I But yet 't is sweet to woo you; may not win you!-that's a bore! And for this cause, - and twenty more, I send this gay book to you. If its songs please you,-by this light! I will not hold it treason To bid you dream of me to-night, ANTICIPATION "OH yes! he is in Parliament; He's been returning thanks; You can't conceive the time he's spent Already on his franks. He'll think of nothing, night and day, No matter what the people say,- "He filled an album, long ago, He'll care for no such nonsense now:". Oh! don't believe them yet! "I vow he's turned a Goth, a Hun, By that disgusting Bill; He'll never make another pun; He's danced his last quadrille. We shall not see him flirt again He'll never laugh at Drury Lane." Psha! don't believe them yet. "Last week I heard his uncle boast I read it in the 'Morning Post' You'll never see him any more, He cannot eat at half-past four:". "In short, he'll soon be false and cold, And infinitely wise; He'll grow next year extremely old, He'll tell enormous lies; He'll learn to flatter and forsake, To feign and to forget:" CHILDHOOD AND HIS VISITORS I ONCE on a time, when sunny May him? For not more glad than Childhood's brow, Was the blue heaven that beamed above him. II Old Time, in most appalling wrath, invaded; That valley's green repose The birds were mute, the lilies faded. |