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Good night to the Season !—the flowers

Of the grand Horticultural fête, When boudoirs were quitted for bowers,

And the fashion was not to be late; When all who had money and leisure

Grew rural o'er ices and wines, All pleasantly toiling for pleasure,

All hungrily pining for pines, And making of beautiful speeches,

And massing of beautiful shows, And feeding on delicate peaches,

And treading on delicate toes.

Good night to the Season 1-Another

Will come, with its trifles and toys, And hurry away, like its brother,

In sunshine, and odour, and noise. Will it come with a rose or a briar?

Will it come with a blessing or curse ? Will its bonnets be lower or higher ?

Will its morals be better or worse ?
Will it find me grown thinner or fatter,

Or fonder of wrong or of right,
Or married-or buried ?—no matter :

Good night to the Season-good night!

The Baron de Vaux hath a valiant crest,

My Lady is fair and free;
The Baron is full of mirth and jest,-
My Lady is full of glee;

But their path, we know, is a path of woe,

And many the reason guess, The Baron will ever mutter “No”

When my Lady whispers “ Yes." The Baron will pass the wine-cup round,

My Lady forth will roam;
The Baron will out with horse and hound,

My Lady sits at home;
The Baron will go to draw the bow,-

My Lady will go to chess;
And the Baron will ever mutter “No”

When my Lady whispers “Yes."
The Baron hath ears for a lovely lay,

If my Lady sings it not ;
The Baron is blind to a beauteous day,

If it beam in my Lady's grot;
The Baron bows low to a furbelow,

If it be not my Lady's dress;
And the Baron will ever mutter “No”

When my Lady whispers “Yes.”
Now saddle my steed, and helm my head,

Be ready in the porch;
Stout Guy, with a ladder of silken thread,

And trusty Will, with a torch ;
The wind may blow, the torrent flow,-

No matter, -on we press;
I never can hear the Baron's “No”

When my Lady whispers “ Yes.”


"I can dream, sir, If I eat well and sleep well."

-The Mad Lover,

If I could scare the light away,

No sun should ever shine;
If I could bid the clouds obey,

Thick darkness should be mine :
Where'er my weary footsteps roam,

I hate whate'er I see ;
And Fancy builds a fairer home

In slumber's hour for me.

I had a vision yesternight

Of a lovelier land than this, Where heaven was clothed in warmth and light,

Where earth was full of bliss ; And every tree was rich with fruits,

And every field with flowers, And every zephyr wakened lutes

In passion-haunted bowers.

I clambered up a lofty rock,

And did not find it steep ;
I read through a page and a half of Locke,

And did not fall asleep;
I said whate'er I may but feel,

I paid whate'er I owe;
And I danced one day an Irish reel,

With the gout in every toe.

And I was more than six feet high,

And fortunate, and wise ;


And I had a voice of melody

And beautiful black eyes;
My horses like the lightning went,

My barrels carried true,
And I held my tongue at an argument,

And winning cards at loo.
I saw an old Italian priest

Who spoke without disguise ;
I dined with a judge who swore, like Best,

All libels should be lies :
I bought for a penny a twopenny loaf,

Of wheat, and nothing more ;
I danced with a female philosophe,

Who was not quite a bore.
The kitchens there had richer roast,

The sheep wore whiter wool;
I read a witty Morning Post,

And an innocent John Bull:
The gaolers had nothing at all to do,

The hangman looked forlorn,
And the Peers had passed a vote or two

For freedom of trade in corn.
There was a crop of wheat, which grew

Where plough was never brought;
There was a noble lord, who knew

What he was never taught:
A scheme appeared in the Gazette

For a lottery with no blanks;
And a Parliament had lately met,

Without a single Bankes.
And there were kings who never went

To cuffs for half-a-crown ;

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And lawyers who were eloquent

Without a wig and gown;
And sportsmen who forebore to praise

Their greyhounds and their guns ;
And poets who deserved the bays,

And did not dread the duns.
And boroughs were bought without a test,

And no man feared the Pope;
And the Irish cabins were all possessed

Of liberty and soap;
And the Chancellor, feeling very sick,

Had just resigned the seals;
And a clever little Catholic

Was hearing Scotch appeals.
I went one day to a Court of Law

Where a fee had been refused;
And a Public School I really saw

Where the rod was never used; And the sugar still was very sweet,

Though all the slaves were free;
And all the folk in Downing Street

Had learnt the rule of three.
There love had never a fear or doubt,

December breathed like June :
The Prima Donna ne'er was out

Of temper-or of tune;
The streets were paved with mutton pies,

Potatoes ate like pine ;
Nothing looked black but a woman's eyes ;

Nothing grew old but wine.
It was an idle dream ; but thou,

The worshipped one, wert there,


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