IF! F life were never bitter, And love were always sweet, If Thames would always glitter, And love were always sweet. If care were not the waiter Sit down to Richmond dinners, And life's swift stream flows straighter- 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,” If no clear translucent river Winds 'neath willow-shaded paths, "Children and adults" may shiver All day in "Chalybeate baths." And on every side the painter There I met with him, my chosen Friend -the "long" but not "stern swell,” Faultless in his hats and hosen, Whom the Johnian lawns know well: Oh my comrade, ever valued! Still I see your festive face; See you sit with that composure That the novice would suppose your Or anon, when evening lent her Ah delectablest of summers! How my heart—that “muffled drum,” O among the dancers peerless, At my side she mashed the fragrant Drooped o'er saddened eye's, when vagrant Then we danced, we walked together; But-O in the deuxtemps peerless, And the lean and hungry raven, CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY. INVITED AND DECLINING. RANK AYLMER'S hand! I know it well; So manly, vigorous, and clear- And heir to thousands ten a-year. Of future fun.-Ay, so I thought! "You'll come for Christmas to The Ferns, And always have some nice one next Cross horse of mine, however bad, never mind! you: Bulbul, the poet, comes that week, Since last you dined at mess: The coryphée, and saw him use "Kate Brandeth comes to us, I hope, As Horne comes with her-her fiancé ; We've ask'd Du Singe, who shot the apes; "Snorter will have the cedar-room (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; Shake up your liver with a ride; And brace up your muscles with a caper. Those rounded shoulders, careworn looks, And bring back to our eyes once more No, dear old Frank! though heaven knows All for my own enjoyment meant ! |