What are those lone ones doing now,

The wife and the children sad? O! they are in a terrible rout,

Screaming, and throwing their pudding about, Acting as they were mad.

They flung it over to Roxbury hills,
They flung it over the plain,

And all over Milton and Dorchester too

Great lumps of pudding the giants threw ;
They tumbled as thick as rain.

Giant and mammoth have passed away, ages have floated by ;

For

The suet is hard as a marrow bone,

And every plum is turned to a stone,
But there the puddings lie.

And if, some pleasant afternoon,

You'll ask me out to ride,

The whole of the story I will tell,

And you shall see where the puddings fell,

And pay for the punch beside.

TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A GENTLEMAN."

IN THE ATHENEUM GALLERY.

Ir may be so,

perhaps thou hast

A warm and loving heart;

I will not blame thee for thy face,
Poor devil as thou art.

That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose,
Unsightly though it be,-

In spite of all the cold world's scorn,
It may be much to thee.

Perhaps they pass for blue;

No matter, if a man can see,

What more have eyes to do?

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66

TO THE PORTRAIT OF 'A GENTLEMAN."

Thy mouth,

that fissure in thy face

By something like a chin,

May be a very useful place

To put thy victual in.

I know thou hast a wife at home,
I know thou hast a child,
By that subdued, domestic smile
Upon thy features mild.

That wife sits fearless by thy side,
That cherub on thy knee;
They do not shudder at thy looks,
They do not shrink from thee.

Above thy mantel is a hook, -
A portrait once was there;

It was thine only ornament,
Alas! that hook is bare.

She begged thee not to let it go,

She begged thee all in vain;

She wept,—and breathed a trembling prayer

To meet it safe again.

TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A GENTLEMAN."

135

It was a bitter sight to see

That picture torn away;

It was a solemn thought to think
What all her friends would say !

And often in her calmer hours,
And in her happy dreams,

Upon its long-deserted hook

The absent portrait seems.

Thy wretched infant turns his head
In melancholy wise,

And looks to meet the placid stare
Of those unbending eyes.

I never saw thee, lovely one, -
Perchance I never may;

It is not often that we cross

Such people in our way;

But if we meet in distant years,
Or on some foreign shore,

Sure I can take my Bible oath,

I've seen that face before.

TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A LADY."

IN THE ATHENEUM GALLERY.

WELL, Miss, I wonder where you live,
I wonder what's your name,
I wonder how you came to be

In such a stylish frame;
Perhaps you were a favorite child,

Perhaps an only one;

Perhaps your friends were not aware
You had your portrait done!

Yet you must be a harmless soul;
I cannot think that Sin

Would care to throw his loaded dice,
With such a stake to win;

I cannot think you would provoke

The poet's wicked pen,

Or make young women bite their lips,
Or ruin fine young men.