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F life were never bitter,
And love were always sweet, Then who would care to borrow
A moral from to-morrow, If Thames would always glitter,
And joy would ne'er retreat, If life were never bitter,
And love were always sweet.
If care were not the waiter
Behind a fellow's chair, When easy-going sinners Sit down to Richmond dinners, And life's swift stream flows straighter
By Jove, it would be rare, If care were not the waiter
Behind a fellow's chair.
If wit were always radiant,
And wine were always iced, And bores were kicked out straightway Through a convenient gateway; Then down the year's long gradient
'Twere sad to be enticed, If wit were always radiant, And wine were always iced.
MORTIMER COLLINS. " THERE STANDS A CITY.”
EAR by year do Beauty's daughters
In the sweetest gloves and shawls, Troop to taste the Chattenham waters,
And adorn the Chattenham balls.
“ Nulla non donanda laura,"
Is that city : you could not, Placing England's map before you,
Light on a more favoured spot.
If no clear translucent river
Winds 'neath willow-shaded paths, “ Children and adults”
shiver All day in “ Chalybeate baths."
And on every side the painter
Looks on wooded vale and plain And on fair hills, faint and fainter
Outlined as they near the main. There I met with him,
chosen Friend—the “long” but not "stern swell,” Faultless in his hats and hosen,
Whom the Johnian lawns know well :
my comrade, ever valued! Still I see your festive face; Hear you humming of “the gal you'd
Left behind" in massive bass :
sit with that composure On the eeliest of hacks, That the novice would suppose your
Manly limbs encased in wax :
Or anon, when evening lent her
Tranquil light to hill and vale, Urge, towards the table’s centre,
With unerring hand, the squail.
Ah delectablest of summers !
How my heart—that “muffled drum,” Which ignores the aid of drummers
Beats, as back thy memories come ! O among the dancers peerless,
Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!
side she mashed the fragrant Strawberry; lashes soft as silk, Drooped o'er saddened eyes, when vagrant
Gnats sought watery graves in milk: Then we danced, we walked together;
Talked-no doubt on trivial topics ; Such as Blondin, or the weather,
Which “recalled us to the tropics.”
But-o in the deuxtemps peerless,
Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!Once more I repeat, that cheerless
Shall my days be till I die. And the lean and hungry raven,
As he picks my bones, will start To observe “M. N.” engraven Neatly on my blighted heart,
CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY. INVITED AND DECLINING.
RANK AYLMER'S hand! I know it
So manly, vigorous, and clear
Rare gift in such a thorough swell,
Some hospitable hope
Though clothed in many a trope,
" You'll come for Christmas to The Ferns,
You know the Governor expects you ;
And always have some nice one next you :
He got with Tommy Hinde;
Bulbul, the poet, comes that week,
And Charley Chesterton—the Smiler'
The scalping-knife of the Reviler.
Since last you dined at mess :
The Freedom of the Press.'
“ Kate Brandeth comes to us, I hope,
And Anne (“I wish I was with Nancy !')
As Horne comes with her—her fiancé ;
He's lost to human ken;
And other noted men.
(It is the Moor-I know his trumpet :); E'en his sonorous nasal boom
Won't wake his neighbour, deaf aunt Crumpet, Flemming, his handkerchief and cough, We've put a little farther off;
While-penance for your crimes ! You'll share my den—you know the spot ! Where Latakie and whiskies hot
Shall flout the midnight chimes. “So come, Ned; fling the pen aside,
Upset the ink and tear the paper ;
And brace up your muscles with a caper.
In London leave behind ;
blind.” No, dear old Frank! though heaven knows
A kinder missive ne'er was sent; Rousseau-like, I myself oppose
All for my own enjoyment meant !