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But give him a theme to write verse on,
And see if he turns out his toe ;If he's only an excellent person,
My own Araminta, say “No!”
THE TALENTED MAN.
A LETTER FROM A LADY IN LONDON TO A LADY AT
DEAR Alice! you'll laugh when you know it,
Last week, at the Duchess's ball, I danced with the clever new poet,
You've heard of him,--Tully St. Paul. Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic;
I wish you had seen Lady Anne! It really was very romantic,
He is such a talented man!
He came up from Brazen Nose College,
Just caught, as they call it, this spring;
Of every conceivable thing.
As fine and as fast as he can;
I'm sure he's a talented man.
His stories and jests are delightful;
Not stories or jests, dear, for you; The jests are exceedingly spiteful,
The stories not always quite true.
Perhaps to be kind and veracions
May do pretty well at Lausanne;
Chez nous--in a talented man.
He sneers,—how my Alice would scold him!
At the bliss of a sigh or a tear;
How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year ;
I broke all the sticks of my fan; But sentiment's quite out of fashion,
It seems, in a talented man.
Lady Bab, who is terribly moral,
Has told me that Tully is vain, And apt—which is silly—to quarrel,
And fond—which is sad—of champagne. I listened, and doubted, dear Alice,
For I saw, when my Lady began, It was only the Dowager's malice;
She does hate a talented man!
He's hideous, I own it. But fame, love,
Is all that these eyes can adore;
And dumpy,—but so is Tom Moore.
It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan: But oh! what's a tone or a feature, When once one's a talented man?
My mother, you know, all the season,
Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate ; And truly, to do the fool reason,
He has been less horrid of late. But to-day, when we drive in the carriage,
I'll tell her to lay down her plan ;If ever I venture on marriage,
It must be a talented man!
P. S.—I have found, on reflection,
One fault in my friend,—entre nous ;
Poor fellow, he has not a sou !
To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan,
He's only a talented man!
“Comment! c'est lui? que je le regarde encore ! C'est que vraiment il est bien changé; n'est ce pas, mon papa ?”
Les Premiers Amours.
You'll come to our ball;—since we parted,
I've thought of you more than I'll say ; Indeed I was half broken-hearted
For a week, when they took you away. Fond fancy brought back to my slumbers
Our walks on the Ness and the Den, And echoed the musical numbers
Which you used to sing to me then. I know the romance, since it's over,
'Twere idle, or worse, to recall ;I know you're a terrible rover;
But, Clarence, you'll come to our Ball !
It's only a year since, at College,
You put on your cap and your gown;
And changed from the spur to the crown: