I sincerely hope that your Most Gracious Majesty will excuse the blunt
and out-spoken Bard, who will ever remain your Majesty's most humble and
obedient servant,--BILL O'TH' HOYLUS END.

P.S.--I beg your Majesty's most humble pardon, for since I addressed your
most gracious Majesty a note has come to me stating that the Brewers,
Bakers, Shoemakers, and Tailors, have subscribed and bought a splendid
Ox, which will be roasted and served to the poor on the occasion of the
celebration of your most gracious Majesty's Jubilee.

Then Hail to England's Gracious Queen!
'Tis now proclaimed afar,
The Jubilee of our Gracious Queen,
The Empire's Guiding Star.
For fifty years she's been to us
A Monarch and a Mother;
And looks her subjects in the face
As Sister or a Brother.

Then here's a health to England's Queen
Whom Jove to us hath given;
A better Monarch ne'er has been
Beneath His starry heaven.
There is no man of any clan,
O'er any land or sea,
But what will sing "God bless our Queen"
On her grand Jubilee.

The world looks on Old England's Queen
In danger for protection;
Nor never yet hath England failed
To make her grand correction.
"Fair play," she cries, no one shall harm
A child beneath my realm;
I'm Captain of Great Britain's barque
And standing at the helm.

Had England trusted wicked men,
This day where had she been?
But lo! she had a Guiding Star,
'Twas our dear Mother Queen.
There is no foe, where'er you go
This day, I vow, could hate her;
She's a blessing to her nation,
And a terror to a traitor.

As she has been, long may she reign,
The Grand Old Queen of Britain;
In letters of bright gold her name
Henceforward should be written.
All nations 'neath the stars above,
And canopy of heaven,
Rejoice to see her Jubilee
In Eighteen Eighty-seven.

Ode to Burns on his 130th Birthday.

Weak bard, but thou dost try in vain
To tune that mighty harp again,
To try thy muse in Burns's strain--
Thou'rt far behind.
And yet to praise him thou would'st fain--
It is thy mind.

He who sang of Bruce's command
At Bannockburn, with sword in hand,
And bid his warriors firmly stand
Upon the spot;
And bid the foemen leave the land,
Or face the Scot.

He who freed the human mind
Of superstitious weak and blind;
He who peered the scenes behind
Their holy fairs--
How orthodox its pockets lined