For over me lay powerless, and still as any stone, The Corse that erst had so much fire, strength, spirit of its own My heart was still-my pulses stopped- midway 'twixt life and death, With pain unspeakable I fetched the fragment of a breath, I cursed the hour that brought me first within this world of strife A sore and heavy sin it is to scorn the gift of life- breast? Why, any who has had. like me, the NIGHT MARE on his chest. LOVE LANE. IF I should love a maiden more, One even, by a mossy bank, A bashful fear my soul unnerved, Alas! the only sound I heard But when I ventured to abide I spoke of fortune-house, and lands, 'Tis vain to talk of hopes and fears, 'Tis vain to call the dearest names To list to Philomel is sweet To see the moon rise silver-pale, But not to kneel at lady's feet Sweet is the eventide, and kind At last, emboldened by my bliss, Then, lovers, doomed to life or death, DOMESTIC POEMS. "It's hame, hame, hame."— A. CUNNINGHAM. I. HYMENEAL RETROSPECTIONS. O KATE! my dear partner, through joy and through strife! When I look back at Hymen's dear day, Not a lovelier bride ever changed to a wife, Though you 're now so old, wizened, and gray! Those eyes, then, were stars, shining rulers of fate! But as liquid as stars in a pool; Though now they're so dim, they appear, my dear Kate, That brow was like marble, so smooth and so fair; As if Time, when those furrows were made by the share, Your nose, it was such as the sculptors all chose, Though now it can hardly be reckoned a nose, Your mouth, it was then quite a bait for the bees, Though now it has taken that lemon-like squeeze, Your chin, it was one of Love's favorite haunts, How rich were those locks, so abundant and full, That neck, not a swan could excel it in grace, Your figure was tall, then, and perfectly straight, II. THE sun was slumbering in the west, my daily labors past On Anna's soft and gentle breast my head reclined at last; The darkness closed around, so dear to fond congenial souls; And thus she murmured at my ear, "My love, we 're out of coals! "That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent; Hall! "Miss Bell has bought the sweetest silk, and I have bought Of course, if we go out of town, Southend will be the best. I really think the Jones's house would be the thing for us; I think I told you Mrs. Pope had parted with her nus "Cook, by the way, came up to-day, to bid me suit myself— And, what d' ye think? the rats have gnawed the victuals on the shelf. And, Lord! there's such a letter come, inviting you to fight! Of course you don't intend to go - God bless you, dear, good-night!" III. A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS. THOυ happy, happy elf! (But stop,- first let me kiss away that tear) (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) With spirits feather-light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin— (Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!) |