Fix'd are their feet in solid earth, Have reach'd their roots below. There's little Will, a five years child— To look on eyes so fair and wild, He hath conversed with sun and shower, As fresh and gay as them. He loiters with the briar rose,— And I have said, my little Will, A thing beyond the world's control- No human sorrow fearing. It were a blessed sight to see His brother trees among. He'd be four times as tall as me, And live three times as long. Catherine M. Fanshawe CCCLXXXIII. THE BROKEN DISH. WHAT'S life but full of care and doubt, With parasols we walk about, We plant pomegranate trees and things, With toys and fans of peacock's wings, We gather flowers of every hue, Walking about their groves of trees, Thomas Hood. CCCLXXXIV. ELEGY ON THE ABROGATION OF THE BIRTHNIGHT BALL, AND THE CONSEQUENT FINAL SUBVERSION OF THE MINUET. By a beau of the last century. Now cease the exulting strain, And bid the warbling lyre complain; Heave the soft sigh, and drop the tuneful tear, And mingle notes far other than of mirth, E'en with the song that greets the new-born year, Or hails the day that gave a monarch birth. That self-same sun whose chariot wheels have roll'd Up to the axles in refulgent gold, And gems, and silk, and crape, and flowers, and foil; Bequeath his honours to his heirs, As erst, with kindred pomp, his absence from the sky. For ever at his lordly call Uprose the spangled night! Leading, in gorgeous splendour bright, The minuet and the Ball. And balls each frolic hour may bring, That revels through the maddening spring, Shaking with hurried steps the painted floor : But Minuets are no more! No more the well-taught feet shall tread The figure of the mazy Zed: The beau of other times shall mourn, Such pains, such pleasures, now alike are o'er, In their stead, behold advancing, Where's the air, and where's the gait? Where's the frizzed toupee? and where, Mark the pair, whom favouring fortune Humbly they the rest impòrtune Not the graceful arm to wave in, Her downcast eye the modest beauty And their endless task fulfil : While the rest in hedgerow state, Like trees fast rooted to the ground. Not such as once, with sprightly motion, Or balls of modern date? Be mine to trace the Minuet's fate, And weep its fallen glory : To ask, Who rang the parting knell ? If Vestris came the solemn dirge to hear? Genius of Valoüy, didst thou hover near? Shade of Lepicq! and spirit of Gardel! I saw their angry forms arise Where wreaths of smoke involve the skies I heard them curse our heavy heel, To the dense air the curse adhesive clung, In words that may be said, but never shall be sung Did war subvert the manners of the State? They left a name, that time itself might spare, Careless pleasure's sons and daughters, From good King Bladud's healing waters; Sadden'd with laughter, wasted with a sneer, Ah! not unhappy who securely rest, Within the sacred precincts of a court; Who, then, their timid steps shall dare arrest ? White wands shall guide them, and gold sticks support. In vain-these eyes with tears of horror wet, Read its death-warrant in the Court Gazette! "No ball to-night!" Lord Chamberlain proclaims; Catherine M. Fanshawe. CCCLXXXV. GOOD-NIGHT. GOOD-NIGHT? ah! no; the hour is ill Then it will be Good-night. How can I call the lone night good, Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? Be it not said, thought, understood, That it will be Good-night. |