CHILDHOOD AND HIS VISITORS.

Once on a time, when sunny May
Was kissing up the April showers,
I saw fair CHILDHOOD hard at play
Upon a bank of blushing flowers;
Happy, he knew not whence or how;

And smiling,-who could choose but love him?

For not more glad than Childhood's brow

Was the blue heaven that beamed above him.

Old TIME, in most appalling wrath,
That valley's green repose invaded;
The brooks grew dry upon his path,
The birds were mute, the lilies faded.
But TIME SO Swiftly winged his flight,
In haste a Grecian tomb to batter,
That Childhood watched his paper kite
And knew just nothing of the matter.

With curling lip, and glancing eye,
GUILT gazed upon the scene a minute,

But CHILDHOOD's glance of purity

Had such a holy spell within it,

That the dark demon to the air

Spread forth again his baffled pinion, And hid his envy and despair,

Self-tortured, in his own dominion.

Then stepped a gloomy phantom up,

Pale, cypress-crowned, Night's awful daughter, And proffered him a fearful cup,

Full to the brim of bitter water:

Poor CHILDHOOD bade her tell her name,

And when the beldame muttered "Sorrow,"

He said, "Don't interrupt my game

I'll taste it, if I must, to-morrow."

The Muse of Pindus thither came,

And wooed him with the softest numbers
That ever scattered wealth and fame
Upon a youthful poet's slumbers.
Though sweet the music of the lay,

TO CHILDHOOD it was all a riddle,
And "Oh," he cried, "do send away
That noisy woman with the fiddle !"

Then WISDOM stole his bat and ball,

And taught him with most sage endeavor, Why bubbles rise, and acorns fall,

And why no toy may last forever: She talked of all the wondrous laws Which Nature's open book discloses, And CHILDHOOD, ere she made a pause, Was fast asleep among the roses.

Sleep on, sleep on!-Oh! manhood's dreams
Are all of earthly pain, or pleasure,
Of Glory's toils, Ambition's schemes,
Of cherished love, or hoarded treasure:
But to the couch where CHILDHOOD lies
A more delicious trance is given,
Lit up by rays from Seraph-eyes,

And glimpses of remembered heaven.

(1829.)

"You've only got to curtsey, whisp-
-er, hold your head up, laugh and lisp,
And then you're sure to take."

Rejected Addresses.

I.

A POET o'er his tea and toast

Composed a page of verse last winter, Transcribed it on the best Bath post,

And sent the treasure to a printer.

He thought it an enchanting thing;

And, fancying no one else could doubt it, Went out, as happy as a king,

To hear what people said about it.

II.

Queen Fame was driving out that day;

And, though she scarcely seemed to know him,

He bustled up, and tried to say

Something about his little poem ;

But ere from his unhappy lip

Three timid trembling words could falter,

The goddess cracked her noisy whip,

And went to call upon Sir Walter !

III.

Old Criticism, whose giance observed
The minstrel's blushes and confusion,
Came up and told him he deserved

The rack at least for his intrusion:
The poor youth stared and strove to speak;
His tyrant laughed to see him wincing,
And grumbled out a line of Greek,
Which Dulness said was quite convincing.

IV.

Then stepped a gaunt and wrinkled witch,
Hight Avarice, from her filthy hovel;

And "Rhyme," quoth she, "wont make you rich;
Go home, good youth, and write a novel!
Cut up the follies of the age;

Sauce them with puns and disquisitions ;

Let Colburn cook your title-page,

And I'll insure you six editions."

V.

Ambition met him next;—he sighed

To see those once-loved wreaths of laurel,

And crept into a bower to hide,

For he and she had had a quarrel.

The goddess of the cumbrous crown
Called after him, in tones of pity,

"My son, you've dropped your wig and gown! And, bless me, how you've torn your Chitty!'