In the furthest corner of the chest is put a putrid piece
of flesh, by way of bait, which is no sooner laid hold of by the tiger
than the door of the trap falls; he is killed by a musket ball, or a
spear thrust through the crevices of the planks.--_Memoirs of General
Miller_.
* * * * *
ODE.
(_From the Persian_.)
The joys of love and youth be mine,
The cheerful glass, the ruby wine,
The social feast, the merry friend,
And brimming goblets without end.
The maid whose lips all sweets contain,
The minstrel with bewitching strain,
And, by my side, the merry soul
Who briskly circulates the bowl!
A maiden full of life and light,
Like Eden's fountains pure and bright;
Whose sweetness steals the heart away,
Mild, beauteous, as the moon of May.
A banquet-hall, the social room,
Cool, spacious, breathing rich perfume,
Like that fair hall where, midst the roses,
Each saint in heaven above reposes!
Servants in briskness who excel,
Friends who can keep a secret well,
And merry men who love their lass,
And drink your health in many a glass.
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