Tunc soft maledixit the old man,
Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat
Et cum scipio poked in the water,
Conatus servare his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus,
The moment it saw him at that;
Et whisked his novum scratch wig
In flumen, along with his hat.
Ab imo pectore damnavit
In coeruleus eye dolor sat;
Tunc despairingly threw in his cane
Nare cum his wig and his hat.
L'ENVOI
Contra bonos mores, don't swear
It 'est wicked you know (verbum sat),
Si this tale habet no other moral
Mehercle! You're gratus to that!
_James Appleton Morgan_.
_AESTIVATION_
In candent ire the solar splendor flames;
The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames;
His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes,
And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.
How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes,
Dorm on the herb with none to supervise,
Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine,
And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine.
To me also, no verdurous visions come
Save you exiguous pool's confervascum,--
No concave vast repeats the tender hue
That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue.
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