LAST night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat,
Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and—all that,
And wondering much what little knavish sprite
Had put it first in women's heads to write:-
Sudden I saw-as in some witching dream-
A bright-blue glory round my book-case beam,
From whose quick-opening folds of azure light,
Out flew a tiny form, as small and bright
As Puck the Fairy, when he pops his head,
Some sunny morning, from a violet bed.

« Bless me! I starting cried, « what imp are you?»-
« A small he-devil, Ma'am-my name BAS BLEU-
A bookish sprite, much given to routs and reading;
'Tis I who teach your spinsters of good breeding
The reigning taste in chemistry and caps,
The last new bounds of tuckers and of maps;
And, when the waltz has twirl'd her giddy brain,
With metaphysics twirl it back again!»

"

I view'd him, as he spoke-his hose were blue,
His wings-the covers of the last Review-
Cerulean, border'd with a jaundice hue,
And tinsell'd gaily o'er, for evening wear,
Till the next quarter brings a new-fledged pair.
Inspired by me-(pursued this waggish Fairy)—
That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady Mary,
Votary alike of Crispin and the Muse,
Makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes,
For me the eyes of young Camilla shine,
And mingle Love's blue brilliancies with mine;
For me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrinking,

By my advice Miss Indigo attends Lectures on Memory, and assures her friends, ''Pon honour!-(mimicks)—nothing can surpass the

plan

Of that professor-(trying to recollect)-psha! that memory-man

That-what's his name?-him I attended lately-
'Pon honour, he improved my memory greatly.'»

Here, curtseying low, I ask'd the blue-legg'd sprite,
What share he had in this our play to-night.

Nay, there-(he cried)—there I am guiltless quite—
What! chuse a heroine from that Gothic time,
When no one waltz'd, and none but monks could rhyme;
When lovely woman, all unschool'd and wild,
Blush'd without art, and without culture smiled-
Simple as flowers, while yet unclass'd they shone,
Ere Science call'd their brilliant world her own,
Ranged the wild rosy things in learned orders,
And fill'd with Greek the garden's blushing borders?—
No, no-your gentle Inas will not do-

To-morrow evening, when the lights burn blue,
I'll come- -(pointing downwards)—you understand—

till then adieu !»

And has the sprite been here? No-jests apartHowe'er man rules in science and in art,

The sphere of woman's glories is the heart.
And, if our Muse have sketch'd with pencil true
The wife-the mother-firm, yet gentle too-
Whose soul, wrapp'd up in ties itself hath spun,
Trembles, if touch'd in the remotest one;
Who loves-yet dares even Love himself disown,
When honour's broken shaft supports his throne:
If such our Ina, she may scorn the evils,
Dire as they are, of Critics and-Blue Devils.

TO THE MEMORY OF

JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN.

Ir ever life was prosperously cast,

If ever life was like the lengthen'd flow

Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 'T was his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below.

The sunny temper, bright where all is strife,

The simple heart that mocks at worldly wiles, Light wit, that plays along the calm of life,

And stirs its languid surface into smiles;

Pure charity, that comes not in a shower, Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds, But like the dew, with gradual silent power, Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads;

The happy grateful spirit, that improves

And brightens every gift by fortune given, That, wander where it will with those it loves,

Makes every place a home, and home a heaven:

ing.

That ye like him may live, like him may die!

The wall he sets 'twixt flame and air

(Like that which barr'd young Thisbe's bliss), Through whose small holes this dangerous pair May see each other, but not kiss.'

At first the torch looked rather bluely— A sign, they say, that no good bodedThen quick the gas became unruly,

And, crack ! the ball-room all exploded.

Sylphs, Gnomes, and fiddlers, mix'd together,
With all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces,
Like butterflies, in stormy weather,

Were blown-legs, wings, and tails-to pieces!

While, 'mid these victims of the torch,

The Sylph, alas! too, bore her part— Found lying, with a livid scorch,

As if from lightning, o'er her heart!

<<<Well done!» a laughing goblin said, Escaping from this gaseous strife; «'T is not the first time Love has made A blow-up in connubial life.»>

REMONSTRANCE.

After a conversation with Lord John Russell, in which he had intimated some idea of giving up all political pursuits.

WHAT! thou, with thy genius, thy youth, and thy name-
Thou, born of a Russell-whose instinct to run
The accustom'd career of thy sires, is the same
As the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes on the sun!

Whose nobility comes to thee, stamp'd with a seal,
Far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set;
With the blood of thy race offer'd up for the weal
Of a nation that swears by that martyrdom yet!

Shalt thou be faint-hearted and turn from the strife,
From the mighty arena where all that is grand,
And devoted, and pure, and adorning in life,

Is for high-thoughted spirits, like thine, to command ?

With an eloquence-not like those rills from a height,
Which sparkle, and foam, and in vapour are o'er;
But a current that works out its way into light
Through the filt'ring recesses of thought and of lore.

Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade;
If the stirrings of genius, the music of fame,
And the charms of thy cause have not power to per-
suade,

Yet think how to freedom thou 'rt pledged by thy

name.

Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delphi's decree,
Set apart for the fane and its service divine,
All the branches that spring from the old Russell tree,
Are by Liberty claim'd for the use of her shrine.

EPITAPH ON A LAWYER.

HERE lies a lawyer-one whose mind
(Like that of all the lawyer kind)
Resembled, though so grave and stately,
The pupil of a cat's eye greatly;
Which for the mousing deeds, transacted
In holes and corners is well fitted,
But which in sunshine grows contracted,
As if 't would rather not admit it;
As if, in short, a man would quite
Throw time away who tried to let in a
Decent portion of God's light

On lawyer's mind or pussy's retina.
Hence when he took to politics,

As a refreshing change of evil, Unfit with grand affairs to mix His little Nisi-Prius tricks,

Like imps at bo-peep, play'd the devil; And proved that when a small law wit Of statesmanship attempts the trial, 'Tis like a player on the kit

Put all at once to a bass viol.

Nay, even when honest (which he could

Be, now and then), still quibbling daily, He served his country as he would A client thief at the Old Bailey.

But-do him justice-short and rare

His wish through honest paths to roam; Born with a taste for the unfair, Where falsehood call'd he still was there,

And when least honest, most at home. Thus shuffling, bullying, lying, creeping, Hle work'd his way up near the throne, And, long before he took the keeping Of the king's conscience, lost his own.

MY BIRTH-DAY.

<< My birth-day!»-What a different sound That word had in my youthful ears! And how, each time the day comes round, Less and less white its mark appears!

To let him pine so were a sin

When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And, as youth counts the shining links
That time around him binds so fast,
Pleased with the task, he little thinks

How hard that chain will press at last.

Vain was the man, and false as vain,

Who said,'« were he ordain'd to run
His long career of life again,

He would do all that he had done.»-
Ah! 't is not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birth-days speaks to me;
Far otherwise-of time it tells

Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly—

Of counsel mock'd-of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines-
Of nursing many a wrong desire-
Of wandering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire

That cross'd my path-way for his star!
All this it tells, and could I trace

The imperfect picture o'er again,
With power to add, retouch, efface

The lights and shades, the joy and pain,
How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away-
All-but that freedom of the mind

Which hath been more than wealth to me:
Those friendships in my boyhood twined,
And kept till now unchangingly.
And that dear home, that saving ark

Where Love's true light at last I 've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark, And comfortless, and stormy round!

FANCY.

THE more I've view'd this world, the more I've found
That, fill'd as 't is with scenes and creatures rare,
Fancy commands within her own bright round,
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair.

Nor is it that her power can call up there

A single charm that 's not from Nature won,
No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear
A single tint unborrow'd from the sun-
But 't is the mental medium it shines through,
That lends to beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light that o'er the level lake
One dull monotony of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make
Colours as gay as those on angels' wings!

LOVE AND HYMEN.

LOVE had a fever-ne'er could close
His little eyes till day was breaking;

And whimsical enough, Heaven knows,

The things be raved about while waking.

1 FONTENELLE.- Si je recommençais ma carrière, je ferais tout

ce que j'ai fait..

One to whom all the world's a debtor

So Doctor Hymen was call'd in.

And Love that night slept rather better.

Next day the case gave further hope yet,
Though still some ugly fever latent;-
« Dose as before»-a gentle opiate,
For which old Hymen has a patent.

After a month of daily call,

So fast the dose went on restoring, That Love, who first ne'er slept at all,

Now took, the rogue! to downright snoring.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

SWEET Sirmio! thou, the very eye

Of all peninsulas and isles

That in our lakes of silver lie,

Or sleep, enwreathed by Neptune's smiles,

How gladly back to thee I fly!

Still doubting, asking can it be That I have left Bithynia's sky,

And gaze in safety upon thee?

Oh! what is happier than to find

Our hearts at ease, our perils past; When, anxious long, the lighten'd mind Lays down its load of care at last?When, tired with toil on land and deep, Again we tread the welcome floor Of our own home, and sink to sleep On the long-wish'd-for bed once more?

This, this it is that pays. alone

The ills of all life's former track: Shine out, my beautiful, my own

Sweet Sirmio-greet thy master back.

And thou, fair lake, whose water quaffs The light of heaven, like Lydia's sea, Rejoice, rejoice-let all that laughs Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!

TO MY MOTHER.
Written in a Pocket-Book, 1822.

THEY tell us of an Indian tree

Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky
May tempt its boughs to wander free,
And shoot and blossom, wide and high,
Far better loves to bend its arms

Downward again to that dear earth
From which the life, that fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth.

'Tis thus, though woo'd by flattering friends, And fed with fame (if fame it be),

This heart, my own dear mother, bends,
With love's true instinct, back to thee!

ILLUSTRATION OF A BORE.

If ever you 've seen a gay party
Relieved from the pressure of Ned-
How instantly joyous and hearty

They've grown when the damper was fled-
You may guess what a gay piece of work,
What delight to champagne it must be,
To get rid of its bore of a cork,

And come sparkling to you, love, and me!

A SPECULATION.

Or all speculations the market holds forth,
The best that I know for a lover of pelf
Is, to buy ****** up, at the price he is worth,
And then sell him at that which he sets on himself.

SCEPTICISM.

ERE Psyche drank the cup that shed Immortal life into her soul,

Some evil spirit pour'd, 't is said,

One drop of doubt into the bowl

Which, mingling darkly with the stream, To Psyche's lips-she knew not whyMade even that blessed nectar seem

As though its sweetness soon would die.

Oft, in the very arms of Love,

A chill came o'er her heart-a fear That death would, even yet, remove Her spirit from that happy sphere.

<< Those sunny ringlets,» she exclaim'd, Twining them round her snowy fingers<< That forehead, where a light, unnamed, Unknown on earth, for ever lingers

<< Those lips, through which I feel the breath
Of heaven itself, whene'er they sever-
Oh! are they mine beyond all death-
Mine own, hereafter and for ever?

<< Smile not-I know that starry brow, Those ringlets and bright lips of thine, Will always shine as they do now

But shall I live to see them shine ?>>

In vain did Love say, « Turn thine eyes
On all that sparkles round thee here-
Thou 'rt now in heaven, where nothing dies,
And in these arms-what canst thou fear?»>

In vain the fatal drop, that stole
Into that cup's immortal treasure,
Had lodged its bitter near her soul,

And gave a tinge to every pleasure.

And, though there ne'er was rapture given Like Psyche's with that radiant boy,

Hers is the only face in heaven

That wears a cloud amid its joy.

I HAVE a story of two lovers, fill'd

With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness, And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd

Two young and longing hearts in that sweet madness; But where to chuse the locale of my vision

In this wide vulgar world-what real spot
Can be found out, sufficiently elysian

For two such perfect lovers, I know not.
Oh, for some fair Formosa, such as he,
The young Jew,'
'fabled of, in the Indian Sea,
By nothing but its name of Beauty known,
And which Queen Fancy might make all her own,
Her fairy kingdom-take its people, lands,
And tenements into her own bright hands,
And make, at least, one earthly corner fit
For Love to live in-pure and exquisite !

A JOKE VERSIFIED.

« COME, come,» said Tom's father, « at your time of life, There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rakeIt is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife.»« Why, so it is, father,-whose wife shall I take?»>

ON

LIKE a snuffers, this loving old dame,
By a destiny grievous enough,
Though so oft she has snapp'd at the flame,
Hath never caught more than the snuff.

FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER. HERE lies Factotum Ned at last : Long as he breathed the vital air, Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd In which he had n't some small share. Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was outWhatever statesmen did or saidIf not exactly brought about,

Was all, at least, contrived by Ned. With NAP if Russia went to war,

'T was owing, under Providence, To certain hints Ned gave the Czar(Vide his pamphlet-price six pence.)

Psalmanazar.