Nye and Riley's Wit and Humor — Lines

[Illustration] Portentous sound!

mysteriously vast And awful in the grandeur of refrain That lifts the listener's hair, as it swells past, And pours in turbid currents down the lane.

The small boy at the woodpile, in a dream Slow trails the meat-rind o'er the listless saw;

The chickens roosting o'er him on the beam Uplifted their drowsy heads with cootered awe.

The "Gung-oigh" of the pump is strangely stilled;

The smoke-house door bangs once emphatic'ly, Then bangs no more, but leaves the silence filled With one lorn plaint's despotic minstrelsy.

Yet I would join thy sorrowing madrigal, Most melancholy cow, and sing of thee Full-hearted through my tears, for, after all 'Tis very kine of you to sing for me.