« PreviousContinue »
“There is, perhaps, no subject of more universal interest in the whole range of natural knowledge, than that of the unceasing fluctuations which take place in the atmosphere in which we are immersed.”—British Almanac.
Ar Cheltenham, where one drinks one's fill
Of folly and cold water,
With old Sir Geoffrey's daughter.
When summer's rose is newest;
When autumn's sky is bluest;
Of life's most precious flowers,
And half were of its showers.
I spoke of novels :-“ Vivian Grey"
Was positively charming,
And “ Frankenstein” alarming;
I said “ De Vere” was chastely told,
Thought well of “Herbert Lacy,” Called Mr. Banim's sketches “ bold,”
And Lady Morgan's “racy;"
Was vastly entertaining ;
Because it's always raining !"
I talked of music's gorgeous fane,
I raved about Rossini,
And criticised Pacini;
The trumpets more pacific,
And voted Paul “terrific !" What cared she for Medea's pride
Or Desdemona's sorrow? “Alas !" my beauteous listener sighed.
6 We must have rain to-morrow!"
I told her tales of other lands;
Of ever-boiling fountains, Of poisonous lakes, and barren sands,
Vast forests, trackless mountains :
I lauded Persian Roses,
And jests for Indian noses;
I laughed at Lisbon's love of mass,
Vienna's dread of treason;
Stood at Madrid last season.
I broached whate'er had gone its rounds,
The week before, of scandal ; What made Sir Luke lay down his hounds,
And Jane take up her Handel ; Why Julia walked upon the heath,
With the pale moon above her; Where Flora lost her false front teeth,
And Anne her falser lover ; How Lord de B. and Mrs. L.
Had crossed the sea together; My shuddering partner cried—“O Ciel !”
How could they—in such weather ?”
Was she a Blue?-I put my trust
The toga and the fasces ;
Of folly from “ Endymion ;"
Of Messrs. Way and Simeon ;
To quote the morning paper; The horrid phantoms came again,
Rain, hail, and snow, and vapor.
Flat Battery was my only chance,
I acted deep devotion,
Grace in her every motion ;
Prayer, passion, folly, feeling,
And wildly on the ceiling ;
And shawls upon her shoulder;
She never found it colder."
I don't object to wealth or land ;
And she will have the giving
Some thousands, and a living.
Sings sweetly, dances finely,
And sits a horse divinely.
The desperate man who tried it,
And hang himself beside it! (1828.)
V.-PORTRAIT OF A LADY.
IN THE EXHIBITION OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
What are you, Lady ?-naught is here
To tell us of your name or story; To claim the gazer's smile or tear,
To dub you Whig, or damn you Tory. It is beyond a poet's skill,
To form the slightest notion, whether . We e'er shall walk through one quadrille,
Or look upon one moon together.
You're very pretty !—all the world
Are talking of your bright brow's splendor, And of your locks, so softly curled,
And of your hands, so white and slender: Some think you're blooming in Bengal;
Some say you're blowing in the city; Some know you're nobody at all;
I only feel, you're very pretty.
But bless my heart ! it's very wrong:
You're making all our belles ferocious; Anne “never saw a chin so long;".
And Laura thinks your dress “ atrocious;"