“The gentleman that moves on wires' The youth "with such a frightful frown!" And "that extraordinary gown!"

Now characters are much debated,
And witty speeches are narrated;
And Criticism delights to dwell
On conquests won by many a belle,
On compliments that ne'er were paid,
On offers that were never made,
Refusals-Lord knows when refused,
Deductions-Lord knows how deduced;
Alas! how sweetly scandal falls

From lips of beauties—after balls!

And all those smiling cheeks have flown!

Away!-the Rhymer is alone.

Thou too, the fairest and the best,

Hast fleeted from him with the rest;

Thy name he will not, love! unite

To the rude strain he

pours to-night;

Yet often hath he turned away
Amidst his harsh and wandering lay,

And often hath his earnest eye
Looked into thine delightedly,

And often hath his listening ear—

But thou art gone!—what doth he here?

TO JULIO

ON HIS COMING OF AGE

JULIO, while Fancy's tints adorn

The first bright beam of manhood's morn, The cares of boyhood fleet away

Like clouds before the face of day;

And

see, before your ravished eyes New hopes appear, new duties rise, Restraint has left his iron throne, And Freedom smiles on twenty-one.

Count o'er the friends whom erst you knew
When careless boyhood deemed them true,
With whom you wiled the lazy hours
Round fond Etona's classic towers,
Or strayed beside the learned mud
Of ancient Cam's meandering flood;
The follies that in them you view
Shall be a source of good to you.

With mincing gait and foreign air
Sir Philip strays through park and square,
Or yawns in Grange's sweet recess,
In all the studied ease of dress;
Aptly the man-ling's tongue, I deem,
Can argue on a lofty theme,

Which damsel hath the merrier eye,
Which fop the better-fancied tie,
Which perfume hath the sweetest savour,
Which soup the more inviting flavour;
And Fashion, at Sir Philip's call,
Ordains the collar's rise and fall

And shifts the Brummel's varying hue
From blue to brown, from brown to blue.

And hence the motley crowd, whoe'er
Bear Fashion's badge-or wish to bear,
From Hockley-hole to Rotten-row,
Unite to dub Sir Philip-beau.

And, such is Fashion's empty fame,
Squire Robert loathes the very name.
The rockets hiss, the bonfires blaze,

The peasants gape

in still amaze;

The field unploughed, the ox unyoked,

The farmer's mouth with pudding choked,

The sexton's vest of decent brown,
The village maiden's Sunday gown,
In joyful union seem to say -
"Squire Robert is of age to-day."
The bumpkins hurry to the Bell,
And clam'rous tongues in riot swell;
Anger is hot-and so is liquor;
They drink confusion to the vicar;
And shout and song from lad and lass,
And broken heads, and broken glass,
In concert horrible, declare
Their loyal rev'rence for the heir.

Right justly may the youthful squire
These transports in his slaves inspire;
At every fireside through the place
He's welcome as the curate's grace;
He tells his story, cracks his joke,
And drinks his ale "like other folk;"