FAIREST of earth! if thou wilt hear my vow,
Lo! at thy feet I swear to love thee ever;
And by this kiss upon thy radiant brow,
Promise affection which no time shall sever;
And love which e'er shall burn as bright as now,
To be extinguished-never, dearest, never!
Wilt thou that naughty, fluttering heart resign?
CATHERINE! my own sweet Kate! wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt have pearls to deck thy raven hair-
Thou shalt have all this world of ours can bring;
And we will live in solitude, nor care
For aught save for each other. We will fling
Away all sorrow-Eden shall be there!
And thou shalt be my queen, and I thy king!
Still coy, and still reluctant? Sweetheart say,
When shall we monarchs be? and which the day?
Now MRS. PRINGLE, once for all, I say
I will not such extravagance allow!
Bills upon bills, and larger every day,
Enough to drive a man to drink, I vow!
Bonnets, gloves, frippery and trash-nay, nay,
Tears, MRS. PRINGLE, will not gull me now-
I say I won't allow ten pounds a week;
I can't afford it; madam, do not speak!
In wedding you I thought I had a treasure;
I find myself most miserably mistaken!
You rise at ten, then spend the day in pleasure ;-
In fact, my confidence is slightly shaken.
Ha! what's that uproar? This, ma'am, is my leisure;
Sufficient noise the slumbering dead to waken!
I seek retirement, and I find-a riot;
Confound those children, but I'll make them quiet!
CONCERNING SISTERS-IN-LAW.
THEY looked so alike as they sat at their work,
(What a pity it is that one is n't a Turk!)
The same glances and smiles, the same habits and arts,
The same tastes, the same frocks, and (no doubt) the same hearts.
The same irresistible cut in their jibs,
The same little jokes, and the same little fibs-
That I thought the best way to get out of my pain
Was by-heads for Maria, and woman for Jane;
For hang me if it seemed it could matter a straw,
Which dear became wife, and which sister-in-law.
But now, I will own, I feel rather inclined
To suspect I've some reason to alter my mind;
And the doubt in my breast daily grows a more strong one, That they 're not quite alike, and I've taken the wrong one. Jane is always so gentle, obliging, and cool;
Never calls me a monster-not even a fool;
All our little contentions, 'tis she makes them up,
And she knows how much sugar to put in my cup :
Yes, I sometimes have wished-Heav'n forgive me the flaw !That my very dear wife was my sister-in-law.
Oh, your sister-in-law, is a dangerous thing!
The daily comparisons, too, she will bring!
Wife-curl-papered, slip-shod, unwashed and undressed;
She-ringleted, booted, and "fixed in her best;"
Wife-sulky, or storming, or preaching, or prating;
She-merrily singing, or laughing, or chatting:
Then the innocent freedom her friendship allows
To the happy half-way between mother and spouse.
In short, if the Devil e'er needs a cat's-paw,
He can't find one more sure than a sister-in-law.
That no good upon earth can be had undiluted
Is a maxim experience has seldom refuted;
And preachers and poets have proved it is so
With abundance of tropes, more or less apropos.
Every light has its shade, every rose has its thorn,
The cup has its head-ache, its poppy the corn ;
There's a fly in the ointment, a spot on the sun-
In short, they 've used all illustrations-but one;
And have left it to me the most striking to draw-
Viz.: that none, without wives, can have sisters-in-law.
As a young Lobster roamed about,
Itself and mother being out,
Their eyes at the same moment fell
On a boiled lobster's scarlet shell.
"Look," said the younger; "is it true
That we might wear so bright a hue ?
No coral, if I trust mine eye,
Can with its startling brilliance vie;
While you and I must be content
A dingy aspect to present."
"Proud heedless fool," the parent cried;
"Know'st thou the penalty of pride?
The tawdry finery you wish,
Has ruined this unhappy fish.
The hue so much by you desired
By his destruction was acquired—
So be contented with your lot,
Nor seek to change by going to pot.”
TO SONG-BIRDS ON A SUNDAY.
SILENCE, all! ye winged choir;
Let not yon right reverend șire
Hear your happy symphony:
'Tis too good for such as he.
On the day of rest divine,
He poor townsfolk would confine
In their crowded streets and lanes,
Where they can not hear your strains.
All the week they drudge away,
Having but one holiday;
No more time for you, than that—
Unlike bishops, rich and fat.
* Appeared at the time of the Anti-popery excitement, produced by the titles
of Cardinal Wiseman, etc.
Utter not your cheerful sounds,
Therefore, in the bishop's grounds;
Make him melody no more,
Who denies you to the poor.
Linnet, hist! and blackbird, hush !
Throstle, be a songless thrush;
Nightingale and lark, be mute;
Never sing to such a brute.
Robin, at the twilight dim,
Never let thine evening hymn,
Bird of red and ruthful breast,
Lend the bishop's Port a zest.
Soothe not, birds, his lonesome hours,
Keeping us from fields and flowers,
Who to pen us tries, instead,
'Mong the intramural dead.
Only let the raven croak
At him from the rotten oak;
Let the magpie and the jay
Chatter at him on his way.
And when he to rest has laid him,
Let his ears the screech-owl harry ;
And the night-jar serenade him
With a proper charivari.
THE FIRST SENSIBLE VALENTINE.
(ONE OF THE MOST ASTONISHING FRUITS OF THE EMIGRATION MANIA.)
LET other swains, upon the best cream-laid
Or wire-wove note, their amorous strains indite;
Or, in despair, invoke the limner's aid
To paint the sufferings they can not write:
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