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I clambered up a lofty rock,

And did not find it steep;
I read through a page and a half of Locke

And did not fall asleep.
I said whate'er I may but feel,

I paid whate’er I owe;
And I danced one day an Irish reel

With the gout in every toe.

And I was more than six feet high,

And fortunate and wise ;
And I had a voice of melody,

And beautiful black eyes;
My horses like the lightning went,

My barrels carried true;
And I held my tongue at an argument,

And winning cards at Loo.

I saw an old Italian priest,

Who spoke without disguise;
And I dined with a Judge, who swore, like Best,

All libels should be lies.
I bought for a penny a two-penny loaf

Of wheat, and nothing more ;
I danced with a female philosopher

Who was not quite a bore.

There was a crop of wheat which grew

Where plough was never brought; There was a noble lord who knew

What he was never taught.

There was a scheme in the gazette

For a lottery without blanks ; And a Parliament had lately met,

Without a single Bankes.

And there were Kings who never went

To cuffs for half a crown;
And Lawyers who were eloquent

Without a wig or gown:
And Statesmen who forebore to praise

Their grayhounds and their guns;
And Poets who deserved the bays,

And did not dread the duns ;

And Boroughs were bought without a test,

And no man feared the Pope;
And the Irish cabins were all possessed

Of Liberty and soap;
And the Chancellor, feeling very sick,

Had just resigned the seals;
And a clever little Catholic

Was hearing Scotch appeals.

There was no fraud in the penal code,

No dunce in the public schools, No dust or dirt on a private road,

No shame in Wellesly Pole.
They showed me a figurante, whose name

Had never known disgrace;
And a gentleman of spotless fame,

With Mr. Bochsa's face.

It was an idle dream-but thou,

Beloved one! wert there; With thy dark clear eyes and beaming brow,

White neck and floating hair ; And oh! I had an honest heart,

And a house of Portland Stone; And thou wert dear, as still thou art:

And more than dear-my own.

Oh bitterness! the morning broke,

Alike for boor and bard;
And thou wert married when I woke,

And all the rest were marred :
And toil and trouble, noise and steam,

Came back with coming ray,
And if I thought the dead could dream,

I'd hang myself to-day.


Not mine this lesson—but experience's which it taught me.

THERE was a time when I could feel

All passion's hopes and fears,
And tell what tongues can ne'er reveal,

By smiles, and sighs, and tears.
The days are gone! no more! no more,

The cruel fates allow;
And though I'm hardly twenty-four,
I'm not a lover now !
Lady, the mist is on my sight,

The chill is on my brow;
My day is night, my bloom is blight,

I'm not a lover now !

I never talk about the clouds,

I laugh at girls and boys;
I'm growing rather fond of crowds,

And very fond of noise

I never wander forth alone

Upon the mountain's brow;
I weighed last winter sixteen stone

I'm not a lover now !

I never wish to raise a veil,

I never raise a sigh,
I never tell a tender tale,

I never tell a lie;
I cannot kneel as once I did,

I've quite forgot my bow,
I never do as I am bid-

I'm not a lover now.

I make strange blunders every day,

If I would be gallant-
Take smiles for wrinkles, black for gray,

And nieces for their aunt ;
I fly from folly, though it flows

From lips of loveliest glow;
I don't object to length of nose

I'm not a lover now !

The Muse's steed is very fleet

I'd rather ride my mare ;
The poet hunts a quaint conceit-

I'd rather hunt a hare;
I've learned to utter yours


you, Instead of thine and thou; And, oh! I can't endure a blue!

I'm not a lover now !

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