For _I_ have friends who dwell by the coast— Pleasant friends they are to me! It is when I am with them I wonder most That anyone likes the Sea. They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, To climb the heights I madly agree; And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, They kindly suggest the Sea. I try the rocks, and I think it cool That they laugh with such an excess of glee, As I heavily slip into every pool That skirts the cold cold Sea. [Picture: As I heavily slip into every pool] Ye Carpette Knyghte I have a horse—a ryghte good horse— Ne doe Y envye those Who scoure ye playne yn headye course Tyll soddayne on theyre nose They lyghte wyth unexpected force Yt ys—a horse of clothes. I have a saddel—“Say’st thou soe? Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?” I sayde not that—I answere “Noe”— Yt lacketh such, I woote: Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe! Parte of ye fleecye brute. I have a bytte—a ryghte good bytte— As shall bee seene yn tyme. Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte; Yts use ys more sublyme. Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt? Yt ys—thys bytte of rhyme. [Picture: I have a horse] HIAWATHA’S PHOTOGRAPHING [In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose, for hours together, in the easy running metre of ‘The Song of Hiawatha.’ Having, then, distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid reader to confine his criticism to its treatment of the subject.] FROM his shoulder Hiawatha Took the camera of rosewood, Made of sliding, folding rosewood; Neatly put it all together. In its case it lay compactly, Folded into nearly nothing; But he opened out the hinges, Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges, Till it looked all squares and oblongs, Like a complicated figure In the Second Book of Euclid. [Picture: The camera]