You said you were sure it would kill you, When I heard I was going abroad, love, My own Araminta, say "No!" " We parted! but sympathy's fetters And feel that your heart is mine still; And he who would share it with me, love,The richest of treasures below, If he's not what Orlando should be, love, If he wears a top-boot in his wooing, If he studies the news in the papers Skinner, If he's sleepy while you are capricious, If he ever sets foot in the City If he don't stand six feet in his shoes, If his hands are not whiter than snow, If he has not the model of noses,"No!" My own Araminta, say If he speaks of a tax or a duty, If he does not look grand on his knees, If he's blind to a landscape of beauty, Hills, valleys, rocks, water, and trees, If he dotes not on desolate towers, If he likes not to hear the blast blow, If he knows not the language of flowers,My own Araminta, say "No!" He must walk-like a god of old story Come down from the home of his rest; He must smile-like the sun in his glory On the bud, he loves ever the best; And oh ! from its ivory portal Like music his soft speech must flow! If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal, My own Araminta, say "No!" Don't listen to tales of his bounty, Don't hear what they say of his birth, Don't look at his seat in the county, Don't calculate what he is worth; But give him a theme to write verse on, EVERY-DAY CHARACTERS. I. THE VICAR. SOME years ago, ere time and taste St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Back flew the bolt of lissom lath; Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path, Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle; And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray, Upon the parlour steps collected, Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say— 66 Our master knows you-you're expected." Up rose the Reverend Dr. Brown, Up rose the Doctor's winsome marrow; The lady laid her knitting down, Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow ; Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, And welcome for himself, and dinner. If, when he reached his journey's end, And twenty curious scraps of knowledge;— If he departed as he came, With no new light on love or liquor, His talk was like a stream, which runs It passed from Mahomet to Moses ; He was a shrewd and sound Divine, And dreamed of tasting pork to-morrow. His sermon never said or showed That Earth is foul, that Heaven is gracious, Without refreshment on the road From Jerome or from Athanasius: And sure a righteous zeal inspired [them, The hand and head that penned and planned For all who understood admired, And some who did not understand them. He wrote, too, in a quiet way, Small treatises, and smaller verses, He did not think all mischief fair, He held, in spite of all his learning, It will not be improved by burning. And he was kind, and loved to sit And share the widow's homelier pottage: The welcome which they could not utter. He always had a tale for me Of Julius Cæsar, or of Venus; From him I learnt the rule of three, Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and Quæ genus · |