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I'm busy, now, with state affairs;
I prate of Pitt and Fox;
I watch the turns of stocks.
Upon the withered bough:
I'm not a lover now!
A boudoir's babbling fool,
A party's chief, or tool :-
The palace or the plough,
The chill is on my brow;
I'm not a lover now !
TIME'S SONG. O’ER the level plains, where mountains greet me as I go, O'er the desert waste, where fountains at my bidding flow, On the boundless beam by day, on the cloud by night, I am riding hence away : who will chain my fight? War his weary watch was keeping,—I have crushed his
spear ; Grief within her bower was weeping,- I have dried her
Pleasure caught a minute's hold,—then I hurried by,
fame ? Genius said, “I live in story :” who hath heard his
name? Love beneath a myrtle bough whispered “Why so fast?" And the roses on his brow withered as I past."
I have heard the heifer lowing o'er the wild wave's bed; I have seen the billow flowing where the cattle fed ; Where began my wandering? Memory will not say! Where will rest my weary wings ? Science turns away!
Look down within the glassy stream
That hathes this sylvan shrine,
So brightly back on thine :
Reflected all as fair,
Mirrored for ever there !
The breeze that curls that summer-tide
(Type of the rude world's din), May, with its envious ripple, hide
The Naiad form within :
But sunshine brings the nymph again,
So, when my toil is o'er,
Shines, cloudless as before !
GOOD NIGHT TO THE SEASON.
“So runs the world away."-Hamlet.
Good night to the Season !- 'Tis over!
Gay dwellings no longer are gay ;
Are scattered like swallows away :
Except my good uncle and spouse ;
My patron is sailing at Cowes :
Till Ponto and Don can get out,
And angle immensely for trout.
Good night to the Season !—the lobbies,
Their changes, and rumours of change, Which startled the rustic Sir Bobbies,
And made all the Bishops look strange ; The breaches, and battles, and blunders,
Performed by the Commons and Peers; The Marquis's eloquent blunders,
The Baronet's eloquent ears;
Denouncings of Papists and treasons,
Of foreign dominion and oats ; Misrepresentations of reasons,
And misunderstandings of notes. Good night to the Season !—the buildings
Enough to make Inigo sick; The paintings, and plasterings, and gildings
Of stucco, and marble, and brick; The orders deliciously blended,
From love of effect, into one;
The palaces only begun;
Sits staring at putty and stones,
To rattle at midnight his bones.
Good night to the Season !—the dances,
The fillings of hot little rooms, The glancings of rapturous glances,
The fancyings of fancy costumes ; The pleasures which Fashion makes duties,
The praisings of fiddles and flutes, The luxury of looking at Beauties,
The tedium of talking to Mutes; The female diplomatists, planners
Of matches for Laura and Jane; The ice of her Ladyship's manners,
The ice of his Lordship's champagne.
Good night to the Season !—the rages
Led off by the chiefs of the throng, The Lady Matilda's new pages,
The Lady Eliza's new song ;
Miss Fennel's macaw, which at Boodle's
Was held to have something to say ;
Which bark Batti, Batti, all day;
As hot and as black as a coal,
In bearskins and grease, from the Pole.
Good night to the Season !—the Toso,
So very majestic and tall ;
And Pasta, divinest of all ;
So sadly deficient in stars ;
Exhaling the breath of cigars ;
Environed with exquisites sits,
The silly ones out of their wits.
Good night to the Season !-the splendour
That beamed in the Spanish Bazaar ;
A card-case, a pasteboard guitar,
A lithographed Riego, full grown,
That artists might draw him on stone;
A trap for demolishing flies,
And a look from Miss Sheridan's eyes.