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;

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.

There was a crop of wheat, which grew
Where plough was never brought;
There was a noble Lord, who knew
What he was never taught:
A scheme appeared in the Gazette
For a lottery with no blanks;
And a Parliament had lately met,
Without a single Bankes.

And there were kings who never went
To cuffs for half-a-crown;
And lawyers who were eloquent
Without a wig and gown;

And sportsmen who forbore to praise
Their greyhounds and their guns;
And poets who deserved the bays,
And did not dread the duns.

And boroughs were bought without a test, And no man feared the Pope;

And the Irish cabins were all possessed

Of liberty and soap;

And the Chancellor, feeling very sick,

Had just resigned the seals; And a clever little Catholic

Was hearing Scotch appeals.

I went one day to a Court of Law
Where a fee had been refused;
And a Public School I really saw
Where the rod was never used:
And the sugar still was very sweet,
Though all the slaves were free ;
And all the folk in Downing street
Had learned the rule of three.

There love had never a fear or doubt;
December breathed like June:
The Prima Donna ne'er was out

Of temper-or of tune;

The streets were paved with mutton pies,
Potatoes ate like pine;

Nothing looked black but woman's eyes;
Nothing grew old but wine.

It was an idle dream; but thou,

The worshipped one, wert there, With thy dark clear eyes and beaming brow, White neck and floating hair;

And, oh! I had an honest heart,

And a house of Portland stone;

And thou wert dear, as still thou art,
And more than dear, my own!

Oh, bitterness!-the morning broke
Alike for boor and bard;