“Floating, floating, down the Thames, Upon our backward way, All sorts of foul and nasty things Did seek our course to stay. “At every window in they look’d Upon the deck they leapt, They crawl’d upon our visages, And on our plates they crept. “To tell you of their hideous forms I have nor power nor hope―― Look on a water drop shown in The gaseous microscope. “They were the Vermin of the stream That now is London’s sink; The filthy stream that is at once Her sewer, her bath, her drink. “And as they crawl’d, and crept, and writhed, We heard this awful ditty―― ‘The Vermin of the Thames salute The Fathers of the City!’” PART IV. “A dream, a dream, a pleasant dream. I stood at Westminster, And saw a bran-new, span-new bridge Bestride a river clear. “The wave it was as crystal bright, You saw white sand below, And flounders, gudgeon, tench, and dace, Shot, flitting, to and fro. “The jolly salmon heaved his jowl, The whitebait glanced like gems; In short, all kinds of finny fowl Were swimming in the Thames. “On either bank a mighty sewer Received what London gave, And bore it to the Kentish farm, Or to the ocean wave. “And terraced gardens there displayed Green leaves and arbours fair, And rosy children laughed and sniff’d The river’s fragrant air. “And artisans (their labour done) With pots, and pipes, and wives, Sat by the stream, and call’d the sight The pleasure of their lives. “And thus outspoke a gentle voice―― A voice of cheer and beauty: ‘See, London’s Mayor and Aldermen At length have done their duty.’” PART V. “It’s deuced interesting,” quoth The now exhausted Swell; “But I must be allow’d to hope You’ve nothing more to tell. “And if you’ll take a fellah’s hint, You, and your Mayor, and crew; The work you say your dream described, You’d better go and do. “And when the sewers are quite complete, Jump in, and you shall be With all the other nuisances, Wash’d nicely down to sea. “Now _au revoir_――the boxkeeper, With the half-price board comes; And I must hear that Blondelet, Upon his twenty drums” Vanish’d the Swell: the Alderman Went off and drown’d his sorrow―― And with a thundering headache he Awoke upon the morrow. SHIRLEY BROOKS. 1855. ―――― THE ANCIENT MARINER; _or_, _The Deceived Husband_. It was an ancient mariner Who a party stopp’d of three (A father and his children twain): “Wilt sail to-day?” quoth he. “My yacht she lieth off the shore: A shilling each you’ll pay.” The father slowly shook his head―― “I thank you――not to day. “I see your yacht upon the shore, Dancing right merrily; But then my wife, ere we came out, Said, ‘Mind, be home to tea.’