« PreviousContinue »
With thy dark clear eyes and beaming brow,
White neck and floating hair ; And oh, I had an honest heart,
And a house of Portland stone; And thou wert dear, as still thou art,
And more than dear, my own !
Oh bitterness !—the morning broke
Alike for boor and bard;
And all the rest was marred:
Came back with the coming ray;
I'd hang myself to-day !
-"Go together, You precious winners all."
-Winter's Tale. Fair Lady, ere you put to sea,
You and your mate together, I meant to hail you lovingly,
And wish you pleasant weather. I took my fiddle from the shelf,
But vain was all my labour ; For still I thought about myself,
And not about my neighbour.
Safe from the perils of the war,
Nor killed, nor hurt, nor missing
Since many things in common are
Between campaigns and kissingUngrazed by glance, unbound by ring,
Love's carte and tierce I've parried, While half my friends are marrying,
And half-good lack -are married.
'Tis strange—but I have passed alive
Where darts and deaths were plenty, Until I find my twenty-five
As lonely as my twenty:
Which were not made for sighing,
Which never dreamed of dying.
Some victims fluttered like a fly,
Some languished like a lily; Some told their tale in poetry,
And some in Piccadilly: Some yielded to a Spanish hat,
Some to a Turkish sandal ; Hosts suffered from an entrechat,
And one or two from Handel.
Good Sterling said no dame should come
To be the queen of his bourn, But one who only prized her home,
Her spinning wheel, and Gisborne: And Mrs. Sterling says odd things
With most sublime effront'ry; Gives lectures on elliptic springs,
And follows hounds 'cross country.
Sir Roger had a Briton's pride
In freedom, plough, and furrow; No fortune hath Sir Roger's bride,
Except a rotten borough; Gustavus longed for truth and crumbs,
Contentment and a cottage ;His Laura brings a pair of plums
To boil the poor man's pottage.
My rural coz, who loves his peace,
And swore at scientifics,
Who construes hieroglyphics :
Worse than he hated Holborn,
Who does the verse for Colburn.
And Vyvyan, Humour's crazy child,
Whose worship, whim, or passion, Was still for something strange and wild,
Wit, wickedness, or fashion,Is happy with a little Love,
A parson's pretty daughter, As tender as a turtle-dove,
As dull as milk and water.
And Gerard hath his Northern Fay
His nymph of mirth and haggis ; And Courtenay wins a damsel gay
Who figures at Colnaghi's ; And Davenant now has drawn a prize,
I hope and trust, a Venus, Because there are some sympathies
As well as leagues—between us.
Thus north and south, and east and west,
The chimes of Hymen jingle ; But I shall wander on, unblest,
And singularly single;
And often captivated,
And, save at chess—unmated.
Should sport, as with my betters,
To prate of flowers and fetters, -
To make this fortress tremble;
Whose they should most resemble !
And lips and lutes grew free,
A masquer bent his knee ; And still the burden of his song
Was “Sweet, remember me !
In sorrow and in glee ;
When winter blasts the tree,
Or sails upon the sea. "
“Remember me beneath far skies,
Or foreign lawn or lea;
Which I no more may see,
Of which I mar the key.
: Remember me ! my heart will claim
No love, no trust, from thee; Remember me, though doubt and blame
Linked with the record be; Remember me,-with scorn or shame,
But yet, remember me !"
THE FANCY BALL. “A visor for a vigor! What care I What curious eye doth quote deformities ?"
-Romeo and Juliet.
“You used to talk,” said Miss MacCall,
" Of flowers, and flames, and Cupid ; But now you never talk at all;
You're getting vastly stupid :
You never will get through it ;
Do let us take you to it !".
I made that night a solemn vow
To startle all beholders ;