Nor fell
His perfumes from a box of alabaster;
That were too trite a fancy, and had savour'd
O' the elder time—but ever and anon
He slipp'd four doves, whose wings were saturate
With scents, all different in kind—each bird
Bearing its own appropriate sweets:—these doves,
Wheeling in circles round, let fall upon us
A shower of sweet perfumery, drenching, bathing
Both clothes and furniture—and lordlings all—
I deprecate your envy, when I add,
That on myself fell floods of violet odours.—Mitchell.

Oh! Health, it is the choicest boon Heaven can send us,
And Beauty's arms, bright and keen, deck and defend us;
Next follows honest Wealth—riches abounding—
And Youth's pleasant holidays—friendship surrounding.

D. K. Sandford.

With his claw the snake surprising,
Thus the crab kept moralizing:—
"Out on sidelong turns and graces,
Straight's the word for honest paces!"—D. K. Sandford.

Wreathed with myrtles be my glaive.
Like the falchion of the brave,
Death to Athens' lord that gave.
  Death to tyranny!

Yes! let myrtle-wreaths be round
Such as then the falchion bound,
When with deeds the feast was crown'd
  Done for liberty!