." "Es ist mir nichts, mein lieber Freund," said the courteous sentinel. ODE TO THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT ON HIS WONDERFUL REAPPEARANCE. FROM what abysses of the unfathom'd sea Turnest thou up, Great Serpent, now and then, If we may venture to believe in thee, And affidavits of sea-faring men? What whirlpool gulf to thee affords a home! PUNCH. Amid the unknown depths where dost thou dwell? Art thou, indeed, a serpent and no sham? An entity, though modified by flam, A basking shark, or monstrous kind of seal? I'll think that thou a true Ophidian art; Thou swimmest, it appears, and dost not creep. The Captain was not WALKER but M'QUHE, I'll trust, by whom thou some time since wast seen; And him who says he saw thee t'other day, I will not bid address the corps marine. Sea-Serpent, art thou venomous or not? What sort of snake may be thy class and style? That of Mud-Python, by APOLLO shot, And mentioned-rather often-by CARLYLE? Or, art thou but a serpent of the mind? Doubts, though subdued, will oft recur again— A serpent of the visionary kind, Proceeding from the grog-oppressed brain? Art thou a giant adder, or huge asp, And hast thou got a rattle at thy tail? How long art thou?-Some sixty feet, they say, From head to head, a dozen miles or so. Scales hast thou got, of course-but what's thy weight? If I could clutch thee-in a giant's grip- Hast thou a forked tongue-and dost thou hiss And is it the correct hypothesis That thou of gills or lungs dost breathe by way? What spines, or spikes, or claws, or nails, or fin, Or paddle, Ocean-Serpent, dost thou bear? What kind of teeth show'st thou when thou dost grin ?— A set that probably would make one stare. What is thy diet? Canst thou gulp a shoal Of herrings? Or hast thou the gorge and room To bolt fat porpoises and dolphins, whole, By dozens, e'en as oysters we consume? Art, thou alone, thou serpent, on the brine, But thou alone, afloat on Ocean's face? If such a calculation may be made, Thine age at what a figure may we take? What fossil Saurians in thy time have been? Long as the tail thou doubtless canst unfold? As a dead whale, but as a whale, though dead, A flock of birds a record, rather loose, Describes as hovering o'er thy lengthy hull; THE FEAST OF VEGETABLES, AND THE FLOW OF WATER. NEW YEAR Comes,-so let's be jolly; On the board the Turnip smokes, While we sit beneath the holly, How the Cauliflower is steaming, Here behold the reign of Plenty, Roots how nice, and herbs how dainty, Well washed down with ADAM'S Ale! PUNCH. |