Republican Herald

The following beautiful effusion is not new; but is not in the catalogue of "perishable articles" which spoil by keeping. We know not the name of the author, and give it as we found it—anonymous.

To A Katydid,

Jove! to hear thine earnest voice,
Wherever thou art hid,
Thou testy little dogmatist,
Thou pretty Katydid!

Thou mind'st me of genteel folks—
Old gentlefolks are they—
Thou say'st an undisputed thing
In such a solemn way.

Thou art a female Katydid?
I know it by thy trill
That quivers through thy piercing note,
So piquant and so shrill.

I think there is a knot of you
Beneath the hollow tree—
A knot of spinster Katydids—
Do Katydids drink tea?

O tell me where did Katy live,
And what did Katy do?
And was she very fair and young,
And yet so awkward too?

Did Katy love a naughty man,
Or kiss more cheeks than one?
I warrant Katy did no more
Than many a Kate has done.

Dear me! I'll tell you all about
My fuss with little Jane,
And Aun, with whom I used to walk
So often down the lane,

And all that tore their locks of black,
Or wet their eyes of blue—
Pray tell me, sweet Miss Katydid,
What then did Katy do?

Ah! not the living oak shall crash,
That stood for ages still;
Tho' rock shall rend its mossy base,
And thunder down the hill,

Before the little Katydid
Shall add one word, to tell
The mystic story of a maid
Whose name she knows so well.

Peace to the ever murmuring race,
And when the latest one
Shall fold in death her feeble wings
Beneath the autumn sun,

Then shall she murmur her faint voice,
And lift her drooping lid,
And then the child of future years
Shall hear what Katydid.