« PreviousContinue »
These twinkling tiny lustres of the land
So when a child, as playful children use,
A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN.
Risum teneatis, amici ?
Said I, as off to sleep I went,
On the Irish Church Establishment.
When Fancy her usual tricks began,
To a goodly city of Hindostan-
On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner ;
And accordingly-never drest for dinner.
“But how is this?” I wondering cried, As I walked that city, fair and wide, And saw in every marble street,
A row of beautiful butchers' shops,
This grand display of loins and chops ? "
So, on, from street to street I strode ;
The butchers look'd-a roseate crew,
Still posed to think what all this scene
By yonder rascally rice-consumers. “What! they, who mustn't eat meat!” “No matter 'i (And while he spoke his cheeks grew fatter), “ The rogues may munch their Paddy crop, But the rogues must still support our shop. And, depend upon it, the way to treat
Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, Is to burthen all that won't eat meat
With a costly Meat Establishment."
On hearing these words so gravely said,
With a volley of laughter loud I shook ;
WHEN Love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him,
To Heaven, if she should leave him.
But Spring departing, saw his faith
Pledged to the next new comerHe reveli'd in the warmer breath
And richer bowers of Summer.
Then sportive Autumn claim'd by rights
An Archer for her lover,
A charm he could discover.
For this time were his reasons
WHEN the black-letter'd list to the gods was presented,
(The list of what Fate for each mortal-intends) At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented,
And slipt in three blessings—wife, children, and friends. In vain surly Pluto maintain’d he was cheated,
For justice divine could not compass her ends;
For earth becomes heaven with wife, children, and friends If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested,
The fund ill-secured oft in bankruptcy ends;
When drawn on the firm of Wife, Children, and Friends. Though valour still glows in his life’s waning embers,
The death-wounded tar who his colours defends, Drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers
How blest was his home with wife, children, and friends. The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story,
Whom duty to far distant latitudes sends,
For one happy day with wife, children, and friends.
Though round him Arabia's whole fragrance ascends, The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover
The bower where he sat with wife, children, and friends. The day-spring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow,
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends ; But drear is the twilight of age if it borrow
No warmth from the smiles of wife, children, and friends,
Let the breath of Renown ever freshen and cherish
The laurel which o'er her dead savourite bends, O’er me wave the willow! and long may it flourish
Bedew'd with the tears of wife, children, and friends. Let us drink-for my song, growing graver and graver,
To subjects too solemn insensibly tends; Let us drink-pledge me high-Love and Virtue shall flavour The glass which I fill to wife, children, and friends.
Honble. William R. Spencer.
THE OLD STORY OVER AGAIN.
WHEN I was a maid,
Nor of lovers afraid,
Her lectures were long,
But I thought her quite wrong,
Now teaching, in turn,
What I never could learn,
Men ever deceive,
Silly maidens believe,
So humbly they woo,
What can poor maidens do
Ah! who can forbear,
As they weep in despair,
Yet, wedded at last,
When the honeymoon's past,
Our vanity's check'd,
And we ne'er can expect
THE GIRL OF CADIZ.
O, NEVER talk again to me
Of northern climes and British ladies; It has not been your lot to see,
Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. Altho' her eyes be not of blue,
Nor fair her locks, like English lasses', How far its own expressive hue
The languid azure eye surpasses ! Prometheus-like from Heaven she stole
The fire that thro' those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll,
From eyes that cannot hide their flashes; And as along her bosom steal
In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel,
And curl'd to give her neck caresses. Our English maids are long to woo,
And frigid even in possession; And if their charms be fair to view,
Their lips are slow at Love's confession; But, born beneath a brighter sun,
For love ordain’d the Spanish maid is, And who,—when fondly, fairly won
Enchants you like the girl of Cadiz ? The Spanish maid is no coquette,
Nor joys to see a lover tremble; And if she love, or if she hate,
Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold
Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; And, tho' it will not bend to gold,
'Twill love you long, and love you dearly, The Spanish girl that meets your love
Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial; For every thought is bent to prove
Her passion in the hour of trial.