The voice that was best when it faltered, Is fuller and firmer in tone : And the smile that should never have altered,— Dear Clarence ;-it is not your own; Your cravat was badly selected, Your coat don't become you at all; And why is your hair so neglected? You must have it curled for our Ball. I've often been out upon Haldon I sat in your love of a shawl; And I'll wear what you brought me from Florence, Perhaps, if you'll come to our Ball. You'll find us all changed since you vanished; We've set up a National School; And waltzing is utterly banished; And Ellen has married a fool; The Major is going to travel; Miss Hyacinth threatens a rout; And Jane has gone on with her easels, You'll meet all your beauties ;-the Lily And Lucy, who made me so silly At Dawlish, by taking your arm; Miss Manners, who always abused you, For talking so much about Hock; And her sister who often amused you, By raving of rebels and Rock; And something which surely would answer, An heiress quite fresh from Bengal ;So, though you were seldom a dancer, You'll dance, just for once, at our Ball. But out on the world!-from the flowers It shuts out the sunshine of truth: That ever you danced at our Ball. You once could be pleased with our ballads ;To-day you have critical ears; You once could be charmed with our salads ; Alas! you've been dining with Peers; You trifled and flirted with many; You've forgotten the when and the how; There was one you liked better than any; Perhaps you've forgotten her now. But of those you remember most newly, None love you a quarter so truly They tell me you've many who flatter, Dear Clarence, that cannot be true! But to me you are still what I found you Before you grew clever and tall; And you'll think of the spell that once bound you: And you'll come, won't you come? to our Ball? MY PARTNER. "There is, perhaps, no subject of more universal interest in the whole range of natural knowledge, than that of the unceasing fluctuations which take place in the atmosphere in which we are immersed." AT Cheltenham, where one drinks one's fill Of folly and cold water, I danced, last year, my first quadrille, Her cheek with summer's rose might vie, Her eyes were blue as autumn's sky, And well my heart might deem her one For half her thoughts were of its sun, And half were of its showers. I spoke of novels :-" Vivian Grey" And "Almack's" infinitely gay, And "Frankenstein" alarming; |