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The heart that was throbbing with pleasure,
The eyelid that long'd for repose-
The girls that were dreaming of beaux, 'Tis over—the lights are all dying,
The coaches aìl driving away;
And many a false one is gay;
Of conquests, as homeward she drives
And some are gone home to their wives.
Is waiting, the last at the door
That fell from your wreath on the floor,
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;
When memory ceases to be;
Though toilsome and steep be the way;
With a light that is clearer than day.
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.
Oh! there is a time, a happy time,
When a boy is just half a man ;
And flirt with him like a fan :-
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,
And trembled to hear your name:-
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,-
Till your governess went away :-
Or whenever a kiss I wanted,
Till she deemed that the place was haunted !
When I dressed you for the play,When I pinned your kerchief, and laced your stays
In the neatest and tidiest way !
When I tore my hand with the pin ;-
The beards from their horrible chin.
I climbed up every night, -
When the wind had put out the light ;-
And John came out in his shirt,-
And blinded him with a squirt !
I got from the gardener's bitch,
And she seized me, crossing the ditch ;
And how you wept when you saw my blood,
And numbered me with Love's martyrs,-
By tying together your garters !
But, Lilly ! now I am grown a man,
And those days have all gone by,
And the brightest destiny;
That my spirit may taste again,
And that you were as young as then.
A CLASSICAL WALK.
"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,
Young queen of beauty's daughters !
Where no rude step can fright us,
With the young stars to light us !
I'll teach thee how the billows grieve,
Where Lesbian Sappho slumbers,
Fresh heart-sighs with his numbers :
How Ariadne sighed and wept,
And watched her love's returning;
Her love-lamp ever burning.
There by the light the quiet sky
And the soft stars have made us,
Thy Lexicon and Gradus ;-
Love taught those maiden sages
With moonlight on the pages !
And if, ere half our walk be done,
Some ruined fane we light on,
That moonlight then is bright on ;
Still round the altar, reach us,
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 !
But none with half the soul