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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 wbisper 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 ; Lonise 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! (FEBRUARY 14, 1826.)


Palantes error certo de tramite pellit ;
Ille sinistrorsum, hic dextrorsum abit.”—Flor.

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 Po-t;'
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 learned 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 say,
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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