Or rules in Learning's hall, or trims her bowers ; Of Cam and Isis; for, alack! at each There dwells, I wot, some dronish Dominie, That does no garden work, nor yet doth teach, But wears a floury head, and talks in flowery speech! TO COMPOSED AT ROTTERDAM. I GAZE upon a city,- a city new and strange; Before me lie dark waters, in broad canals and deep, Whereon the silver moonbeams sleep, restless in their sleep; A sort of vulgar Venice reminds me where I am; Yes, yes, you are in England, and I'm at Rotterdam. Tall houses with quaint gables, where frequent windows shine, And quays that lead to bridges, and trees in formal line, Those sailors, how outlandish the face and form of each! They deal in foreign gestures, and use a foreign speech; A tongue not learned near Isis, or studied by the Cam, Declares that you're in England, and I'm at Rotterdam. And now across a market my doubtful way I trace, Where stands a solemn statue, the Genius of the place; And to the great Erasmus I offer my salaam, Who tells me you're in England, but I'm at Rotterdam. The coffee-room is open I mingle in its crowd Then here it goes, a bumper--the toast it shall be mine, LOVE. O, LOVE! what art thou, Love? the ace of hearts, Trumping earth's kings and queens, and all its suits ; A player, masquerading many parts In life's odd carnival ; a boy that shoots, From ladies' eyes, such mortal woundy darts; A gardener, pulling heart's-ease up by the roots; The Puck of Passion- partly false part real A marriageable maiden's "beau ideal” ? O, Love! what art thou, Love? a wicked thing, Grave ripe-faced Wisdom made an April fool? A sinner, sitting on a cuttie-stool? O, Love! what art thou, Love? one that is bad Ending his sonnets with a hempen line? THE SEASON. SUMMER'S gone and over! Boughs are daily rifled And the Book of Nature Round the tops of houses, Skies, of fickle temper, Weep by turns, and laugh Night and Day together So September endeth Cold, and most perverse Sure will pinch us worse! FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. AN OLD BALLAD. YOUNG Ben he was a nice young man, And he fell in love with Sally Brown, But as they fetched a walk one day, And Sally she did faint away, Whilst Ben he was brought to. The boatswain swore with wicked words, 'Twas nothing but a feint. "Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head, He'll be as good as me; For when your swain is in our boat, A boatswain he will be." So when they'd made their game of her, She roused, and found she only was "And is he gone, and is he gone? She cried, and wept outright: "Then I will to the water side, And see him out of sight." A waterman came up to her, Now, young woman," said he, “If you weep on so, you will make Eye-water in the sea. "Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben, To sail with old Benbow; And her woe began to run afresh, Says he, "They've only taken him “The Tender-ship,” cried Sally Brown, “What a hard-ship that must be! "O! would I were a mermaid now, "Alas! I was not born beneath Now Ben had sailed to many a place But when he called on Sally Brown, He found she'd got another Ben, |