And do you love your brother James? And don't you dote on Malibran ? And don't you think Tom Moore delightful? I see they've brought you flowers to-day; From all the pinks, and all the roses; Of one whose look as fondly answers? And is he, fairest, in the Church? Or is he ain't he-in the Lancers? And is your love a motley page Of black and white, half joy, half sorrow? Are you to wait till you're of age? Or are you to be his to-morrow? Or do they bid you, in their scorn, Your pure and sinless flame to smother? Is he so very meanly born? Or are you married to another? Whate'er you are, at last, adieu ! I think it is your bounden duty To let the rhymes I coin for you Be prized by all who prize your beauty. From you I seek nor gold nor fame ; From you I fear no cruel strictures ; I wish some girls that I could name Were half as silent as their pictures! I REMEMBER--I remember And the warmth of its July: But my pleasures are not now, love, Then the bowers-then the bowers Were coronals for me: Gems to-night, love-gems to-night, love, Are gleaming in my hair; But they are not half so bright, love, As Childhood's roses were. I was singing-I was singing, Now I sing, love-now I sing, love, But it's not so glad a thing, love, I was merry-I was merry When my little lovers came, With a lily, or a cherry, Or a new invented game : Now I've you, love-now I've To kneel before me there; you, love, But you know you're not so true, love, As Childhood's lovers were ! PRETTY Coquette, the ceaseless play And thy dark eye's remembered ray By buoyant fancy lit, And thy young forehead's clear expanse, Dreamlike, I saw thee flit, Are far too warm and far too fair To mix with aught of earthly care; But the vision shall come when my day is done, A frail and a fair and a fleeting one! 1 |