Let the Lover indulge in poetical rant,

     When the eyes of his Mistress are blue.

     But fill high your glasses—fill, fill to the brim,

     I've a different toast to propose:

     While such eyes, and such skies, still are beaming for him,

     Here's a health to the jolly Blue Nose.

     Let the Frenchman delight in his vine-covered vales,

     Let the Greek toast his old classic ground;

     Here's the land where the bracing Northwester prevails,

     And where jolly Blue Noses abound.

     Long—long may it flourish, to all of us dear,

     Loved and honoured by hearts that are true;

     But, should ever a foe chance his nose to show here

     He shall find all our Noses true Blue.

   TO MARY

     Oh! blame me not, Mary, for gazing at you,

     Nor suppose that my thoughts from the Preacher were straying,

     Tho' I stole a few glances—believe me 'tis true—

     They were sweet illustrations of what he was saying.

     For, when he observed that Perfection was not

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