2.

     Toil thou | still, deep | down,
       For earth’s | hidden | gems;
     They shall | deck a | crown,
       Blaze in | dia | -dems;
    And when | thy hand | shall fall | to rest,
    Brightly | jewel | beauty’s | breast.” 
       JANE B. LOCKE:  N.  Y. Evening Post; The Examiner, No. 98.

Example VI.—­“Summer Longings”—­First Two of Five Stanzas.

   “Ah! my | heart is | ever | waiting,
      Waiting | for the | May,—­
    Waiting | for the | pleasant | rambles
    Where the | fragrant | hawthorn | brambles,
      With the | woodbine | alter | -nating,
        Scent the | dewy | way. 
    Ah! my | heart is | weary | waiting,
      Waiting | for the | May.

    Ah! my | heart is | sick with | longing,
      Longing | for the | May,—­
    Longing | to e | -scape from | study,
    To the | young face | fair and | ruddy,
      And the | thousand | charms be | -longing
        To the | Summer’s | day. 
      Ah! my | heart is | sick with | longing,
        Longing | for the | May.” 
        “D.  F. M. C.:”  Dublin University Magazine; Liberator, No. 952.

MEASURE VII.—­TROCHAIC OF TWO FEET, OR DIMETER.

Example I.—­Three Short Excerpts.

    1.

    “My flocks | feed not,
    My ewes | breed not,
    My rams | speed not,
      All is | amiss: 
    Love’s de | -nying,
    Faith’s de | -fying,
    Heart’s re | -nying,
      Causer | of this.”

    2.

    “In black | mourn I,
    All fears | scorn I,
    Love hath | lorn me,
      Living | in thrall: 
    Heart is | bleeding,
    All help | needing. 
    (Cruel | speeding,)
      Fraughted | with gall.”

    3.

    “Clear wells | spring not. 
    Sweet birds | sing not,
    Loud bells | ring not
      Cheerfully;
    Herds stand | weeping,
    Flocks all | sleeping,
    Nymphs back | creeping
      Fearfully.” 
        SHAKSPEARE:  The Passionate Pilgrim.  See Sec. xv.

Example II.—­Specimen with Single Rhyme.

“To Quinbus Flestrin, the Man-Mountain"_

A LILLIPUTIAN ODE

    I.

    “In a | -maze,
    Lost, I | gaze. 
    Can our | eyes
    Reach thy | size? 
    May my | lays
    Swell with | praise,
    Worthy | thee,
    Worthy | me! 
    Muse, in | -spire
    All thy | fire! 
    Bards of | old
    Of him | told,
    When they | said
    Atlas’ | head
    Propp’d the | skies: 
    See! and | believe | your eyes!

    II.