I listen'd! and the sound became more clear,
Too clear for doubt-it was a dying groan !
I started from my bed! and softly crept
Adown the creaking stairs. At length I found
The room whence did proceed the piteous sound. By Heaven ! 'twas where my aged mother slept !!! Oh God! oh God! oh God!-I burst the door in! And there I found her-fast asleep and snoring.
WRITTEN BY A GENTLEMAN ON BEING REQUESTED TO
WRITE A SONNET IN A LADY'S ALBUM.
Write in your album !-Well! What shall I do?
A sonnet! fourteen lines !--And here are two!
Two from fourteen! Oh Heaven! a dozen more!
What shall I say to fill them ?-Come, that's four.
Aid me, Oh Muse! Ah! there the poet sticks.
Aid me, Oh Muse, I say!—Well! this makes six.
Six done! Almost the half, at any rate!
Courage, my pen! courage!—see! here are eight.
Only six more !-'twill soon be finish'd then!
Thank Heaven! and this line will make up ten.