"O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle read more

"O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee;"
The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam
And all alone went she.

Yet I will look upon thy face again,
My own romantic Bronx, and it will be
A read more

Yet I will look upon thy face again,
My own romantic Bronx, and it will be
A face more pleasant than the face of men.
Thy waves are old companions, I shall see
A well remembered form in each old tree
And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelsy.

Now scantier limits the proud arch confine,
And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine;
A read more

Now scantier limits the proud arch confine,
And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine;
A small Euphrates thro' the piece is roll'd,
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.

Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, read more

Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence
Becomes a benefaction to the towns
They visit, wandering silently among them,
Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.

Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of
existence.

Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of
existence.

Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river,
Thy banks' purest stream shall be dear to me ever.

Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river,
Thy banks' purest stream shall be dear to me ever.

I never, with important air,
In conversation overbear.
. . . .
My tongue read more

I never, with important air,
In conversation overbear.
. . . .
My tongue within my lips I rein;
For who talks much must talk in vain.

Conversation would be vastly improved by the constant use of four simple words: I do not know.

Conversation would be vastly improved by the constant use of four simple words: I do not know.

Tom Birch is as brisk as a bee in conversation; but no sooner
does he take a pen in read more

Tom Birch is as brisk as a bee in conversation; but no sooner
does he take a pen in his hand, than it becomes a torpedo to him,
and benumbs all his faculties.