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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 thou wert married when I woke,

And all the rest was marred:
And toil and trouble, noise and steam,

Came back with the coming ray;
And, if I thought the dead could dream,

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:
And many lips have sadly sighed-

Which were not made for sighing,
And many hearts have darkly died-

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,
Is flirting with a lecturer's niece,

Who construes hieroglyphics :
And Foppery's fool, who hated blues

Worse than he hated Holborn,
Is raving of a pensive Muse,

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;
Light-pursed, light-hearted, addle-brained,

And often captivated,
Yet, save on circuit-unretained,

And, save at chess—unmated.
Yet oh !--if Nemesis with me

Should sport, as with my betters,
And put me on my awkward knee,

To prate of flowers and fetters, -
I know not whose the eyes should be

To make this fortress tremble;
But yesternight I dreamt,-ah me!

Whose they should most resemble !

IN Seville, when the feast was long,

And lips and lutes grew free,
At Inez feet, amid the throng,

A masquer bent his knee ; And still the burden of his song

Was “Sweet, remember me !
“Remember me in shine and shower,

In sorrow and in glee ;
When summer breathes upon the flower,

When winter blasts the tree,
When there are dances in the bower

Or sails upon the sea. "

“Remember me beneath far skies,

Or foreign lawn or lea;
When others worship those wild eyes

Which I no more may see,
When others wake the melodies

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'd better burn your Blackstone, sir,

You never will get through it ;
There's a Fancy Ball at Winchester,

Do let us take you to it !".

I made that night a solemn vow

To startle all beholders ;
I wore white muslin on the brow,
Green velvet on my shoulders ;

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