WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN.
WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS.
LINES UPON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT.
THE LEGEND OF ST. SOPHIA OF KIOFF.
MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL.
THE WOLFE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN.
LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWENT.*
THE LAMENTABLE BALLAD OF THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH.
THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM.
PART I.
At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,
Whoever will choose to repair,
Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors
May haply fall in with old Pierre.
On the sunshiny bench of a tavern
He sits and he prates of old wars,
And moistens his pipe of tobacco
With a drink that is named after Mars.
The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,
