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But no doubt Sir Francis G-
Should be “skyed!”
Ah! were I but twenty-two,
For his own !
If I knew but your papa,
As the sun,
J. ASHBY STERRY.
TO MY GRANDMOTHER.
(SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY MR. ROMNEY.)
HIS relative of mine,
When she died ?
As a bride.
Beneath a summer tree,
Has a charm;
For an arm !
With her bridal-wreath, bouquet,
Are they dumb ?
Marry thee ?
When I first
Done their worst.
That fowl's avenging sprite
Near her eye.
Her rounded form was lean,
Well I wot
Would she not?
Ah! perishable clay;
One by one :
Will be done.”
In travail, as in tears,
Are at rest.
you now are there,
And-sweet as once you were,
FREDERICK LOCKER. WHAT IS LONDON'S LAST NEW LION ?
HAT is London's last new lion? Pray, inform me if
you can; Is't a woman of Kamschatka or an Otaheite man
n? For my conversazione you must send me some
thing new, Don't forget me! Oh I sigh for the éclat of a
début! I am sick of all the “minstrels," all the “brothers'
this and that, Who sing sweetly at the parties, while the ladies
laugh and chat; And the man who play'd upon his chin is passé, I
suppose, So try and find a gentleman who plays upon his
Send half-a-dozen authors, for they help to fill a
rout, I fear I've worn the literary lionesses out! Send something biographical, I think that fashion
spreads, But do not send a poet, till you find one with two
heads. The town has grown fastidious, we do not care a
straw For the whiskers of a bandit, or the tail of a
bashaw ! And travellers are out of date, I mean to cut them
soon, Unless you send me some one who has travell’d to Oh! if you send a singer, he must sing without a
throat ! Oh, if you send a player, he must harp upon one
note ! I must have something marvellous, the marvel
makes the man ; What is London's last new lion ? pray inform me if you can.
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
ZHAT ecstasies her bosom fire !
How her eyes languish with desire !
Were that fond glance bestow'd on me!
Some gems collect; some medals prize,
Philosophers, more grave than wise,