A SOLDIER OF WEIGHT,

ODE TO THE TIME-GUN OF GURRUMBAD,

OMAR OUT OF DATE,

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF EVER GETTING TO THE HILLS,

A SOMBRE RETROSPECT,

TO MANDALAY--GREETING,

SONG OF BELLS,

A BALLAD OF BUTTONRY,

THE IRON HAND,

THE WOOIN' O' TUMMAS,

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS,

'KAL!'

TO AN ELEPHANT,

VISIONARY, ON THE ADVANTAGES OF AN 'ASTRAL BODY,'

SUMMER PORTENTS,
ELYSIUM,

TO MY LADY OF THE HILLS,

THE SHORES OF NOTHING,

THE LAST HOCKEY,

'FAREWELL'

A HAPPY NEW YEAR,

SAIREY,

ADAM,

ELEGY ON A RHINOCEROS,

IN SEVERAL KEYS. NO. 1--'MARIE,'

IN SEVERAL KEYS. NO. 2--THE BALLAD OF MORBID MOTHERS,

THE STORY OF RUD.,

THE HAPPY ENDING

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION,

THE FINEST VIEW,

HAVEN,

* * * * *

NOCTURNE WRITTEN IN AN INDIAN GARDEN

'Where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.'

The time-gun rolls his nerve-destroying bray;
The toiling moon rides slowly o'er the trees;
The weary diners cast their cares away,
And seek the lawn for coolness and for ease.

Now spreads the gathering stillness like a pall,
And melancholy silence rules the scene,
Save where the bugler sounds his homing call,
And thirsty THOMAS leaves the wet canteen;

Save that from yonder lines in deepest gloom
Th' ambiguous mule does of the stick[1] bewail,
Whose _dunder_ craft forbids him to consume
His proper blanket, or his neighbour's tail.

[Footnote 1: The _dunder-stick_--an ingenious instrument devised to
defeat this extraordinary appetite.]

Beneath those jagged tiles, that low-built roof
(Whose inmost secret deeps let none divine!),
Each to his master's cry supremely proof,
The Aryan Brothers of our household dine.

Let not Presumption mock their joyless pile,--
The cold boiled rice, in native butter greased;
Nor scorn, with rising gorge and painful smile,
The cheap but filling flapjacks of the East.

Full many a gem of highest Art-cuisine
Those dark unfathomed dogmatists eschew;
Full many a 'dish to set before the Queen'
Would waste its sweetness on the mild Hindoo.

Nor you, their lords, expect of these the toil,
When o'er their minds a soft oblivion steals,
And through the long-drawn hookah's pliant coil
They soothe their senses, and digest their meals.

For Know