Then home, sweet home! the crowded coach The winding horns like rams'! No "satis" to the "jams! When that I was a tiny boy THE SURPLICE QUESTION. A VERY pretty public stir About the surplice fashion: For me, I neither know nor care A black dress or a white dress ; A DREAM. 'TWAS night: the Globe was folded up, (The paper, not the earth,) And to its proper shelf restored The fairest "Maid of Perth :" The things that I had read— The Irish News, the Scottish Tale Kept running in my head; While over all a sort of mist Began to slowly creep, The twilight haze of Thought before It darkens into Sleep; A foggy land where shady shapes Kept stirring in the gloom, Till with a hint of brighter tint One spot began to bloom, And on the blank, by dreamy prank, I saw a Figure tall, As vivid as from painted glass, Projected on a wall! The face, as well as I could trace, Two sparkling eyes were there, Black as the beard, and trim moustache, And curly head of hair; The nose was straight, the mouth was large, The lips disclosed beneath A set full white and regular Of strong and handsome teeth The whiter, that his brow, and cheek, Were ruddy as if baked by heat Of sun or glowing forge. His dress was buff, or some such stuff, And belted at the waist; A curious dirk, for stabbing work, Beside a sort of pouch or purse A jerkin fair and superfine Of cloth of azure blue, Slash'd front and back with satin black, Embroider'd o'er, and laced With sable silk, as used to suit The ancient time and taste; His hose were of the Flemish cut, His boots of cordovan ; A velvet bonnet on his head Like that of Scottish man, Nay, not a velvet onc,-for why, With sudden change, as swift as strange, It shone a cap of steel! His coat of buff, or azure stuff, Became a hauberk bright, No longer gay in his array, But harness'd for the Fight! Huge was his frame, and muscular, His bosom broad, his brawny arms That had to wield in battle-field Few men there were of mortal mould, But had been rash to stand the clash And yet aloft he swung it oft, That low and clear said in my ear, And lo! another "change came o'er The spirit of my dream;' The hauberk bright no longer shone No ruddy visage furnace-scorched, Nor sable beard, nor trim moustache, Nor head of raven hair; No steely cap, with plume mayhap, * Vide Scott's "Fair Maid of Perth." Upon his brow there settled now, Beneath his chin two cambric bands And from his brawny shoulders hung No mail beneath, to guard from death, Nor ready dirk for stabbing work, His right hand bore no broad claymore, But, with a flourish, soon He way'd a Pistol huge enough For any horse-dragoon, And whilst he pointed to and fro, Still in my ear, the voice was clear, A REFLECTION ON NEW YEAR'S EVE. "THOSE Evening Bells-those Evening Bells!' How sweet they used to be and dear! When full of all that Hope foretells, Their voice proclaimed the new-born Year! But, ah! much sadder now I feel, Recalling only how a Peel Has tax'd the comings-in of Time * Vide "The State Trials in Ireland. |