Till joys, which are vanishing daily,
Come back in their lustre again :
Oh! shall I look over the waters,
Or shall I look over the way,
For the brightest and best of Earth's daughters, To rhyme to, on Valentine's Day?
Shall I crown with my worship, for fame's sake,
Some goddess whom Fashion has starred,
Make puns on Miss Love and her namesake,
Or pray for a pas with Brocard?
Shall I flirt, in romantic idea,
With Chester's adorable clay,
Or whisper in transport, "Si mea*
Cum Vestris"-on Valentine's Day?
Shall I kneel to a Sylvia or Celia,
Whom no one e'er saw, or may see,
A fancy-drawn Laura Amelia,
An ad libit. Anna Marie ?
Shall I court an initial with stars to it,
Go mad for a G. or a J.,
Get Bishop to put a few bars to it,
And print it on Valentine's Day?
I think not of Laura the witty;
For, oh! she is married at York!
I sigh not for Rose of the City,
For, oh! she is buried at Cork!
*"Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota!"—OVID, Met.
Adèle has a braver and better
To say what I never could say; Louise cannot construe a letter
Of English, on Valentine's Day.
So perish the leaves in the arbor!
The tree is all bare in the blast;
Like a wreck that is drifting to harbor,
I come to thee, Lady, at last:
Where art thou, so lovely and lonely?
Though idle the lute and the lay,
The lute and the lay are thine only,
My fairest, on Valentine's Day.
For thee I have opened my Blackstone,
For thee I have shut up myself;
Exchanged my long curls for a Caxton,
And laid my short whist on the shelf;
For thee I have sold my old sherry,
For thee I have burnt my new play;
And I grow philisophical,—very!
Except upon Valentine's Day!
Palantes error certo de tramite pellit;
Ille sinistrorsum, hic dextrorsum abit."-Hor.
This day, beyond all contradiction,
This day is all thine own, Queen Fiction!
And thou art building castles boundless
Of groundless joys, and griefs as groundless;
Assuring beauties that the border
Of their new dress is out of order;
And schoolboys that their shoes want tying;
And babies that their dolls are dying.
Lend me, lend me some disguise;
I will tell prodigious lies;
All who care for what I say
Shall be April fools to-day.
First, I relate how all the nation
Is ruined by Emancipation;
How honest men are sadly thwarted;
How beads and fagots are imported;
How every parish church looks thinner;
How Peel has asked the Pope to dinner;
And how the Duke, who fought the duel,
Keeps good King George on water-gruel.
Thus I waken doubts and fears
In the Commons and the Peers ;
If they care for what I say,
They are April fools to-day.
Next I announce to hall and hovel
Lord Asterisk's unwritten novel.
It's full of wit, and full of fashion,
And full of taste, and full of passion;
It tells some very curious histories,
Elucidates some charming mysteries,
And mingles sketches of society
With precepts of the soundest piety.
Thus I babble to the host
Who adore the 'Morning Pot;'
If they care for what I say,
They are April fools to-day.
Then to the artist of my raiment
I hint his bankers have stopped payment;
And just suggest to Lady Locket
That somebody has picked her pocket;
And scare Sir Thomas from the city
By murmuring, in a tone of pity,
That I am sure I saw my Lady
Drive through the Park with Captain Grady.
Off my troubled victims go,
Very pale and very low;
If they care for what I say,
They are April fools to-day.
I've sent the learnèd Doctor Trepan
To feel Sir Hubert's broken kneepan;
"Twill rout the doctor's seven senses
To find Sir Hubert charging fences!
I've sent a sallow parchment scraper
To put Miss Trim's last will on paper;
He'll see her, silent as a mummy,
At whist with her two maids and dummy.
Man of brief, and man of pill,
They will take it very ill;
If they care for what I
They are April fools to-day.
And then to her, whose smile shed light on My weary lot last year at Brighton,
I talk of happiness and marriage,
St. George's, and a travelling carriage.
I trifle with my rosy fetters,
I rave about her witching letters,
And swear my heart shall do no treason
Before the closing of the season.
Thus I whisper in the ear
Of Louisa Windermere ;
If she cares for what I say,
She's an April fool to-day.
And to the world I publish gayly
That all things are improving daily;
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