I never wander forth alone

Upon the mountain's brow;

I weighed last winter sixteen stone-
I'm not a lover now!

I never wish to raise a veil,
I never raise a sigh,

I never tell a tender tale,
I never tell a lie;

I cannot kneel as once I did,
I've quite forgot my bow,

I never do as I am bid

I'm not a lover now.

I make strange blunders every day,
If I would be gallant-

Take smiles for wrinkles, black for gray,
And nieces for their aunt;

I fly from folly, though it flows

From lips of loveliest glow;

I don't object to length of nose—
I'm not a lover now!

I find my Ovid very dry,
My Petrarch quite a pill,
Cut Fancy for Philosophy,

Tom Moore for Mr. Mill.

And belles may read, and beaux may writeI care not who or how;

I burnt my album, Sunday night;

I'm not a lover now!

I don't encourage idle dreams
Of poison, or of ropes;
I cannot dine on airy schemes,
I cannot sup on hopes!
New milk I own is very fine,

Just foaming from the cow;

But yet, I want my pint of wine-
I'm not a lover now!

When Laura sings young hearts

I'm deafer than the deep; When Leonora goes to play, I sometimes go to sleep;

away,

When Mary draws her white gloves out, I never dance, I vow

Too hot to kick one's heels about!—

I'm not a lover now!

I'm busy now with State affairs,
I prate of Pitt and Fox!
I ask the price of railroad shares,
I watch the turns of stocks.

And this is life-no verdure blooms
Upon the withered bough;

I save a fortune in perfumes

I'm not a lover now!

I may be yet what others are,
A boudoir's babbling fool;
The flattered star of bench or bar,
A party's chief or tool.

Come shower or sunshine-hope or fear,

The palace or the plough,

My heart and lute are broken here—

I'm not a lover now!

Lady, the mist is on my sight,
The chill is on my brow,

My day is night, my bloom is blight,
I'm not a lover now!

(1826.)

UTOPIA.

-"I can dream, sir,

If I eat well and sleep well."-The Mad Lover.

IF I could scare the light away,

No sun should ever shine;

If I could bid the clouds obey,
Thick darkness should be mine:
Where'er my weary footsteps roam,
I hate whate'er I see;
And Fancy builds a fairer home

In slumber's hour for me.

I had a vision yesternight

Of a lovelier land than this,

Where heaven was clothed in warmth and light,
Where earth was full of bliss;
And every tree was rich with fruits,

And every field with flowers,
And every zephyr wakened lutes

In passion-haunted bowers.

I clambered up a lofty rock,

And did not find it steep;

I read through a page and a half of Locke,
And did not fall asleep;

I said whate'er I may but feel,

I paid whate'er I owe;

VOL. II.-10

And I danced one day an Irish reel,

With the gout in

every toe.

And I was more than six feet high,

And fortunate, and wise; And I had a voice of melody

And beautiful black eyes;

My horses like the lightning went,
My barrels carried true,

And I held my tongue at an argument,
And winning cards at Loo.

I saw an old Italian priest

Who spoke without disguise;

I dined with a judge who swore, like Best,
All libels should be lies:

I bought for a penny a twopenny loaf,
Of wheat and nothing more;

I danced with a female philosophe,
Who was not quite a bore.

The kitchens there had richer roast,
The sheep wore whiter wool;
I read a witty Morning Post,
And an innocent John Bull :

The jailers had nothing at all to do,

The hangman looked forlorn,

And the Peers had passed a vote or two
For freedom of trade in corn.