He has a dungheap in his yard, Mixed with the most offensive marls, No wonder Mrs. Grundy snarls, Faustine, Dolores, Chastelard, We have a most erotic bard. From _London_. 1877. ―――― THAT DEAR OLD TUNE. (_A Rondeau written in a rage._) That dear old tune I loved of yore! Indeed I love it still; But never save by this one Bore (Who lives upon my basement floor) Have heard it played so ill. Alas, what penance for my sins. I seek my desk, and soon Once more the tootling Fiend begins That dear old tune! All vainly I expostulate; He tries it morn and noon, I vow in sheer distress of hate To learn the ‘loud bassoon’ ‘I rage――I burn’――I execrate; That dear old tune! AUSTIN DOBSON. _Saturday Journal._ 1874. IN RE RONDEAU. In corsets laced, in high-heeled shoes, Too fine a woodland way to choose, With mincing step and studied strut, Is this an English Goddess? Tut―― Some masker from the Parley-Voos! O, Poet! thou of sinewy thews, Wilt thou free ways and walks refuse, To mince instead through paths close shut, In corsets laced? I cannot――for I’ve old-time views―― Follow the poet who pursues The Rondeau, with its rabbit scut, Or Triumphs in a Triolet, but―― There may be those who like the muse, In corsets laced. ROUNDEL. The Cat that sings at dead of night I pelt with bricks, and boots and things, Oh, for the luck to kill outright The Cat that sings! It is as when at evening rings Melodeon-music, only slight- ly worse it tears your bosom-strings. And if at last you chance to smite Him over,――as to life he springs, He simply screeches with delight―― The Cat that sings. _The University News Sheet._ St. Andrew’s. March 3, 1886. ――――:o:―――― THE VILLANELLE. (For the original Villanelle, by Jean Passerat, see page 66.) Jean Passerat, I like thee well―― Thou sang’st a song beyond compare―― But I’ve not lost a tourterelle: Nor can I write a villanelle―― Thou did’st――and for that Jewel rare, Jean Passerat, I like thee well. Now many a twittering hirondelle The plumes of thy lost dove would wear―― But I’ve not lost a tourterelle. Could not, indeed, true turtle tell―― If real or mock I could not swear: Jean Passerat, I like thee well. True heart that would go “après elle――” And sure thy sentiment I’d share―― But I’ve not lost a tourterelle. And am content on earth to dwell―― There are some men they cannot spare: Jean Passerat, I like thee well, But I’ve not lost a tourterelle! CHARLES HENRY WEBB. ―――― VILLANELLE.