And, oh, from its ivory portal, Like music his soft speech must flow!— If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortalMy own Araminta, say "No!" Don't listen to tales of his beauty, OUR BALL. "Comment! c'est lui? que le je regards encore !-c'est que vraiment il est bien change; n'est ce pas, mon papa?" LES PREMIERS AMOURS. YOU'LL come to our ball;-since we parted, For a week, when they took you away. Which you used to sing to me then. I know the romance, since it's over, "Twere idle, or worse, to recall ; I know you're a terrible rover; But, Clarence, you'll come to our Ball! It's only a year since, at College, You put on your cap and your gown; The voice that was best when it faltered, Is fuller and firmer in tone : And the smile that should never have altered,— Dear Clarence ;—it is not your own; Your cravat was badly selected, Your coat don't become you at all; And why is your hair so neglected? You must have it curled for our Ball. I've often been out upon Haldon And I've studied your sweet little Dante I sat in your love of a shawl; And I'll wear what you brought me from Florence, Perhaps, if you'll come to our Ball. You'll find us all changed since you vanished; We've set up a National School; And waltzing is utterly banished; And Ellen has married a fool; The Major is going to travel; Miss Hyacinth threatens a rout; And Jane has gone on with her easels, And Anne has gone off with Sir Paul; And Fanny is sick with the measles, And I'll tell you the rest at the Ball. You'll meet all your beauties ;-the Lily And the Fairy of Willowbrook Farm, And Lucy, who made me so silly At Dawlish, by taking your arm; Miss Manners, who always abused you, For talking so much about Hock; And her sister who often amused you, By raving of rebels and Rock; And something which surely would answer, An heiress quite fresh from Bengal ;So, though you were seldom a dancer, You'll dance, just for once, at our Ball. But out on the world!--from the flowers Like a streamlet beginning to freeze, Though it cannot turn ice in a minute, Grows harder by sudden degrees. Time treads o'er the graves of affection; Sweet honey is turned into gall; Perhaps you have no recollection That ever you danced at our Ball. You once could be pleased with our ballads ;- You once could be charmed with our salads; You've forgotten the when and the how ; They tell me you've many who flatter, Before you grew clever and tall; And you'll think of the spell that once bound you: And you'll come, won't you come? to our Ball! |