He peeps into the teamster's heart, From his Buena Vista's rim, And the cracking whips of many men Can never frighten him. He'll come to his cart in the weary night, When he's dreaming of his craft; And he'll float to his eye in the morning light, Like a man on a river raft. He hears the sound of the cooper's adz, And makes him too his dupe, For he sighs in his ear from the shaving pile As he hammers on the hoop. The little girl, the beardless boy, The men that walk or stand, He will get them all in his mighty arms Like the grasp of your very hand. The shoemaker bangs above his bench, And ponders his shining awl, For love is under the lap-stone hid, And a spell is on the wall. It heaves the sole where he drives the pegs, And speaks in every blow, 'Till the last is dropped from his crafty hand, And his foot hangs bare below. He blurs the prints which the shopmen sell, And intrudes on the hatter's trade, And profanes the hostler's stable-yard In the shape of a chamber-maid. In the darkest night, and the bright daylight, Knowing that he can win, In every home of good-looking folks Will human love come in. The next is from Poe's "Annabel Lee:" SAMUEL BROWN. It was many and many a year ago, In a dwelling down in town, That a fellow there lived whom you may know By the name of Samuel Brown; And this fellow he lived with no other thought Than to our house to come down. I was a child and he was a child, In that dwelling down in town, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Samuel Brown-- With a love that the ladies coveted, Me and Samuel Brown. And this was the reason that, long ago, To that dwelling down in town, A girl came out of her carriage, courting My beautiful Samuel Brown; So that her high-bred kinsman came And bore away Samuel Brown, And shut him up in a dwelling-house, In a street quite up in town. The ladies, not half so happy up there, Went envying me and Brown; Yes! that was the reason, (as all men know, In this dwelling down in town,) That the girl came out of the carriage by night Coquetting and getting my Samuel Brown. But our love is more artful by far than the love Of those who are older than we-- Of many far wiser than we-- And neither the girls that are living above, Nor the girls that are down in town, Can ever discover my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Samuel Brown.