Plunged softly in the village pond,
But feeling chilly swam ashore.  
Next morning in the judgment-place
Two pallid prisoners were tried;
Their guilt was plain; it was a case
Of ineffective suicide.  
Yestreen a member of the Force
Had found a woman deadly sick,
Lamenting, with sincere remorse,
An overdose of arsenic.  
Another heard upon his beat
One darkly muttering, "This is Hell!"
His weed was wet from head to feet;
He put him in a common cell.  
The Justice chewed the evidence;
His eyes were soft, his lips were bland;
It was, he said, a first offence;
He merely gave a reprimand.  
"Go free, my poppets, keep the laws,
And get ye wed at once," said he;
The court indulged in rude applause;
The usher cleared the gallery.  
The prison-warder, deeply stirred,
Approached the culprits at the bar;
Then haled them forth without a word
Towards the nearest Registrar.

John, you surpass yourself. Next week
Expect a flattering critique!                      
The waits are whining in the cold
With clavicorn and clarigold;
They play them like a crumpled horn,
The clarigold and clavicorn.

AN ODE TO SPRING IN THE METROPOLIS.(AFTER R. LE G.)  
Is this the Seine?
And am I altogether wrong
About the brain,
Dreaming I hear the British tongue?
Dear Heaven! what a rhyme!

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