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She kept an album, too, at home,
Well fill'd with all an album's glories; Paintings of butterflies and Rome,
Patterns for trimming, Persian stories; Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo,
Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter;
And recipes of elder water.
Her steps were watch'd, her dress was noted, Her poodle dog was quite adored,
Her sayings were extremely quoted.
As if the taxes were abolish'd;
As if the opera were demolish’d.
She smild on many just for fun
I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first, the only one
Her heart had thought of for a minute ; I knew it, for she told me so,
In phrase which was divinely moulded ; She wrote a charming hand, and oh!
How sweetly all her notes were folded !
Our love was like most other loves
A little glow, a little shiver; A rosebud and a pair of gloves,
And “ Fly Not Yet," upon the river; Some jealousy of some one's heir,
Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair,
The usual vows and then we parted.
We parted — months and years roll'd by;
We met again four summers after ; Our parting was all sob and sigh
Our meeting was all mirth and laughter; For in my heart's most secret cell,
There had been many other lodgers; And she was not the ball-room belle,
But only Mrs. — Something - Rogers.
TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE.
And an infant's idle laughter,
The New came dancing after !
Let Revelry hold her ladle;
Fling roses on the cradle;
Pages to pour the wine;
And a health to Twenty-Nine!
Alas for human happiness!
Alas for human sorrow ! Our yesterday is nothingness,
What else will be our morrow ?
And Knavery stealing purses;
And wits by making verses ;
The same stars set and shine; And the world as it rolled through Twenty-Eight,
Must roll through Twenty-Nine.
Some King will come, in Heaven's good time,
To the tomb his father came to;
To a crown he has no claim to;
The manacles that bound her;
To fasten them proudly round her;
And combat and combine ;
We shall be in Twenty-Nine.
O'Connell will toil to raise the Rent,
And Kenyon to sink the Nation; And Shiel will abuse the Parliament,
And Peel the Association;
And thought of bayonets and swords
Will make ex-Chancellors merry ; And jokes will be cut in the House of Lords,
And throats in the County of Kerry;
On the Cabinet's design;
It will do in Twenty-Nine.
And the God of Cups his orgies; And there'll be riots in St. Giles,
And weddings in St. George's; And mendicants will sup like Kings,
And Lords will swear like lackeys; And black eyes oft will lead to rings,
And rings will lead to black eyes ;
In a dialect all divine ;
They will part in Twenty-Nine.
And talk of his oils and blubbers;
And rather longer rubbers;
How utterly ruined Trade is :
With half a hundred ladies ;
And his thirst from Bordeaux wine :
"T will be redder in Twenty-Nine.
And oh! I shall find how, day by day,
All thoughts and things look older;
And the heart of Friendship colder;
Sworn foe to Lady Reason,
And fond of talking treason;
And throw and write my line;
I shall worship in Twenty-Nine.