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And the smile that should never have
alter'dDear Clarence—it is not your own: Your cravat is badly selected;
Your coat don't become you at all; And why is your hair so neglected?
You must have it curl'd for our Ball.
I've often been out upon Haldon
To look for a covey with pup;
To see how your boat is laid up:
In spite of the terrors of Aunty, 'TWERE IDLE, OR WORSE, TO RECALL.”
I've ridden the filly you broke; You'll come to our Ball;—since we parted,
And I've studied your sweet little Dante I've thought of you more than I'll say;
In the shade of your favourite oak; Indeed, I was half broken-hearted
When I sat in July to Sir Lawrence, For a week, when they took you away.
I sat in your love of a shawl; Fond fancy brought back to my slumbers
bers And I'll wear what you brought me from Our walks on the Ness and the Den,
Florence, And echo'd the musical numbers
Perhaps, if you'll come to our Ball. Which you used to sing to me then.
You'll find us all changed since you vanI know the romance, since it's over, 'Twere idle, or worse, to recall;
ish'd; I know you're a terrible rover;
We've set up a National School; But, Clarence, you'll come to our Ball!
And waltzing is utterly banish'd,
And Ellen has married a fool;
The Major is going to travel,
nce, you're grown out of knowl. The walk is laid down with fresh gravel, edge,
Papa is laid up with the gout; And changed from the spur to the And Jane has gone on with her easels, crown:
And Anne has gone off with Sir Paul; The voice that was best when it falter'd And Fanny is sick with the measles,Is fuller and firmer in tone,
And I'll tell you the rest at the Ball.
You'll meet all your Beauties: the
Lily, And the Fairy of Willowbrook Farm, And Lucy, who made me so silly
At Dawlish, by taking your arm; Miss Manners, who always abused you
For talking so much about Hock, And her sister, who often amused you
By raving of rebels and Rock; And something which surely would
answer, An heiress quite fresh from Bengal; So, though you were seldom a dancer, You'll dance, just for once, at our
You once could be pleased with our bal.
lads,To-day you have critical ears; You once could be charmed with our
salads, Alas! you've been dining with Peers; You trifled and Airted with many,
You've forgotten the when and the how; There was one you liked better than any,
Perhaps you've forgotten her now. But of those you remember most newly,
Of those who delight or enthrall, None love you a quarter so truly
As some you will find at our Ball.
But out on the World! from the flowers
It shuts out the sunshine of truth; It blights the green leaves in the
bowers, It makes an old age of our youth; And the flow of our feeling, once in it,
Like a streamlet beginning to freeze, Though it cannot turn ice in a minute,
Grows harder by sudden degrees. Time treads o'er the graves of affection;
Sweet honey is turn’d into gall; Perhaps you have no recollection
That ever you danced at our Ball!
They tell me you've many who flatter,
Because of your wit and your song: They tell me--and what does it matter?
You like to be praised by the throng: They tell me you're shadow'd with laurel:
They tell me you're loved by a Blue: They tell me you're sadly immoral —
Dear Clarence, that cannot be true! But to me you are still what I found you,
Before you grew clever and tall; And you'll think of the spell that once
bound you; And you'll come-won't you come?to our Ball!
Winthrop M. Praed.