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BY MARY HOWITT.
Not a care hath Marian Lee, Dwelling by the sounding sea; Her young life's a flowing way, Without toil from day to day; Without bodings for the morrow ;Marian was not made for sorrow!
Like the summer-billows wild, Leaps the happy-hearted child ! Sees her father's fishing-boat O’er the ocean gaily float;Lists her brother's evening song, By the light gale borne along; Half a league she hears the lay, Ere they turn into the bay; And with glee, o'er cliff and main, Sings an answer back again, Which by man and boy is heard, Like the carol of a bird!
Look!-she sitteth laughing there, Wreathing sea-weeds in her hair ! Saw you e'er a thing so fair ? Marian! some are rich in gold, Heaped-up treasure,—hoards untold ; Some are rich in thoughts refined, And the glorious wealth of mind : Thou, sweet child! life's rose unblown, Hast a treasure of thine own :Youth's most unalloyed delights, Happy days and tranquil nights ; And a brain with thought unvexed, And a light heart, unperplexed! Go, thou sweet one! all day long, Like a glad bird, pour thy song, And let thy young graceful head Be with sea-flowers garlanded; For all outward signs of glee Well become thee, MARIAN LEE!
THE BELLE OF THE BALL-ROOM.
AN EVERY-DAY CHARACTER.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “LILLIAN.”
Il faut juger des femmes depuis la chaussure jusqu'a la coiffure exclusivement, à peu près comme on mesure le poisson entre queue et tête.
Had been of being wise or witty ;-
Or yawned o'er this infernal Chitty ;
Was in my fowling-piece and filly ;-
I fell in love with Laura Lily.
I saw her at the Country-Ball:
There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle
Of hands across and down the middle,
Of all that set young hearts romancing ;
Her voice was exquisitely tender ;
I never saw a waist so slender; Her every look, her every smile,
Shot right and left a score of arrows; I thought ’t was Venus from her isle,
And wondered where she 'd left her sparrows.
Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets ; Of danglers, or of dancing bears,
Of battles, or the last new bonnets :
To me it mattered not a tittle ;
I might have thought they murmured Little.
Through sunny May, through sultry June,
I loved her with a love eternal ; I spoke her praises to the moon,
I wrote them to the Sunday Journal : My mother laughed ;-I soon found out
That ancient ladies have no feeling : My father frowned ;—but how should gout
See any happiness in kneeling ?
She was the daughter of a Dean,
Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic ; She had one brother, just thirteen,
Whose colour 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 honours, Cupid chuses; He cares as little for the Stocks,
As Baron Rothschild for the Muses.
She sketched ;-the vale, the wood, the beach
Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading :
Young blossom in her boudoir fading;
She made the Catalini jealous;