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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
With pain unspeakable I fetched the fragment of a breath,
Not vital air enough to frame one short and feeble sigh,
Yet even that I loathed because it would not let me die.
O! slowly, slowly, slowly on, from starry night till morn,
Time flapped along, with leaden wings, across that waste
forlorn, 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 But who hath felt a horse's weight oppress his laboring
breast ? Why, any who has had. like me, the Night MARE on his
IF I should love a maiden more,
And woo her every hope to crown,
I'd love her all the country o'er,
But not declare it out of town.
One even, by a mossy bank,
That held a hornet's nest within,
To Ellen on my knees I sank,—
How snakes will twine around the shin!
A bashful fear my soul unnerved,
And gave my heart a backward tug;
Nor was I cheered when she observed,
Whilst I was silent, “What a slug ! ”
At length my offer I preferred,
And IIope a kind reply forebode —
Alas! the only sound I heard
Was, “ What a horrid ugly toad !”.
I vowed w give her all my heart,
To love her till my life took leave,
And painted all a lover's smart —
Except a wasp gone up his sleeve!
But when I ventured to abide
Her father's and her mother's grants --
Sudden she started up and cried,
“O dear! I am all over ants !”
Nay, when beginning to beseech
The cause that led to my rebuff,
The answer was as strange a speech --
A “ Daddy-Longlegs, sure enough ! ”
I spoke of fortune — house, – and lands,
And still renewed the warm attack, -
'Tis vain to offer ladies hands
That have a spider on the back !
'Tis vain to talk of hopes and fears,
And hope the least reply to win,
From any maid that stops her ears
In dread of earwigs creeping in !
'Tis vain to call the dearest names
Whilst stoats and weasels startle by -
As vain to talk of mutual flames
To one with glowworms in her eye !
What checked me in my fond address,
And knocked each pretty image down?
What stopped my Ellen's faltering yes ?
A caterpillar on her gown !
To list to Philomel is sweet —
To see the moon rise silver-pale, -
But not to kneel at lady's feet
And crush a rival in a snail !
Sweet is the eventide, and kind
Its zephyr, balmy as the south ;
But sweeter still to speak your mind
Without a chafer in your mouth !
At last, emboldened by my bliss,
Still fickle Fortune played me foul,
For when I strove to snatch a kiss
She screamed — by proxy, through an owl!
Then, lovers, doomed to life or death,
Shun moonlight, twilight, lanes and bats,
Lest you should have in self-same breath
To bless your fate — and curse the gnats !
“ It's hame, hame, hame." - A. CUNNINGHAM.
“There's no place like home.” – Clari.
1. 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,
Just like gooseberries boiled for a fool !
That brow was like marble, so smooth and so fair ;
Though it's wrinkled so crookedly now,
As if Time, when those furrows were made by the share,
Had been tipsy whilst driving his plough!
Your nose, it was such as the sculptors all chose,
When a Venus demanded their skill;
Though now it can hardly be reckoned a nose,
But a sort of Poll-Parroty bill !
Your mouth, it was then quite a bait for the bees,
Such a nectar there hung on each lip;
Though now it has taken that lemon-like squeeze,
Not a blue-bottle comes for a sip!
Your chin, it was one of Love's favorite haunts,
From its dimple he could not get loose ;
Though now the neat hand of a barber it wants,
Or a singe, like the breast of a goose !
How rich were those locks, so abundant and full,
With their ringlets of auburn so deep!
Though now they look only like frizzles of wool,
By a bramble torn off from a sheep!
That neck, not a swan could excel it in grace,
While in whiteness it vied with your arms
Though now a grave ’kerchief you properly place,
To conceal that scrag-end of your charms !
Your figure was tall, then, and perfectly straight,
Though it now has two twists from upright —
But bless you ! still bless you ! my partner! my Kate
Though you be such a perfect old fright!
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
“That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent;
And all the Todds are coming up to see us, out of Kent;
I quite forgot to tell you John has had a tipsy fall; —
I'm sure there's something going on with that vile Mary
Hall ! “ Miss Bell has bought the sweetest silk, and I have bought
the rest — 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 myselfAnd, 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,
A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND
Tuou happy, happy elf!
(But stop,— first let me kiss away that tear)
Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!)
Thou merry, laughing sprite !
With spirits feather-light,
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin —
(Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin !)