CCXXVIII.

I LOVED thee, beautiful and kind,
And plighted an eternal vow;
So alter'd are thy face and mind,
'Twere perjury to love thee now.

Robert, Earl Nugent.

CCXXIX.

To my ninth decade I have totter'd on,
And no soft arm bends now my step to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.
Walter Savage Landor.

CCXXX.

My heart still hovering round about you
I thought I could not live without you:
But since we ve been three months asunder,
How I lived with you is the wonder.

CCXXXI.

Unknown.

ON THE DISTINGUISHED SINGER, MISS
MARIA TREE.

On this Tree if a nightingale settles and sings,
The Tree will return her as good as she brings.

Henry Luttrell.

CCXXXII.

ON SOUTHEY'S DEATH.

FRIENDS! hear the words my wandering thoughts would say,
And cast them into shape some other day;
Southey, my friend of forty years, is gone,

And, shatter'd by the fall, I stand alone.

Walter Savage Landor.

CCXXXIII.

THE LADY WHO OFFERS HER LOOKINGGLASS TO VENUS.

VENUS, take my votive glass;
Since I am not what I was,

What from this day I shall be,

Venus, let me never see.

Matthew Prior. (From Plato.)

CCXXXIV.

MYRTILLA, early on the lawn,
Steals roses from the blushing dawn;
But when Myrtilla sleeps till ten,
Aurora steals them back again!

Unknown.

CCXXXV.

ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG PRESENTED BY MR. POPE TO THE PRINCE OF WALES.

I AM his Highness' dog at Kew;

Pray, tell me, sir, whose dog are you ?

Alexander Pope.

CCXXXVI.

ON THE GREEK SCHOLAR GOTTFRIED
HERMANN.

A Syllogism, with the Conclusion suppressed.

THE Germans in Greek

Are sadly to seek;

Not five in five-score

But ninety-five more;

All save only Hermann,

And--Hermann's a German.

Richard Porson.

CCXXXVII.

AN EXPOSTULATION.

WHEN late I attempted your pity to move,
What made you so deaf to my prayers?
Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love,
But-why did you kick me down stairs?

CCXXXVIII.

JOB.

Bickerstaff.

SLY Beelzebub took all occasions
To try Job's constancy and patience.
He took his honour, took his health;
He took his children, took his wealth,
His servants, horses, oxen, cows,-
But cunning Satan did not take his spouse.

But Heaven, that brings out good from evil,
And loves to disappoint the devil,

Had predetermined to restore

Twofold all he had before;

His servants, horses, oxen, cows—

Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse !

CCXXXIX.

Samuel T. Coleridge.

LORD ERSKINE, on woman presuming to rail,
Calls a wife, a tin canister tied to one's tail;

And fair Lady Anne, while the subject he carries on,
Seems hurt at his Lordship's degrading comparison.
But wherefore degrading? consider'd aright,

A canister's polish'd, and useful, and bright:
And should dirt its original purity hide,

That's the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied.

Matthew G. Lewis.

CCXL.

COLOGNE.

IN Köln, a town of monks and bones,

And pavement fang'd with murderous stones,

And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two-and-seventy stenches,

All well defined, and several stinks!
Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne ;

But tell me, nymphs! what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?

CCXLI.

Samuel T. Coleridge.

TO SLEEP.

COME, gentle sleep, attend thy votary's prayer,
And, tho' Death's image, to my couch repair;
How sweet, tho' lifeless, yet with life to lie,
And without dying, O, how sweet to die!

CCXLII.

TO BEN JONSON.

AH Ben!

Say how or when

Shall we, thy guests,
Meet at those lyric feasts,

Made at the Sun,

The Dog, the Triple-Tun;
Where we such clusters had,

John Wolcot.

As made us nobly wild, not mad?
And yet each verse of thine

Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

My Ben!

O come again,

Or send to us

Thy wits' great overplus;

But teach us yet

Wisely to husband it,

Lest we that talent spend;

And having once brought to an end

That precious stock, the store

Of such a wit, the world should have no more.

Robert Herrick

N

CCXLIII.

THE DRAGON-FLY.

LIFE (priest and poet say) is but a dream;
I wish no happier one than to be laid
Beneath some cool syringa's scented shade,
Or wavy willow, by the running stream,
Brimful of moral, where the Dragon-fly
Wanders as careless and content as I.

Thanks for this fancy, insect king,
Of purple crest and meshy wing,
Who, with indifference, givest up
The water-lily's golden cup;
To come again and overlook
What I am writing in my book.
Believe me, most who read the line
Will read with hornier eyes than thine;
And yet their souls shall live for ever,
And thine drop dead into the river!
God pardon them, O insect king,

Who fancy so unjust a thing!

Walter Savage Landor.

CCXLIV.

ON A FLY DRINKING OUT OF HIS CUP.

Busy, curious, thirsty fly!

Drink with me, and drink as I.
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may;
Life is short and wears away.

Both alike are mine and thine,
Hastening quick to their decline.