Sure The Shovel And Tongs To Each

For A Ballad's A Thing You Expect To Find Lies In.

There's Luck In Odd Numbers.

The Neck On Which Diamonds Might Have Worthily Sparkled, Will Look Less Tempting When The Biting Winter Has Hung Icicles There For Gems.

Where's The Snow That Fell The Year That's Fled--where's The Snow?

To Return After Long Years Of Painful Absence To Some Place Which Has Been The Scene Of Our Former Joys, And Whence The Force Of Circumstance, And Not Choice, Has Driven Us, Is Oppressive To The Heart.