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The heart that was throbbing with pleasure,

The eyelid that long'd for repose-
The beaux that were dreaming of treasure,

The girls that were dreaming of beaux, 'Tis over—the lights are all dying,

The coaches aìl driving away;
And many a fair one is sighing,

And many a false one is gay;
And Beauty counts over her numbers

Of conquests, as homeward she drives
And some are gone home to their slumbers,

And some are gone home to their wives.
And I, while my cab in the shower

Is waiting, the last at the door
Am looking all around for the flower

That fell from your wreath on the floor,
I'll keep it—if but to remind me,

Though withered and faded its hueWherever next season may find me

Of England-of Almack's—and you ! There are tones that will haunt us, though lonely

Our path be o'er mountain or sea;
There are looks that will part from us only

When memory ceases to be;
There are hopes which our burden can lighten,

Though toilsome and steep be the way;
And dreams that, like moonlight, can brighten

With a light that is clearer than day.
There are names that we cherish, though nameless;

For aye on the lips they may be ; There are hearts that, though fetter'd, are tameless,

And thoughts unexpress'd, but still free!

And some are too grave for a rover,

And some for a husband too light.
-The ball and my dream are all over-
Good night to thee, lady! good night !

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Oh! there is a time, a happy time,

When a boy is just half a man ;
When ladies may kiss him without a crime,

And flirt with him like a fan :-
When mammas with their daughters will leave him

alone, If he only will seem to fear them ; While were he a man, or a little more grown,

They never would let him near them.

These, Lilly !-these were the days when you

Were my boyhood's earliest flame,
When I thought it an honour to tie your shoe,

And trembled to hear your name:-
When I scarcely ventured to take a kiss,

Though your lips seemed half to invite me ; But, Lilly! I soon got over this, –

When I kissed and they did not bite me ! Oh! these were gladsome and fairy times,

And our hearts were then in their Spring, When I passed my nights in writing you rhymes,

And my days in hearing you sing :

And don't you remember your mother's dismay

When she found in your drawer my sonnet; And the beautiful verses I wrote, one day,

On the ribbon that hung from your bonnet ! And the seat we made by the fountain's gush,

Where your task you were wont to say,-
And how I lay under the holly-bush

Till your governess went away :-
And how, when too long at your task you sat,

Or whenever a kiss I wanted,
I brayed like an ass-or mewed like a cat,

Till she deemed that the place was haunted !
And do you not, love, remember the days

When I dressed you for the play,When I pinned your kerchief, and laced your stays

In the neatest and tidiest way !
And do you forget the kiss you gave

When I tore my hand with the pin ;-
And how you wondered men would not shave

The beards from their horrible chin.
And do you remember the garden wall

I climbed up every night, -
And the racket we made in the servants' hall

When the wind had put out the light ;-
When Sally got up in her petticoat,

And John came out in his shirt,-
And I silenced her with a guinea-note,

And blinded him with a squirt !
And don't you remember the horrible bite

I got from the gardener's bitch,
When John let her out of the kennel, for spite,

And she seized me, crossing the ditch ;

And how you wept when you saw my blood,

And numbered me with Love's martyrs,-
And how you helped me out of the mud,

By tying together your garters !

But, Lilly ! now I am grown a man,

And those days have all gone by,
And Fortune may give me the best she can,

And the brightest destiny;
But I would give every hope and joy

That my spirit may taste again,
That I once more were that gladsome boy,

And that you were as young as then.


"You have often promised to teach me Greek and Latin. Now, that we are in this classic land, do keep your promise.”— Conversation on the beach at Salerno.

Oh, yes ! beside that moonlit creek,

Where sleep the silent waters,
I'll teach thee all I know of Greek,

Young queen of beauty's daughters !
And each sweet eve, by that lone shore,

Where no rude step can fright us,
We'll cull sweet flowers of classic lore,

With the young stars to light us !

I'll teach thee how the billows grieve,

Where Lesbian Sappho slumbers,
How young Catullus used to weave

Fresh heart-sighs with his numbers :

How Ariadne sighed and wept,

And watched her love's returning;
And the young maid of Sestos kept

Her love-lamp ever burning.

There by the light the quiet sky

And the soft stars have made us,
Thou for my Commentary ;-I

Thy Lexicon and Gradus ;-
We'll con each page of that bright lore,

Love taught those maiden sages
Who read in Paphos' bowers of yore,

With moonlight on the pages !

And if, ere half our walk be done,

Some ruined fane we light on,
Which love once warmed, -some little one

That moonlight then is bright on ;
We'll kneel—and should some spark that glows

Still round the altar, reach us,
And light our hearts-Heaven only knows

What wondrous things 'twill teach us !

STANZAS. “Why will you never listen to an Irish melody?”—Query in a Ball-room.

The songs she sung—the songs she sung !

How many a sigh they stole !
Oh ! there be lutes as sweetly strung,

But none with half the soul


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