"Why art thou weeping, sister? Why is thy cheek so pale? Look up, dear Jane, and tell me What is it thou dost ail? "I know thy will is froward, Thy feelings warm and keen, And that _that_ Augustus Howard For weeks has not been seen. "I know how much you loved him; But I know thou dost not weep For him;--for though his passion be, His purse is noways deep. "Then tell me why those tear-drops? What means this woeful mood Say, has the tax-collector Been calling, and been rude? "Or has that hateful grocer, The slave! been here to-day? Of course he had, by morrow's noon, A heavy bill to pay! "Come, on thy brother's bosom Unburden all thy woes; Look up, look up, sweet sister; Nay, sob not through thy nose." "Oh, John, 'tis not the grocer Or his account, although How ever he is to be paid I really do not know. "'Tis not the tax-collector; Though by his fell command They've seized our old paternal clock, And new umbrella-stand! "Nor that Augustus Howard, Whom I despise almost,-- But the soot's come down the chimney, John, And fairly spoilt the roast!" Comfort in Affliction. "Wherefore starts my bosom's lord? Why this anguish in thine eye? Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord Had broken with that sigh! "Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray, Rest thee on my bosom now! And let me wipe the dews away, Are gathering on thy brow. "There, again! that fevered start! What, love! husband! is thy pain? There is a sorrow on thy heart, A weight upon thy brain! "Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er Deceive affection's searching eye; 'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share Her husband's agony. "Since the dawn began to peep, Have I lain with stifled breath; Heard thee moaning in thy sleep, As thou wert at grips with death. "Oh, what joy it was to see My gentle lord once more awake! Tell me, what is amiss with thee? Speak, or my heart will break!" "Mary, thou angel of my life, Thou ever good and kind; 'Tis not, believe me, my dear wife, The anguish of the mind! "It is not in my bosom, dear, No, nor my brain, in sooth; But Mary, oh, I feel it here, Here in my wisdom tooth! "Then give,--oh, first best antidote,-- Sweet partner of my bed! Give me thy flannel petticoat To wrap around my head!" The Invocation. "Brother, thou art very weary, And thine eye is sunk and dim, And thy neckcloth's tie is crumpled, And thy collar out of trim; There is dust upon thy visage,-- Think not, Charles, I would hurt ye, When I say, that altogether You appear extremely dirty. "Frown not, brother, now, but hie thee To thy chamber's distant room; Drown the odours of the ledger With the lavender's perfume. Brush the mud from off thy trousers, O'er the china basin kneel, Lave thy brows in water softened With the soap of Old Castile.