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She talk'd,- of politics or prayers;
Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets; Of daggers or of dancing bears,
Of battles, or the last new bonnets;
To me it matter'd not a tittle,
I might have thought they murmur'd Little.
Through sunny May, through sultry June,
I loved her with a love eternal; I spoke her praises to the moon,
I wrote them for the Sunday Journal.
That ancient ladies have no feeling;
Şee any happiness in kneeling ?
She was the daughter of a Dean,
Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic; She had one brother, just thirteen,
Whose color was extremely hectic; Her grandmother for many a year
Had fed the parish with her bounty; Her second cousin was a peer,
And lord lieutenant of the county.
But titles and the three per cents,
And mortgages, and great relations, And India bonds, and tithes and rents,
Oh! what are they to love's sensations ? Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks,
Such wealth, such honors, Cupid chooses; He cares as little for the stocks,
As Baron Rothschild for the Muses.
She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach,
Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading; She botanized; I envied each
Young blossom in her boudoir fading; She warbled Handel; it was grand
She made the Catalani jealous;
She touch'd the organ; I could stand
For hours and hours to blow the bellows.
She kept an album, too, at home,
Well fill'd with all an album's glories; Paintings of butterflies, and Rome,
Patterns for trimming, Persian stories; Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo,
Fierce odes to Famine and to Slaughter; And autographs of Prince Leboo,
And recipes for elder water.
And she was flatter'd, worshipp'd, bored;
Her steps were watch'd, her dress was noted; Her poodle dog was quite adored,
Her sayings were extremely quoted.
As if the taxes were abolish'd;
As if the Opera were demolished.
She smil'd on many just for fun
I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first — the only one
Her heart had thought of for a minute; I knew it, for she told me so,
In phrase which was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand, - and oh!
How sweetly all her notes were folded !
Our love was like most other loves
A little glow, a little shiver;
And “Fly Not Yet," upon the river;
Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair,
The usual vows — and then we parted.
We parted; — months and years rollid by;
We met again four summers after; Our parting was all sob and sigh
Our meeting was all mirth and laughter;
For in my heart's most secret cell,
There had been many other lodgers;
Winthrop Mackworth Praed
THE STAMMERING WIFE
When deeply in love with Miss Emily Pryne,
I would always endeavor to please her.
an ass-iduous teaser !”
But when we were married, I found to my ruth, The stammering lady had spoken the truth;
For often, in obvious dudgeon, She'd say if I ventured to give her a jog In the way of reproof — “You're a dog — you're
a dog A dog - a dog-matic curmudgeon!”
And once when I said, “We can hardly afford This extravagant style, with our moderate hoard,”
And hinted we ought to be wiser,
Again, when it happened that, wishing to shirk
I begged her to go to a neighbor,
You were always ac-cus-tomed to labor!”
Out of temper at last with the insolent dame,
To scold me instead of caressing,
I mimicked her speech — like a churl that I am
John Godfrey Saxe
HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER
O Thou wha in the heavens dost dwell,
A' for Thy glory,
They've done before Thee!
I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
For gifts an' grace,
To a' this place.
What was I, or my generation,
For broken laws
Thro' Adam's cause.
When frae my mither's womb I fell,
In burnin' lakes,
Chain'd to their stakes.
Yet I am here, a chosen sample,
Strong as a rock,
To a' Thy Aock?
But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
Vile selfogets in;
Defil'd wi' sin.
May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn
That he's sae gifted :
Until Thou lift it.
Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
An' blast their name,
An' open shame!
Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts,
Wi' great and sma', Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa.
An' when we chasten'd him therefore,
O' laughin' at us; -
Kail an' potatoes !
Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r
Upo' their heads !
For their misdeeds!