If he ever sets foot in the city,
Among the stockbrokers and Jews,
If he has not a heart full of pity,

If he don't stand six feet in his shoes,
If his lips are not redder than roses,

If his hands are not whiter than snow, If he has not the model of noses,

My own Araminta, say "No!"

If he speaks of a tax or a duty,

If he does not look grand on his knees, If he's blind to a landscape of beauty, Hills, valleys, rocks, waters, and trees, If he dotes not on desolate towers,

If he likes not to hear the blast blow, If he knows not the language of flowers, My own Araminta, say "No!"

He must walk like a god of old story, Come down from the home of his rest; He must smile like the sun in his glory, On the buds he loves ever the best; And oh, from its ivory portal,

Like music his soft speech must flow!— If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal, My own Araminta, say "No!"

Don't listen to tales of his bounty,

Don't hear what they say of his birth, Don't look at his seat in the county,

Don't calculate what he is worth;

But give him a theme to write verse on,
And see if he turns out his toe ;-
If he's only an excellent person,
My own Araminta, say "No!"
(1828.)

THE TALENTED MAN.

A LETTER FROM A LADY IN LONDON TO A LADY AT LAUSANNE.

DEAR Alice! you'll laugh when you know it,
Last week, at the Duchess's ball,
I danced with the clever new poet,
You've heard of him,--Tully St. Paul.
Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic;
I wish you had seen Lady Anne!
It really was very romantic,

He is such a talented man!

He came up from Brazen Nose College,
Just caught, as they call it, this spring;
And his head, love, is stuffed full of knowledge
Of every conceivable thing.

Of science and logic he chatters,

As fine and as fast as he can;

Though I am no judge of such matters,
I'm sure he's a talented man.

His stories and jests are delightful ;—
Not stories or jests, dear, for you;
The jests are exceedingly spiteful,
The stories not always quite true.

Perhaps to be kind and veracious

May do pretty well at Lausanne;

But it never would answer,--good gracious!
Chez nous--in a talented man.

He sneers,--how my Alice would scold him !——
At the bliss of a sigh or a tear;
He laughed--only think!--when I told him
How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year;

I vow I was quite in a passion;

I broke all the sticks of my fan; But sentiment's quite out of fashion, It seems, in a talented man.

Lady Bab, who is terribly moral,
Has told me that Tully is vain,
And apt-which is silly-to quarrel,
And fond-which is sad-of champagne.
I listened, and doubted, dear Alice,
For I saw, when my Lady began,
It was only the Dowager's malice;--
She does hate a talented man !

He's hideous, I own it. But fame, love,
Is all that these eyes can adore;

He's lame, but Lord Byron was lame, love,
And dumpy,--but so is Tom Moore.

Then his voice,--such a voice! my sweet creature,
It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan:

But oh what's a tone or a feature,
When once one's a talented man?

9*

My mother, you know, all the season,
Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate;
And truly, to do the fool reason,

He has been less horrid of late.

But to-day, when we drive in the carriage,
I'll tell her to lay down her plan ;--
If ever I venture on marriage,

It must be a talented man!

P. S.-I have found, on reflection,
One fault in my friend,-entre nous;
Without it, he'd just be perfection;-
Poor fellow, he has not a sou!
And so, when he comes in September
To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan,
I've promised mamma to remember
He's only a talented man!

(1831.)