Myfirstin kingdoms you will findWhere sovereigns great have reign;Mysecondon the Atlantic see,When brave hearts cross the main.Mywhole, an ally strong and boldOf a United State,If on the map you think to find,Some time you’ll have to wait.
Myfirstin kingdoms you will findWhere sovereigns great have reign;Mysecondon the Atlantic see,When brave hearts cross the main.Mywhole, an ally strong and boldOf a United State,If on the map you think to find,Some time you’ll have to wait.
Myfirstin kingdoms you will findWhere sovereigns great have reign;Mysecondon the Atlantic see,When brave hearts cross the main.
Mywhole, an ally strong and boldOf a United State,If on the map you think to find,Some time you’ll have to wait.
Lane
When night-winds whistle o’er the plain,And howls the storm in many a burst,How cheering to the way-worn swainTo seek the shelter of my first!With cunning shining in his face,From eyes so watchful, keen, and dark,The scion of a remnant race—My artful second you may mark.My third in bearded front arrayed,With Autumn’s golden stores is found;Yet torn, and bruised, and lowly laid,Its head must rest upon the ground.My whole you always must forgive,As you expect to be forgiven;Nor must it in your memory live,Though multiplied to seven times seven.
When night-winds whistle o’er the plain,And howls the storm in many a burst,How cheering to the way-worn swainTo seek the shelter of my first!With cunning shining in his face,From eyes so watchful, keen, and dark,The scion of a remnant race—My artful second you may mark.My third in bearded front arrayed,With Autumn’s golden stores is found;Yet torn, and bruised, and lowly laid,Its head must rest upon the ground.My whole you always must forgive,As you expect to be forgiven;Nor must it in your memory live,Though multiplied to seven times seven.
When night-winds whistle o’er the plain,And howls the storm in many a burst,How cheering to the way-worn swainTo seek the shelter of my first!
With cunning shining in his face,From eyes so watchful, keen, and dark,The scion of a remnant race—My artful second you may mark.
My third in bearded front arrayed,With Autumn’s golden stores is found;Yet torn, and bruised, and lowly laid,Its head must rest upon the ground.
My whole you always must forgive,As you expect to be forgiven;Nor must it in your memory live,Though multiplied to seven times seven.
I stand on my first, on my second I sit,On my whole I do either just as I think fit.
I stand on my first, on my second I sit,On my whole I do either just as I think fit.
I stand on my first, on my second I sit,On my whole I do either just as I think fit.
First.
Mantling the ruined wallWith my green, yielding pall;You know me well.Covering the river’s brink,’Neath your soft tread I sink.My name pray tell.
Mantling the ruined wallWith my green, yielding pall;You know me well.Covering the river’s brink,’Neath your soft tread I sink.My name pray tell.
Mantling the ruined wallWith my green, yielding pall;You know me well.Covering the river’s brink,’Neath your soft tread I sink.My name pray tell.
Second.
Fairest of earthly flowers,Queen of your garden bowers,Flora’s delight,Twined o’er the cottage door,My showers of incense pourOn the still nights.
Fairest of earthly flowers,Queen of your garden bowers,Flora’s delight,Twined o’er the cottage door,My showers of incense pourOn the still nights.
Fairest of earthly flowers,Queen of your garden bowers,Flora’s delight,Twined o’er the cottage door,My showers of incense pourOn the still nights.
Whole.
See, when the blushing brideCasts her rich vail aside,I’m nestled there,Near some soft, waving tress,Or on her bridal dress,Shining so fair.Oft on the mourner’s tombDrooping and sad I bloom,Token of loveLeft by the orphaned child,Calling in accents wildFor those above.
See, when the blushing brideCasts her rich vail aside,I’m nestled there,Near some soft, waving tress,Or on her bridal dress,Shining so fair.Oft on the mourner’s tombDrooping and sad I bloom,Token of loveLeft by the orphaned child,Calling in accents wildFor those above.
See, when the blushing brideCasts her rich vail aside,I’m nestled there,Near some soft, waving tress,Or on her bridal dress,Shining so fair.
Oft on the mourner’s tombDrooping and sad I bloom,Token of loveLeft by the orphaned child,Calling in accents wildFor those above.
My first is a short sleep. My second is a relation. My whole is an article in daily use.
Birds
My first belongs, in pairs, to man and beast,And of the gifts of harvest not the least;The treasures of my next no boy of feelingWill e’er disgrace his heart or name by stealing;My first and third the time, my whole the way,To undertake the duties of each day.
My first belongs, in pairs, to man and beast,And of the gifts of harvest not the least;The treasures of my next no boy of feelingWill e’er disgrace his heart or name by stealing;My first and third the time, my whole the way,To undertake the duties of each day.
My first belongs, in pairs, to man and beast,And of the gifts of harvest not the least;The treasures of my next no boy of feelingWill e’er disgrace his heart or name by stealing;My first and third the time, my whole the way,To undertake the duties of each day.
My first is a body of water.My second is a fish.My third is a preposition.My fourth is a name for the head.My whole was a bone of contention.
My first is a body of water.My second is a fish.My third is a preposition.My fourth is a name for the head.My whole was a bone of contention.
My first is a body of water.My second is a fish.My third is a preposition.My fourth is a name for the head.My whole was a bone of contention.
Did’st ever go to singing-school,And hear the master tryTo sound the notes upon the scale,From lowest to most high?Then have you heard my first, the best,Fall sweetly on your ear,’Tis strange that with such companyMy second should appear.My second ne’er in gentle mood,Is full of ire and hate,Oh, let none who shall glance this o’er,Be found in such a state.’Tis only for the lunatic,Bereft of reason’s light,Thus to profane his nature bySo sorrowful a sight.My whole is an illusion vain,Yet perfect as untrue;It doth the real object seem,But double on the view.By its strange spell the water seemsAs if ’twere hung in air,The desert traveler knows full wellIts vision false as fair.
Did’st ever go to singing-school,And hear the master tryTo sound the notes upon the scale,From lowest to most high?Then have you heard my first, the best,Fall sweetly on your ear,’Tis strange that with such companyMy second should appear.My second ne’er in gentle mood,Is full of ire and hate,Oh, let none who shall glance this o’er,Be found in such a state.’Tis only for the lunatic,Bereft of reason’s light,Thus to profane his nature bySo sorrowful a sight.My whole is an illusion vain,Yet perfect as untrue;It doth the real object seem,But double on the view.By its strange spell the water seemsAs if ’twere hung in air,The desert traveler knows full wellIts vision false as fair.
Did’st ever go to singing-school,And hear the master tryTo sound the notes upon the scale,From lowest to most high?Then have you heard my first, the best,Fall sweetly on your ear,’Tis strange that with such companyMy second should appear.
My second ne’er in gentle mood,Is full of ire and hate,Oh, let none who shall glance this o’er,Be found in such a state.’Tis only for the lunatic,Bereft of reason’s light,Thus to profane his nature bySo sorrowful a sight.
My whole is an illusion vain,Yet perfect as untrue;It doth the real object seem,But double on the view.By its strange spell the water seemsAs if ’twere hung in air,The desert traveler knows full wellIts vision false as fair.
My first is one, ’tis even you,My whole by many have been reckoned,But only He who numbers allCan ever rightly count my second.
My first is one, ’tis even you,My whole by many have been reckoned,But only He who numbers allCan ever rightly count my second.
My first is one, ’tis even you,My whole by many have been reckoned,But only He who numbers allCan ever rightly count my second.
My first is an article in daily use.My second spells the twentieth letter of the alphabet.My third, if you prefix the letters, will name a declivity.My whole is an animal.
My first is an article in daily use.My second spells the twentieth letter of the alphabet.My third, if you prefix the letters, will name a declivity.My whole is an animal.
My first is an article in daily use.My second spells the twentieth letter of the alphabet.My third, if you prefix the letters, will name a declivity.My whole is an animal.
Chinchillas
My first is a part of the human face.My second is an unpleasant sensation.My third is an article.My whole is a small animal.
My first is a part of the human face.My second is an unpleasant sensation.My third is an article.My whole is a small animal.
My first is a part of the human face.My second is an unpleasant sensation.My third is an article.My whole is a small animal.
My first is found in every bog,In every pool and pond,Without me not a single frogOr toad could e’er be found.My next isalwaysto be foundWherever men exist;I build their houses, plow their ground,And help them to subsist.With dread the superstitious soulWill speculate upon my whole.
My first is found in every bog,In every pool and pond,Without me not a single frogOr toad could e’er be found.My next isalwaysto be foundWherever men exist;I build their houses, plow their ground,And help them to subsist.With dread the superstitious soulWill speculate upon my whole.
My first is found in every bog,In every pool and pond,Without me not a single frogOr toad could e’er be found.My next isalwaysto be foundWherever men exist;I build their houses, plow their ground,And help them to subsist.With dread the superstitious soulWill speculate upon my whole.
Entire, I’m water, earth, or air,I’m food, or clothes, or light,Always provided, lady fair,That these are used aright.And though in fifty things I stay,This you will surely find,Come in whatever form I may,I benefit mankind.Two syllables I do possess,But what is very droll,Although apartmy second is,My first one is thewhole.
Entire, I’m water, earth, or air,I’m food, or clothes, or light,Always provided, lady fair,That these are used aright.And though in fifty things I stay,This you will surely find,Come in whatever form I may,I benefit mankind.Two syllables I do possess,But what is very droll,Although apartmy second is,My first one is thewhole.
Entire, I’m water, earth, or air,I’m food, or clothes, or light,Always provided, lady fair,That these are used aright.
And though in fifty things I stay,This you will surely find,Come in whatever form I may,I benefit mankind.
Two syllables I do possess,But what is very droll,Although apartmy second is,My first one is thewhole.
My first is always on a parWith every earthly thing;With reptile, brute, bird, fish, and man,With beggar, priest, and king.My second is a title—A foreign one, ’tis true—But none the less familiarTo every one of you.My whole—a glorious revenge!And Heaven’s kindest boon:I dare not tell you plainer, lestYou find me out too soon.
My first is always on a parWith every earthly thing;With reptile, brute, bird, fish, and man,With beggar, priest, and king.My second is a title—A foreign one, ’tis true—But none the less familiarTo every one of you.My whole—a glorious revenge!And Heaven’s kindest boon:I dare not tell you plainer, lestYou find me out too soon.
My first is always on a parWith every earthly thing;With reptile, brute, bird, fish, and man,With beggar, priest, and king.
My second is a title—A foreign one, ’tis true—But none the less familiarTo every one of you.
My whole—a glorious revenge!And Heaven’s kindest boon:I dare not tell you plainer, lestYou find me out too soon.
My first is what young ladies aim at in their movements, and what Christians pray for.
My second is what in winter we see little of, and what no young man likes to be considered.
My third is what every woman should be before she is won, and what we should be badly off without during this cold weather.
My whole is the name of an authoress, highly popular with both old and young.
Sleigh riding
Myfirst, from the frozen North comes downIn snowy mantle dressed;And the smiling earth grows bare and brown,Where’er his steps have pressed,The flowers close up each sparkling eye,And hide in the earth till he passes by.But when bleak winds and frosts are gone,’Mid April’s smiles and tears,Mysecond’shue the earth puts on,And summer beauty wears;And tuneful birds and opening flowersInvite you to the forest bowers.On moss-grown banks, half hidden there,My whole may oft be seen;My fragrant leaves perfume the air,And shine in emerald green;And there my crimson berry glows,Ripened beneath New England snows.
Myfirst, from the frozen North comes downIn snowy mantle dressed;And the smiling earth grows bare and brown,Where’er his steps have pressed,The flowers close up each sparkling eye,And hide in the earth till he passes by.But when bleak winds and frosts are gone,’Mid April’s smiles and tears,Mysecond’shue the earth puts on,And summer beauty wears;And tuneful birds and opening flowersInvite you to the forest bowers.On moss-grown banks, half hidden there,My whole may oft be seen;My fragrant leaves perfume the air,And shine in emerald green;And there my crimson berry glows,Ripened beneath New England snows.
Myfirst, from the frozen North comes downIn snowy mantle dressed;And the smiling earth grows bare and brown,Where’er his steps have pressed,The flowers close up each sparkling eye,And hide in the earth till he passes by.
But when bleak winds and frosts are gone,’Mid April’s smiles and tears,Mysecond’shue the earth puts on,And summer beauty wears;And tuneful birds and opening flowersInvite you to the forest bowers.
On moss-grown banks, half hidden there,My whole may oft be seen;My fragrant leaves perfume the air,And shine in emerald green;And there my crimson berry glows,Ripened beneath New England snows.
My first.
The boy who, trusting in his father’s word,Sprang from the towering mast to meet the wave,Possessed in me the pledge that risk incurred,Was equaled by that father’s power to save.
The boy who, trusting in his father’s word,Sprang from the towering mast to meet the wave,Possessed in me the pledge that risk incurred,Was equaled by that father’s power to save.
The boy who, trusting in his father’s word,Sprang from the towering mast to meet the wave,Possessed in me the pledge that risk incurred,Was equaled by that father’s power to save.
My second.
The nation scourged, dispersed through every land,For many ages, wanderers without home,In me waits patiently the guiding handWill lead its pilgrims back no more to roam.
The nation scourged, dispersed through every land,For many ages, wanderers without home,In me waits patiently the guiding handWill lead its pilgrims back no more to roam.
The nation scourged, dispersed through every land,For many ages, wanderers without home,In me waits patiently the guiding handWill lead its pilgrims back no more to roam.
My third.
The mother standing at the judgment seat,When wisdom’s voice to death her babe did give,Resigned to me her claim—willing to meetHer loss, so that her precious child might live.Through me the tongue of slander lulls its voice,Through me the poor have full provision given;I lift the fallen one, bid hearts rejoice;I bid the poor of earth seek wealth in heaven.
The mother standing at the judgment seat,When wisdom’s voice to death her babe did give,Resigned to me her claim—willing to meetHer loss, so that her precious child might live.Through me the tongue of slander lulls its voice,Through me the poor have full provision given;I lift the fallen one, bid hearts rejoice;I bid the poor of earth seek wealth in heaven.
The mother standing at the judgment seat,When wisdom’s voice to death her babe did give,Resigned to me her claim—willing to meetHer loss, so that her precious child might live.Through me the tongue of slander lulls its voice,Through me the poor have full provision given;I lift the fallen one, bid hearts rejoice;I bid the poor of earth seek wealth in heaven.
My whole.
A jeweled diadem of priceless worth,I quench the luster of all crowns on earth.
A jeweled diadem of priceless worth,I quench the luster of all crowns on earth.
A jeweled diadem of priceless worth,I quench the luster of all crowns on earth.
My first in gardens oft is seen,And oft adorns the bride;In early spring its leaves are green—It is the maiden’s pride.My second thou repeatestFull oft in fireside games:As sweet, if not the sweetest,Of all familiar names.A flow’ring shrub, in a distant clime,My whole in beauty grows;It grew by the sea in olden time,And thus its name arose.
My first in gardens oft is seen,And oft adorns the bride;In early spring its leaves are green—It is the maiden’s pride.My second thou repeatestFull oft in fireside games:As sweet, if not the sweetest,Of all familiar names.A flow’ring shrub, in a distant clime,My whole in beauty grows;It grew by the sea in olden time,And thus its name arose.
My first in gardens oft is seen,And oft adorns the bride;In early spring its leaves are green—It is the maiden’s pride.
My second thou repeatestFull oft in fireside games:As sweet, if not the sweetest,Of all familiar names.
A flow’ring shrub, in a distant clime,My whole in beauty grows;It grew by the sea in olden time,And thus its name arose.
Awake, my first, with thy inspiring tone,Behold an instrument joy calls his own,And with responsive foot, on dewy meads,The sylvan dance of fawn and wood nymph leads.My next adorns the noble Latin tongue,Whose numbers flow sonorous, smooth, and strong;There, should you fail to find the word, perchance’Twill greet you in the livelier tones of France.My whole, a fragrant flower—’tis not for meTo eulogize its grace and modesty;Full oft the poet’s reed hath breathed its fame,In loftier measures—can’st thou tell its name?
Awake, my first, with thy inspiring tone,Behold an instrument joy calls his own,And with responsive foot, on dewy meads,The sylvan dance of fawn and wood nymph leads.My next adorns the noble Latin tongue,Whose numbers flow sonorous, smooth, and strong;There, should you fail to find the word, perchance’Twill greet you in the livelier tones of France.My whole, a fragrant flower—’tis not for meTo eulogize its grace and modesty;Full oft the poet’s reed hath breathed its fame,In loftier measures—can’st thou tell its name?
Awake, my first, with thy inspiring tone,Behold an instrument joy calls his own,And with responsive foot, on dewy meads,The sylvan dance of fawn and wood nymph leads.
My next adorns the noble Latin tongue,Whose numbers flow sonorous, smooth, and strong;There, should you fail to find the word, perchance’Twill greet you in the livelier tones of France.
My whole, a fragrant flower—’tis not for meTo eulogize its grace and modesty;Full oft the poet’s reed hath breathed its fame,In loftier measures—can’st thou tell its name?
Firefly
In stillness of midnight, the cry of my firstOn ear of the sleeper affrighted will burst;The bells peal their loudest each moment of time,As if life depended on even one chime.Oh, then is my first in his terror arrayed,When anger burns fiercely, he may not be stayed.Again round the hearth-stone are happy hearts met,From gray-headed sire to the lisping young pet.The flame doth grow warmer, and brighter the light;How cheering it maketh the winter’s cold night!So changeth my first, as the hawk to the dove,His aspect is here one of comfort and love.My second, bound neither to inland or coast,Is one ’mong the many, a numberless host;Full transient his being; he cometh in spring,And chill winds of autumn his requiem sing.Though said to be useful, I frankly confess,My wish has been often his music were less.Though peaceful his temper, I can not denyThat rarely by nature he’s suffered to die.A foe doth he find in the duster and brush,E’en flowerets allure, his existence to crush;Like warfare with bodkin Domitian begun,Hence gathering much of the fame which he won.My whole doth love best to be out in the night,And flatters himself on his furnishing light;Dear Luna is nothing of comfort to him,For brighter his glory when hers is most dim.Two lamps he doth carry, and brilliant they are,As beams which were stolen from eye of a star.His joy is to frisk from the sunset to dawn;When morn comes, the pride of his beauty is gone!In tropical climates he oft’nest doth dwell,He lighteth the savage—hast never heard tell?’Tis growing quite dark; oh, I wish he were nigh;Perchance he would give me his lamps to see by.
In stillness of midnight, the cry of my firstOn ear of the sleeper affrighted will burst;The bells peal their loudest each moment of time,As if life depended on even one chime.Oh, then is my first in his terror arrayed,When anger burns fiercely, he may not be stayed.Again round the hearth-stone are happy hearts met,From gray-headed sire to the lisping young pet.The flame doth grow warmer, and brighter the light;How cheering it maketh the winter’s cold night!So changeth my first, as the hawk to the dove,His aspect is here one of comfort and love.My second, bound neither to inland or coast,Is one ’mong the many, a numberless host;Full transient his being; he cometh in spring,And chill winds of autumn his requiem sing.Though said to be useful, I frankly confess,My wish has been often his music were less.Though peaceful his temper, I can not denyThat rarely by nature he’s suffered to die.A foe doth he find in the duster and brush,E’en flowerets allure, his existence to crush;Like warfare with bodkin Domitian begun,Hence gathering much of the fame which he won.My whole doth love best to be out in the night,And flatters himself on his furnishing light;Dear Luna is nothing of comfort to him,For brighter his glory when hers is most dim.Two lamps he doth carry, and brilliant they are,As beams which were stolen from eye of a star.His joy is to frisk from the sunset to dawn;When morn comes, the pride of his beauty is gone!In tropical climates he oft’nest doth dwell,He lighteth the savage—hast never heard tell?’Tis growing quite dark; oh, I wish he were nigh;Perchance he would give me his lamps to see by.
In stillness of midnight, the cry of my firstOn ear of the sleeper affrighted will burst;The bells peal their loudest each moment of time,As if life depended on even one chime.Oh, then is my first in his terror arrayed,When anger burns fiercely, he may not be stayed.Again round the hearth-stone are happy hearts met,From gray-headed sire to the lisping young pet.The flame doth grow warmer, and brighter the light;How cheering it maketh the winter’s cold night!So changeth my first, as the hawk to the dove,His aspect is here one of comfort and love.
My second, bound neither to inland or coast,Is one ’mong the many, a numberless host;Full transient his being; he cometh in spring,And chill winds of autumn his requiem sing.Though said to be useful, I frankly confess,My wish has been often his music were less.Though peaceful his temper, I can not denyThat rarely by nature he’s suffered to die.A foe doth he find in the duster and brush,E’en flowerets allure, his existence to crush;Like warfare with bodkin Domitian begun,Hence gathering much of the fame which he won.
My whole doth love best to be out in the night,And flatters himself on his furnishing light;Dear Luna is nothing of comfort to him,For brighter his glory when hers is most dim.Two lamps he doth carry, and brilliant they are,As beams which were stolen from eye of a star.His joy is to frisk from the sunset to dawn;When morn comes, the pride of his beauty is gone!In tropical climates he oft’nest doth dwell,He lighteth the savage—hast never heard tell?’Tis growing quite dark; oh, I wish he were nigh;Perchance he would give me his lamps to see by.
My first is equality, my second inferiority, and my whole superiority.
I am composed of nine letters.
My first is a name appropriated to a certain class of foreigners. It is also a nickname.
My second is an article.
My third implies motion.
My fourth in sound implies proximity.
My fifth is a vowel.
My whole is a part of the Western hemisphere.
When round the weary travelerThe stormy evening closes,When tangled wood or swelling streamHis toilsome way opposes;If through the trees his eager stepsTo rest and warmth are beckoned,How gladly will he hail my first,That leads him to my second!When from some hill’s commanding browThe gloomy prospect viewing,He hears the distant ocean rage,Waves, frightened waves pursuing,How gladly turns he to my whole,In watch serene abiding,And fears no more to think of thoseWho trust my faithful guiding.
When round the weary travelerThe stormy evening closes,When tangled wood or swelling streamHis toilsome way opposes;If through the trees his eager stepsTo rest and warmth are beckoned,How gladly will he hail my first,That leads him to my second!When from some hill’s commanding browThe gloomy prospect viewing,He hears the distant ocean rage,Waves, frightened waves pursuing,How gladly turns he to my whole,In watch serene abiding,And fears no more to think of thoseWho trust my faithful guiding.
When round the weary travelerThe stormy evening closes,When tangled wood or swelling streamHis toilsome way opposes;If through the trees his eager stepsTo rest and warmth are beckoned,How gladly will he hail my first,That leads him to my second!
When from some hill’s commanding browThe gloomy prospect viewing,He hears the distant ocean rage,Waves, frightened waves pursuing,How gladly turns he to my whole,In watch serene abiding,And fears no more to think of thoseWho trust my faithful guiding.
Till winter takes his stormy seat,In fragrant meads and gardens sweetEvolves my viscidfirst;When stilly night, with fleecy cloudFlings round the earth a darksome shroud,Mysecondoften beams;—O would you each enjoy mywhole,And have true bliss pervade your soulAnd from your eyes outburst—Some loving one make haste to find,Let Hymen close your spirits bind,And learn just how it seems!
Till winter takes his stormy seat,In fragrant meads and gardens sweetEvolves my viscidfirst;When stilly night, with fleecy cloudFlings round the earth a darksome shroud,Mysecondoften beams;—O would you each enjoy mywhole,And have true bliss pervade your soulAnd from your eyes outburst—Some loving one make haste to find,Let Hymen close your spirits bind,And learn just how it seems!
Till winter takes his stormy seat,In fragrant meads and gardens sweetEvolves my viscidfirst;When stilly night, with fleecy cloudFlings round the earth a darksome shroud,Mysecondoften beams;—
O would you each enjoy mywhole,And have true bliss pervade your soulAnd from your eyes outburst—Some loving one make haste to find,Let Hymen close your spirits bind,And learn just how it seems!
Hare
My first is a timid and gentle creature,Restless and bright her glancing eye,Quick to discern the approach of danger,Swift from her covert to spring and fly.Oft in the cool of the dewy morning,Startled amid her calm retreat,She heareth the shrill-toned sound of warning,And bounds away on frantic feet,While close her fierce pursuers follow,Through brush and brake, o’er hill and hollow.My second telleth of holy seasons,And calleth the multitude to prayers;On festivals speaketh right joyously,When all a face of gladness wears;Having at times, too, a voice of sorrow,Speaking in deep and solemn tone,Telling how faithless is false to-morrow,To those who weep for the dear ones gone;Yet feeling itself nor grief nor gladness,Responsive ever to mirth or sadness.My whole is a beautiful, modest flower,Shaking its bells to the summer wind,Peeping out coyly from lonely places,Which footsteps of children love to find,Dreaming they hear in the purple blossomsFairy-like tones of the olden time:Fondly thinking the sweet bells are ringing,With a soft, low, musical chime,Their golden curls and innocent bosoms,They fill with the graceful, drooping blossoms.
My first is a timid and gentle creature,Restless and bright her glancing eye,Quick to discern the approach of danger,Swift from her covert to spring and fly.Oft in the cool of the dewy morning,Startled amid her calm retreat,She heareth the shrill-toned sound of warning,And bounds away on frantic feet,While close her fierce pursuers follow,Through brush and brake, o’er hill and hollow.My second telleth of holy seasons,And calleth the multitude to prayers;On festivals speaketh right joyously,When all a face of gladness wears;Having at times, too, a voice of sorrow,Speaking in deep and solemn tone,Telling how faithless is false to-morrow,To those who weep for the dear ones gone;Yet feeling itself nor grief nor gladness,Responsive ever to mirth or sadness.My whole is a beautiful, modest flower,Shaking its bells to the summer wind,Peeping out coyly from lonely places,Which footsteps of children love to find,Dreaming they hear in the purple blossomsFairy-like tones of the olden time:Fondly thinking the sweet bells are ringing,With a soft, low, musical chime,Their golden curls and innocent bosoms,They fill with the graceful, drooping blossoms.
My first is a timid and gentle creature,Restless and bright her glancing eye,Quick to discern the approach of danger,Swift from her covert to spring and fly.Oft in the cool of the dewy morning,Startled amid her calm retreat,She heareth the shrill-toned sound of warning,And bounds away on frantic feet,While close her fierce pursuers follow,Through brush and brake, o’er hill and hollow.
My second telleth of holy seasons,And calleth the multitude to prayers;On festivals speaketh right joyously,When all a face of gladness wears;Having at times, too, a voice of sorrow,Speaking in deep and solemn tone,Telling how faithless is false to-morrow,To those who weep for the dear ones gone;Yet feeling itself nor grief nor gladness,Responsive ever to mirth or sadness.
My whole is a beautiful, modest flower,Shaking its bells to the summer wind,Peeping out coyly from lonely places,Which footsteps of children love to find,Dreaming they hear in the purple blossomsFairy-like tones of the olden time:Fondly thinking the sweet bells are ringing,With a soft, low, musical chime,Their golden curls and innocent bosoms,They fill with the graceful, drooping blossoms.
Moonlight
My first is seen in all its prideOn summer nights when bright and clear,O’er hill and dale I beauty throw;Night owes me much throughout the year;Some say my whole no substance has,However plain it may appear;I shall not give you further clue,No need to one as smart as you;Enough, my whole is written here.
My first is seen in all its prideOn summer nights when bright and clear,O’er hill and dale I beauty throw;Night owes me much throughout the year;Some say my whole no substance has,However plain it may appear;I shall not give you further clue,No need to one as smart as you;Enough, my whole is written here.
My first is seen in all its prideOn summer nights when bright and clear,O’er hill and dale I beauty throw;Night owes me much throughout the year;Some say my whole no substance has,However plain it may appear;I shall not give you further clue,No need to one as smart as you;Enough, my whole is written here.
This Labyrinth must be entered at the front gate, and a way traced to the centre (A), without climbing the walls.
This Labyrinth must be entered at the front gate, and a way traced to the centre (A), without climbing the walls.
I have three feet, dear friends,And you must know:I’ve sixteen nails,But not a single toe!
I have three feet, dear friends,And you must know:I’ve sixteen nails,But not a single toe!
I have three feet, dear friends,And you must know:I’ve sixteen nails,But not a single toe!
I am originally a descendant of rags, but, in spite of my mean origin, I boast one of the most numerous families in the world. I wear the countenance of a man, varying in complexion from crimson to azure; and twice two stars are my companions. But, although of such dignity, besides having my face disfigured, I am continually spit upon, and trodden under foot by all mankind, who seem to value me only for my good looks—without them, I am despised. I am diminutive in size, and my days are few, but I am well known, and constantly sought after.
Who are we? When in the morning you riseWe let the sunshine down into your eyes.Then we go playing before you all day,Dark things we brighten, and soften the gay.Oh! we make half the world’s beauty for you.Little blue-eyed one, who are we? guess who?Who are we? When the night shadows grow deep,We draw around you the curtains of sleep.When into dream-land we’ve locked you up tight,Until the morn brings her bright keys of light,Guess who like sentinels guarding you lie,—Look—we’re before you now—black and gray eye.
Who are we? When in the morning you riseWe let the sunshine down into your eyes.Then we go playing before you all day,Dark things we brighten, and soften the gay.Oh! we make half the world’s beauty for you.Little blue-eyed one, who are we? guess who?Who are we? When the night shadows grow deep,We draw around you the curtains of sleep.When into dream-land we’ve locked you up tight,Until the morn brings her bright keys of light,Guess who like sentinels guarding you lie,—Look—we’re before you now—black and gray eye.
Who are we? When in the morning you riseWe let the sunshine down into your eyes.Then we go playing before you all day,Dark things we brighten, and soften the gay.Oh! we make half the world’s beauty for you.Little blue-eyed one, who are we? guess who?
Who are we? When the night shadows grow deep,We draw around you the curtains of sleep.When into dream-land we’ve locked you up tight,Until the morn brings her bright keys of light,Guess who like sentinels guarding you lie,—Look—we’re before you now—black and gray eye.
I am born of a moment, as every one knows,And rival the tints of the loveliest rose;There are many who think me the offspring of shame,But I’m oftener found in sweet modesty’s train;E’en poets have made me the theme of their muse,And painters have studied my delicate hues:Yet, would you believe it! I cause much vexationTo those who possess me, and some irritation;For I’ve often betrayed what they would have concealed,And some of their most-cherished secrets revealed:So be truthful, dear girls, or in spite of your tact,I’ll fly in your faces and tell the whole fact.
I am born of a moment, as every one knows,And rival the tints of the loveliest rose;There are many who think me the offspring of shame,But I’m oftener found in sweet modesty’s train;E’en poets have made me the theme of their muse,And painters have studied my delicate hues:Yet, would you believe it! I cause much vexationTo those who possess me, and some irritation;For I’ve often betrayed what they would have concealed,And some of their most-cherished secrets revealed:So be truthful, dear girls, or in spite of your tact,I’ll fly in your faces and tell the whole fact.
I am born of a moment, as every one knows,And rival the tints of the loveliest rose;There are many who think me the offspring of shame,But I’m oftener found in sweet modesty’s train;E’en poets have made me the theme of their muse,And painters have studied my delicate hues:Yet, would you believe it! I cause much vexationTo those who possess me, and some irritation;For I’ve often betrayed what they would have concealed,And some of their most-cherished secrets revealed:So be truthful, dear girls, or in spite of your tact,I’ll fly in your faces and tell the whole fact.
Of metal I can make a heart;I put a stop to ease;And with a tradesman I can talkAs glibly as you please.With a building in New York I’ll makeA covering for your head;And with the rust upon your knifeI’ll make a piece of bread.I’ll make a prison with old time,And with a measure, too:Now, Cousins all, say what I am,For I belong to you.
Of metal I can make a heart;I put a stop to ease;And with a tradesman I can talkAs glibly as you please.With a building in New York I’ll makeA covering for your head;And with the rust upon your knifeI’ll make a piece of bread.I’ll make a prison with old time,And with a measure, too:Now, Cousins all, say what I am,For I belong to you.
Of metal I can make a heart;I put a stop to ease;And with a tradesman I can talkAs glibly as you please.With a building in New York I’ll makeA covering for your head;And with the rust upon your knifeI’ll make a piece of bread.I’ll make a prison with old time,And with a measure, too:Now, Cousins all, say what I am,For I belong to you.
I was pure, unsullied, white as snow,But a little while ago,When, by a tremendous squeeze,I was spotted as you please.Now, if you but look at me,Something funny you will see,That I am striped, spotted, white,Yet that I amredto-night.
I was pure, unsullied, white as snow,But a little while ago,When, by a tremendous squeeze,I was spotted as you please.Now, if you but look at me,Something funny you will see,That I am striped, spotted, white,Yet that I amredto-night.
I was pure, unsullied, white as snow,But a little while ago,When, by a tremendous squeeze,I was spotted as you please.Now, if you but look at me,Something funny you will see,That I am striped, spotted, white,Yet that I amredto-night.
Snake
In Eden first, nigh the forbidden tree,Found I my germ, as man his destiny;Down in the depths of hell I had my birth;I tortures there invented spread o’er Earth.The man who strives for Fame’s approving nod,I strike him on the face, he lies a clod.I walk the public halls, and cheeks turn pale;The speaker hears me, and his heart doth fail.The young debutant on histrionic boardsHath grace or ruin as my mood accords.When two great powers (both vital friends of manAnd both his enemies) in battle stand,When over, under in their rage they roll;Nor ever cease the fight, without controlThen am I found, and in the expiring sighThe vanquished wrestler utters, then I die.
In Eden first, nigh the forbidden tree,Found I my germ, as man his destiny;Down in the depths of hell I had my birth;I tortures there invented spread o’er Earth.The man who strives for Fame’s approving nod,I strike him on the face, he lies a clod.I walk the public halls, and cheeks turn pale;The speaker hears me, and his heart doth fail.The young debutant on histrionic boardsHath grace or ruin as my mood accords.When two great powers (both vital friends of manAnd both his enemies) in battle stand,When over, under in their rage they roll;Nor ever cease the fight, without controlThen am I found, and in the expiring sighThe vanquished wrestler utters, then I die.
In Eden first, nigh the forbidden tree,Found I my germ, as man his destiny;Down in the depths of hell I had my birth;I tortures there invented spread o’er Earth.The man who strives for Fame’s approving nod,I strike him on the face, he lies a clod.I walk the public halls, and cheeks turn pale;The speaker hears me, and his heart doth fail.
The young debutant on histrionic boardsHath grace or ruin as my mood accords.When two great powers (both vital friends of manAnd both his enemies) in battle stand,When over, under in their rage they roll;Nor ever cease the fight, without controlThen am I found, and in the expiring sighThe vanquished wrestler utters, then I die.
I am always seen in sugar,And always seen in salt.I am never seen in hops or beer,But always seen in malt.I’m never seen when it is light,Yet, strange, I’m seen in day.If you will look right sharp, I’m sureYou will find me when you stray.I am never seen in coffee,But always seen in tea.I’m never found with mother,With father I must be.I’m always found with any thing,Yet, strange as it may seem,I’m never found in buttermilk,But always found in cream.I’m never found in good or sweet,And never in your mind,If you will study this right close,My name you’ll surely find.
I am always seen in sugar,And always seen in salt.I am never seen in hops or beer,But always seen in malt.I’m never seen when it is light,Yet, strange, I’m seen in day.If you will look right sharp, I’m sureYou will find me when you stray.I am never seen in coffee,But always seen in tea.I’m never found with mother,With father I must be.I’m always found with any thing,Yet, strange as it may seem,I’m never found in buttermilk,But always found in cream.I’m never found in good or sweet,And never in your mind,If you will study this right close,My name you’ll surely find.
I am always seen in sugar,And always seen in salt.I am never seen in hops or beer,But always seen in malt.I’m never seen when it is light,Yet, strange, I’m seen in day.If you will look right sharp, I’m sureYou will find me when you stray.I am never seen in coffee,But always seen in tea.I’m never found with mother,With father I must be.I’m always found with any thing,Yet, strange as it may seem,I’m never found in buttermilk,But always found in cream.I’m never found in good or sweet,And never in your mind,If you will study this right close,My name you’ll surely find.
What force or strength can not get through,I with a gentle touch can do;And many in the street would stand,Were I not as a friend at hand.
What force or strength can not get through,I with a gentle touch can do;And many in the street would stand,Were I not as a friend at hand.
What force or strength can not get through,I with a gentle touch can do;And many in the street would stand,Were I not as a friend at hand.
Kiss
There is a certain natural production neither animal, vegetable, nor mineral. It generally exists from two to six feet above the surface of the earth. It has neither length, breadth, nor substance. It is neither male nor female, but commonly exists between both. It is often spoken of in the Old Testament, and strongly recommended in the New; and serves equally the purposes of treachery and fidelity.
I am a word in very common use. You will find me more than once upon almost or quite every page, whether a monosyllable, or dissyllable, or a polysyllable is to be found out; but this much is told: my first and last letter is the same; and my first three and my last three spell the same word. A useful article this of personal decoration. My interior is remarkable. Viewed one way, you laugh; viewed another, you sigh. I am an etymological stumble, and a novice hardly ever knows where to find me. To a Frenchman and a German I am an abhorrence. They never learn me so as even to call my name.
In vain you struggle to regain me,When lost, you never can obtain me;And yet, what’s odd, you sigh and fret,Deplore my loss, and have me yet.And often using me quite ill,And seeking ways your slave to kill—Then promising in future youWill give to me the homage due.Thus we go on from year to year;My name pray let the party hear.
In vain you struggle to regain me,When lost, you never can obtain me;And yet, what’s odd, you sigh and fret,Deplore my loss, and have me yet.And often using me quite ill,And seeking ways your slave to kill—Then promising in future youWill give to me the homage due.Thus we go on from year to year;My name pray let the party hear.
In vain you struggle to regain me,When lost, you never can obtain me;And yet, what’s odd, you sigh and fret,Deplore my loss, and have me yet.And often using me quite ill,And seeking ways your slave to kill—Then promising in future youWill give to me the homage due.Thus we go on from year to year;My name pray let the party hear.
I’m swift as a shadow; I’m slow as a snail;I fly like the storm-cloud impelled by the gale;I sail with the mariner o’er the wide sea,And traverse the shore with the bird and the bee.I travel by day, and I travel by night,And rarely from mortals I pass out of sight.I dwell in the palace of nobles and kings,But scorn not the cot where the poor mother sings;But though I abide with the lowliest poor,I ne’er have been turned from the rich man’s door.I’m seen in the moon, when it waxes and wanes,In the sun, too, at times when nature complains.I’m courted much under shady bowers,And welcomed at midnight or noonday hours.I fly round the world each passing day,And yet I’m as idle as a boy at play;Nor do I repose at the set of the sun,But wing my way by the light of the moon.By day and by night I enter the doorOf high and of low, of rich and of poor;And yet with a step so noiseless I come,I’m not an intruder abroad or at home.All deeds of darkness I ever eschew,Though many such deeds I am forced to viewAnd now, since so often my features are seen,Unless you can guess me, you surely are green.
I’m swift as a shadow; I’m slow as a snail;I fly like the storm-cloud impelled by the gale;I sail with the mariner o’er the wide sea,And traverse the shore with the bird and the bee.I travel by day, and I travel by night,And rarely from mortals I pass out of sight.I dwell in the palace of nobles and kings,But scorn not the cot where the poor mother sings;But though I abide with the lowliest poor,I ne’er have been turned from the rich man’s door.I’m seen in the moon, when it waxes and wanes,In the sun, too, at times when nature complains.I’m courted much under shady bowers,And welcomed at midnight or noonday hours.I fly round the world each passing day,And yet I’m as idle as a boy at play;Nor do I repose at the set of the sun,But wing my way by the light of the moon.By day and by night I enter the doorOf high and of low, of rich and of poor;And yet with a step so noiseless I come,I’m not an intruder abroad or at home.All deeds of darkness I ever eschew,Though many such deeds I am forced to viewAnd now, since so often my features are seen,Unless you can guess me, you surely are green.
I’m swift as a shadow; I’m slow as a snail;I fly like the storm-cloud impelled by the gale;I sail with the mariner o’er the wide sea,And traverse the shore with the bird and the bee.I travel by day, and I travel by night,And rarely from mortals I pass out of sight.I dwell in the palace of nobles and kings,But scorn not the cot where the poor mother sings;But though I abide with the lowliest poor,I ne’er have been turned from the rich man’s door.I’m seen in the moon, when it waxes and wanes,In the sun, too, at times when nature complains.I’m courted much under shady bowers,And welcomed at midnight or noonday hours.I fly round the world each passing day,And yet I’m as idle as a boy at play;Nor do I repose at the set of the sun,But wing my way by the light of the moon.By day and by night I enter the doorOf high and of low, of rich and of poor;And yet with a step so noiseless I come,I’m not an intruder abroad or at home.All deeds of darkness I ever eschew,Though many such deeds I am forced to viewAnd now, since so often my features are seen,Unless you can guess me, you surely are green.
Broom
I was born in the fields; taken from thence at an early age, I was made to assume my present form, and sold as a slave into the family of a wealthy merchant. While I was young, and comely, my life was comparatively easy; the modest Lucy would take me by the hand, and with her I would roam over the richly-carpeted mansion; and many a service I have rendered her. One morning, quite early, before the rest of the family were up, Lucy was standing by the window; I was leaning against her shoulder, when she uttered a slight scream. I jumped, and came near falling, but she caught hold of me, and pointing towards the window, showed me the cause of her terror. One well-aimed blow of mine felled the intruder to the earth, and the footman coming in just then, gave him thefinishing touch. But, alas! my days of pleasant servitude were drawing near a close. Lucy became dissatisfied with me, and in a fit of pique, handed me over to the cook, by whom I was hustled hither and thither, wherever her fancy dictated. She was a careless woman, and one day, while I was doing all I could to serve her, she actually pushed me into the fire! Snatching me out as quickly as possible, she plunged me into a bucket of cold water; but I was disfigured and crippled for life, and disabled from further service. The cook at length declared she would no longer give me house-room, and one bitter cold night, turned me out into the street, without a stitch of clothing. I have never murmured when called upon to work; yet here I lie, neglected, unheeded, and uncared for.
But why should I complain? am I the only one shunned and forsaken, when no longer able to minister to the wants or pleasures of the world?
Snake
Among the snakes, I reck of one,Not born of earthly breed,And with this serpent vieth none,In terror or in speed.It darts upon its helpless preyWith roar both loud and high;In one destruction borne away,Rider and steed must die.In highest place it loves to bide,No door may bar its path,And scaly armor’s iron prideWill but attract its wrath.The firmest earth it plows amain,How tough soe’er it be—As brittle reeds are snapt in twain’Twill rend the mightiest tree.Yet hath this monster, grim and fierce,Ne’er twice with prey been fed,But once its fiery tooth can pierce—It slayeth—and is dead.
Among the snakes, I reck of one,Not born of earthly breed,And with this serpent vieth none,In terror or in speed.It darts upon its helpless preyWith roar both loud and high;In one destruction borne away,Rider and steed must die.In highest place it loves to bide,No door may bar its path,And scaly armor’s iron prideWill but attract its wrath.The firmest earth it plows amain,How tough soe’er it be—As brittle reeds are snapt in twain’Twill rend the mightiest tree.Yet hath this monster, grim and fierce,Ne’er twice with prey been fed,But once its fiery tooth can pierce—It slayeth—and is dead.
Among the snakes, I reck of one,Not born of earthly breed,And with this serpent vieth none,In terror or in speed.
It darts upon its helpless preyWith roar both loud and high;In one destruction borne away,Rider and steed must die.
In highest place it loves to bide,No door may bar its path,And scaly armor’s iron prideWill but attract its wrath.
The firmest earth it plows amain,How tough soe’er it be—As brittle reeds are snapt in twain’Twill rend the mightiest tree.
Yet hath this monster, grim and fierce,Ne’er twice with prey been fed,But once its fiery tooth can pierce—It slayeth—and is dead.