Such is your cold coquette, who can’t say “No.” 
  And won’t say “Yes,” and keeps you on and off-ing
  On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow,
  Then sees your heart wrecked, with an inward scoffing.
Don Juan, Canto XII.  LORD BYRON.

  And still she sits, young while the earth is old
  And, subtly of herself contemplative,
  Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave,
  Till heart and body and life are in its hold.
Lilith.  D.G.  ROSSETTI.

  How happy could I be with either,
    Were t’ other dear charmer away! 
  But while ye thus tease me together,
    To neither a word will I say.
Beggar’s Opera, Act ii.  Sc. 2.  J. GAY.

  Ye belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
    Who trip in this frolicsome round,
  Pray tell me from whence this impertinence springs,
    The sexes at once to confound?
Song for Ranelagh.  P. WHITEHEAD.

COUNTRIES.

  AMERICA.

  America! half brother of the world! 
  With something good and bad of every laud.
Festus:  Sc.  The Surface.  P.J.  BAILEY.

  Hail Columbia! happy land! 
  Hail ye heroes, heaven-born band! 
    Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause,
    Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause,
  And when the storm of war was gone,
  Enjoyed the peace your valor won! 
    Let independence be our boast,
    Ever mindful what it cost;
    Ever grateful for the prize,
    Let its altar reach the skies. 
      Firm—­united—­let us be,
      Rallying round our liberty: 
      As a band of brothers joined,
      Peace and safety we shall find.
Hail Columbia.  J. HOPKINSON.

      Around I see
      The powers that be;
  I stand by Empire’s primal springs;
      And princes meet
      In every street,
  And hear the tread of uncrowned kings!

* * * * *

      Not lightly fall
      Beyond recall
  The written scrolls a breath can float;
      The crowning fact
      The kingliest act
  Of Freedom is the freeman’s vote!
The Eve of Election.  J.G.  WHITTIER.

  Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a doorstep
  Into a world unknown,—­the corner-stone of a nation!
Courtship of Miles Standish.  H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

  They love their land because it is their own,
    And scorn to give aught other reason why;
  Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
    And think it kindness to his majesty.
Connecticut.  F-G.  HALLECK.

  How has New England’s romance fled,
    Even as a vision of the morning! 
  Its right foredone,—­its guardians dead,—­
  Its priestesses, bereft of dread,
    Waking the veriest urchin’s scorning!

* * * * *