Severely men smart for their errors, Than these,-in the Windsor Express. I fancied the Doctor at College Had dipped, now and then, into books; But, bless me! I find that his knowledge Is just like my coachman's or cook's: He's a dunce-I have heard it with sorrow;— 'Twould puzzle him sadly, I guess, To put into English to-morrow A page of the Windsor Express. All preachers of course should be preaching All tutors of course should be teaching Mrs. Martha, who nursed little Willy, Old John, who takes care of the filly, Says "He'll ne'er come to mount her again!" My Juliet runs up to her mother, And cries, with a mournful caress, "Oh where have you sent my poor brother? Look, look at the Windsor Express!" Ring, darling, and order the carriage; Who has been quite a fool since our marriage,— I'll take him directly away. For of all their atrocious ill-treating, The end it is easy to guess ;- (Oct. 27, 1832.) PALINODIA. "Nec meus hic sermo est, sed quem præcepit." Horace. THERE was a time when I could feel And though I'm hardly twenty-four, VOL. II.-14 Lady, the mist is on my sight, My day is night, my bloom is blight, I never talk about the clouds, I never wander forth alone Upon the mountain's brow I weighed last winter sixteen stone- I never wish to raise a veil, I never raise a sigh, I never tell a tender tale, 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, 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 find my Ovid very dry, 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 Just foaming from the cow; When Laura sings young hearts away, I'm deafer than the deep; When Leonora goes to play, I sometimes go to sleep; 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 ask the price of railroad shares, I may be yet what others are, 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, (1826.) |