And the Goddess of Love will keep her smiles,

And the God of Cups his orgies; And there'll be riots in St. Giles,

And weddings in St. George's;

And mendicants will sup like Kings,
And Lords will swear like lacqueys;
And black eyes oft will lead to rings,
And rings will lead to black eyes;
And pretty Kate will scold her mate,
In a dialect all divine;

Alas! they married in Twenty-Eight,
They will part in Twenty-Nine.

My uncle will swathe his gouty limbs,
And talk of his oils and blubbers;

My aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer hymns,
And rather longer rubbers;

My cousin in Parliament will prove

How utterly ruined Trade is:

My brother, at Eaton, will fall in love
With half a hundred ladies;

My patron will sate his pride from plate,
And his thirst from Bordeaux wine:
His nose was red in Twenty-Eight,
"Twill be redder in Twenty-Nine.

And oh! I shall find how, day by day,
All thoughts and things look older;
How the laugh of Pleasure grows less gay,
And the heart of Friendship colder;

But still I shall be what I have been,

Sworn foe to Lady Reason,

And seldom troubled with the spleen,

And fond of talking treason;

I shall buckle my skait, and leap my gate,
And throw and write my line;

And the woman I worshipped in Twenty-Eight
I shall worship in Twenty-Nine.

HOW SHALL I WOO HER?

L'on n'aime bien qu'une seule fois: c'est la premiere.
Les amours qui suivent sont moins involontaires !
La Bruyere.

I.

How shall I woo her ?—I will stand
Beside her when she sings;
And watch that fine and fairy hand
Flit o'er the quivering strings:
And I will tell her, I have heard,
Though sweet her song may be,
A voice, whose every whispered word
Was more than song to me!

II.

How shall I woo her ?—I will gaze,

In sad and silent trance,

On those blue eyes, whose liquid rays
Look love in every glance;

And I will tell her, eyes more bright,

Though bright her own may beam,

Will fling a deeper spell to-night
Upon me in my dream.

III.

How shall I woo her?—I will try
The charms of olden time,

And swear by earth and sea and sky,
And rave in prose and rhyme ;-
And I will tell her when I bent

My knee in other years,
I was not half so eloquent,

I could not speak for tears!

IV.

How shall I woo her?-I will bow

Before the holy shrine;

And pray the

prayer,

and vow the vow,

And press her lips to mine;

And I will tell her, when she parts

From passion's thrilling kiss,

That memory to many hearts

Is dearer far than bliss.

V.

Away! away! the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain ;-
You cannot wake that silent lute,
Nor clasp those links again;
Love's toil I know is little cost,
Love's perjury is light sin;

But souls that lose what I have lost,

What have they left to win?

STANZAS.

The lady of his love, oh, she was changed,

As by the sickness of the soul!

Byron.

Go thou, while in thy soul, and fill a throne
Of innocence and purity, in Heaven!

Ford.

I KNOW that it must be,

Yea! thou art changed-all worshipped as thou art

Mourned as thou shalt be!

Sickness of the heart

Hath done its work on thee!

Thy dim eyes tell a tale,

A piteous tale, of vigils; and the trace
Of bitter tears is on thy beauteous face,
Beauteous, and yet so pale!

Changed love! but not alone!

I am not what they think me; though my cheek
Wear but its last year's furrow, though I speak

Thus in my natural tone.