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Well I remember those days of yore,
from Dreamland's silent shore,
Where the love-light glitter'd, soft and modest ! And I see her form before me rise,
So delicately bodiced.
And the sunset-flags in the west unfurl,
All my own--that fair young girl. Now the old bells rang in that grey
church tower, And every
cloud from the heavens had fled'Twas of sweet spring days the very
flower When Amy and I were wed. Why should I think of the honeymoon,
Of the vague red cliffs and the bright blue sea ? o I drank the wine of my life that June,
When the wind on the sands blew freeWhen the seagull dipt, and the white sail glittered,
And my gay girl-wife on the sands would sing, And never a thought of care embittered
My days with that sweet young thing. Well, it's over now. We didn't
With a pretty little fool.
I hated her mother, a sour old girl ;
Of her stiff old uncle, the Earl,
And the devil-black eyes of little Lorette
Made rather a fool of me, that I allow. And I went out to supper, and got into debt,
And at last came a deuce of a row.
Well, thanks to Sir Cresswell Cresswell, we,
Who were man and wife, are severed again, It's an easy business now, you see. Jack, another glass of champagne,
when we parted,
or care ; A sigh and a tear, a poor boy broken-hearted, Was naught, for what feelings had you then to
spare? 'Twas nothing to you that my best hopes were
shattered, You knew all the time that
meant we should part; With fair words did you think I e'er could feel
flattered, From lips feigning truth with such falseness at
Act I, Ah ! lovely and lost one, I muse in the gloaming,
And think of one midsummer twilight last year, But one little year past, when we two were roaming
With hand locked in hand by the still solemn mere. Have you, love, forgotten that night and those
pledges, Half-whispered, half-sobbed, 'neath that calm
summer sky? In fancy I hear the faint shiver of sedges,
And still the low plash of the water seems nigh.
You've made, what the world calls, a capital mar
riage, Your dinners are perfect, your
dances the rage ; They talk, at the clubs, of your new pony-carriage, And sneer at your husband, who's double your
age. Ah! fairest of false ones, I'd have
you remember, Though blooming and bright be the freshness
of May, 'Twill tremble before the cool breath of December,
'Twill silently droop and then wither away!
They tell me you're happy; and yet, on reflection, I find they talk more of your wealth than of
you; And if you have moments of thought and dejec
may be those moments are known but to few; You've rubies and pearls and a brilliant tiara;
You breakfast off Sèvres of the real bleu du Roi; 'Tis better no doubt than a heart, mia cara, And a poor posy ring with its “Pensez à
Act IV. Nay, blame not your husband, nor think you're
used badly, 'Twas simply a matter of money and trade ; You named him your “figure," he paid it too
gladly, Your heart was no part of the bargain he made. He purchased a wife to embellish his table,
To humour his whims and obey his behests : One lovely and clever, one willing and able
To prove his good taste and to talk to his
Act V. At times, when 'mid riches and splendour you
languish, To still your poor conscience you fruitlessly try; As tears are fast falling in bitterest anguish, You'll own there is something that money can't
buy. Yes, love, there are mem'ries e'en gold cannot stifle,
The ghost of a dead love that will not be laid ; And while in the bright world of pleasure you
trifle, Do you never meet the sad eyes of the shade ?
J. ASHBY STERRY.
NVITATIONS I will write ;
All the world I will invite ;
To the tip-tops of gentility,
See my footman, how he runs !
at home to Guardsmen all,
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
NOT AT HOME.
OT at home! not at home! close my
curtain again; Go and send the intruders away ; They may knock if they will, but 'tis
labour in vain, For I am not made up for the day.