A line-o'-verse or two

Hero of lovers, largely soul’d!
Imagination thee enspheres
With song-enchanted wood and wold
And casements fronting magic meres.
Tristan, thy large example cheers
The faint of heart; thy story grips! —
My soul again that echo hears,
“Give me the philtre of thy lips!”

L’Envoi

Sweet sorceress, resolve my fears!
He stakes all who Elysium clips.
What tho’ the fruit be tares and tears! —
Give me the philtre of thy lips!

TO WHAT BASE USES!

“Mrs. O – now takes her daily dip at 5 in the afternoon, instead of in the morning.”

    – Newport Item.

This is the forest primeval.

This the spruce with the glorious plume
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the lumberman big and browned
Who felled the spruce tree to the ground
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the man with the paper mill
Who bought the pulp that paid the bill
Of the husky lumberjack who chopped
The lofty spruce and its branches lopped
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the publisher bland and rich
Who bought the roll of paper which
Was made by the man with the paper mill
Who bought the pulp that paid the bill
Of the lumberjack with the murderous ax
Who felled the spruce with lusty hacks
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the youth with the writing tool
Who does the daily Newport drool
That helps to make the publisher rich
Who ordered the stock of paper which
Was made by the man with the paper mill
Who bought the pulp that paid the bill
Of the husky Swede in the Joseph’s coat
Who swung his ax and the tall spruce smote
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the lady far from slim
Who changed the hour of her daily swim
And excited the youth with the writing tool
Who does the Newport drivel and drool
For the prosperous publisher bland and fat
Who ordered the virgin paper that
Was made by the man with the paper mill
Who bought the pulp that paid the bill
Of Ole Oleson the husky Swede
Who did a foul and darksome deed
When he swung his ax with vigor and vim
And smote the spruce tree tall and trim
That grew in the forest primeval.

This is the shop girl Mag or Liz
Who daily devours what news there is
Concerning the lady far from slim
Who changed the time of her ocean swim
And excited the youth with the writing tool
Who does the daily Newport drool
For the pursy publisher bland and rich
Who bought the innocent paper which
Was made by the man with the paper mill
Who bought the pulp that paid the bill
Of the Swedish jack who slew the spruce
That came to a most ignoble use —
The lofty spruce with the glorious plume —
The giant spruce that used to loom
In the heart of the forest primeval.

HOW THEY MIGHT HAVE BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS

We sprang to the motor, I, Joris and Dirck.
I snapped on my goggles and got to my work.
“Hi, there!” yelled the cop in the helmet of white;
“Let her flicker!” said Joris, and into the night,
With a sneer at the speed laws, we hurtled hell-bent
To carry to Aix the good tidings from Ghent.

The going was poor, we expected delay,
And the usual livestock obstructed the way.
At Boom we ran over a large yellow dog,
At Düffeld a chicken, at Mecheln a hog;
What else, we’d no time to slow down to inquire;