"Fly on," said Wisdom, with cold sneers; "I teach my friends to doubt you;" "Come back," said Age, with bitter tears, "My heart is cold without you."
When Poverty beset their path,
And threatened to divide them,
They coaxed away the beldame's wrath,
Ere she had breath to chide them,
By vowing all her rags were silk,
And all her bitters, honey,
And showing taste for bread and milk,
And utter scorn of money.
They met stern Danger in their way,
Upon a ruin seated;
Before him kings had quaked that day,
And armies had retreated:
But he was robed in such a cloud,
As Love and Hope came near him, That though he thundered long and loud, They did not see or hear him.
A gray-beard joined them, Time by name; And Love was nearly crazy,
To find that he was very lame,
And also very lazy :
Hope, as he listened to her tale,
Tied wings upon his jacket;
And then they far outran the mail, .
And far outsailed the packet.
And so, when they had safely passed
O'er many a land and billow,
Before a grave they stopped at last,
Beneath a weeping willow:
The moon upon the humble mound
Her softest light was flinging;
And from the thickets all around
Sad nightingales were singing.
"I leave you here," quoth Father Time, As hoarse as any raven;
And love kneeled down to spell the rhyme Upon the rude stone graven:
But Hope looked onward, calmly brave; And whispered, "Dearest brother, We're parted on this side the grave,—
We'll meet upon the other.”
LADY ARABELLA FUSTIAN TO LORD CLARENCE FUSTIAN.
Sweet, when Actors first appear,
The loud collision of applauding gloves!
Your labors, my talented brother,
Are happily over at last;
They tell me, that, somehow or other,
The bill is rejected, or passed:
And now you'll be coming, I'm certain,
As fast as four posters can crawl,
To help us to draw up our curtain,
As usual, at Fustian Hall.
Arrangements are nearly completed;
But still we've a lover or two,
Whom Lady Albina entreated,
We'd keep at all hazards for you:
Sir Arthur makes horrible faces,-
Lord John is a trifle too tall,—
And yours are the safest embraces
To faint in, at Fustian Hall.
Come, Clarence ;-it's really enchanting
To listen and look at the rout:
We're all of us puffing, and panting,
And raving, and running about;
Here Kitty and Adelaide bustle;
There Andrew and Anthony bawl;
Flutes murmur, chains rattle, robes rustle,
In chorus, at Fustian Hall.
By the bye, there are two or three matters,
We want you to bring us from town;
The Inca's white plumes from the hatter's,
A nose and a hump for the Clown:
We want a few harps for our banquet,
We want a few masks for our ball:
And steal from your wise friend Bosanquet
His white wig, for Fustian Hall.
Huncamunca must have a huge saber,
Friar Tuck has forgotten his cowl;
And we're quite at a stand-still with Weber,
For want of a lizard and owl:
And then for our funeral procession,
Pray get us a love of a pall;
Or how shall we make an impression
On feelings, at Fustian Hall?
And, Clarence, you'll really delight us,
If you'll do your endeavor to bring
From the Club a young person to write us
Our prologue, and that sort of thing;
Poor Crotchet, who did them supremely,
Is gone, for a judge, to Bengal;
I fear we shall miss him extremely,
This season, at Fustian Hall.
Come, Clarence ;-your idol Albina
Will make a sensation, I feel;
We all think there never was seen a
Performer, so like the O'Neill.
At rehearsals, her exquisite fancy,
Has deeply affected us all;
For one tear that trickles at Drury,
There'll be twenty at Fustian Hall.
Dread objects are scattered before her,
On purpose to harrow her soul;
She stares, till a deep spell comes o'er her,
At a knife, or a cross, or a bowl.
The sword never seems to alarm her,
That hangs on a peg to the wall,
And she doats on thy rusty old armor,
Lord Fustian, of Fustian Hall.
She stabbed a bright mirror this morning,-
Poor Kitty was quite out of breath,—
And trampled, in anger and scorning,
A bonnet and feathers to death.
But hark, I've a part in the Stranger,-
There's the Prompter's detestable call:
Come, Clarence,-our Romeo and Ranger,
We want you at Fustian Hall.
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