One sometimes sees beyond his reach, From childhood to his journey's end. My wife, our little boy, Aignan, Have traveled even to Narbonne ; My grandchild has seen Perpignan, And I have not seen Carcassonne, And I have not seen Carcassonne.
So crooned, one day, close by Limoux, A peasant, double bent with "Rise up, my friend,” said I;
I'll go upon this pilgrimage."
We left next morning his abode, But (Heaven forgive me!) half way on The old man died upon the road; He never gazed on Carcassonne. Each mortal has his Carcassonne.
From the French of Gustave Nadaud
I HAVE got a new-born sister; I was nigh the first that kissed her. When the nursing-woman brought her To Papa, his infant daughter, How Papa's dear eyes did glisten! She will shortly be to christen; And Papa has made the offer
I shall have the naming of her.
Now I wonder what would please her, Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa?
With breeches and cocked hats) the people sent Their wisest men to make the public laws. And so, from a brown homestead, where the Sound Drinks the small tribute of the Mianas, Waved over by the woods of Rippowams, And hallowed by pure lives and tranquil deaths, Stamford sent up to the councils of the State Wisdom and grace in Abraham Davenport.
But be it so or not, I only know
My present duty, and my Lord's command To occupy till He come. So at the post Where He hath set me in his providence, I choose, for one, to meet Him face to face, No faithless servant frightened from my task, But ready when the Lord of the harvest calls; And therefore, with all reverence, I would say, Let God do his work, we will see to ours: Bring in the candles." And they brought them in.
Then by the flaring lights the Speaker read, Albeit with husky voice and shaking hands, An act to amend an act to regulate
The shad and alewive fisheries. Whereupon Wisely and well spake Abraham Davenport, Straight to the question, with no figures of speech Save the ten Arab signs, yet not without The shrewd dry humor natural to the man: His awestruck colleagues listening all the while, Between the pauses of his argument,
To hear the thunder of the wrath of God Break from the hollow trumpet of the cloud.
And there he stands in memory to this day, Erect, self-poised, a rugged face, half seen Against the background of unnatural dark, A witness to the ages as they pass, That simple duty hath no place for fear.
SIR MARMADUKE was a hearty knight; Good man! old man!
He's painted standing bolt upright, With his hose rolled over his knee; His periwig's as white as chalk, And on his fist he holds a hawk, And he looks like the head
Of an ancient family.
His dining-room was long and wide, Good man! old man! His spaniels lay by the fireside
And in other parts, d'ye see Crossbows, tobacco-pipes, old hats,
A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats; And he looks like the head
Of an ancient family.
Good man! old man!
But was always ready to break the pate
Of his country's enemy.
What knight could do a better thing
Than serve the poor, and fight for his king?
And so may every head
Of an ancient family!
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