Ah too well Love knoweth
The attempt were vain; Much as Beauty oweth
To the minstrel train,
Weak is the power of song where wealth her smiles
Memory, gift of Heaven
To the happy-gay! My poor heart is driven
Mad beneath thy sway,
Thou vulture at my breast, exulting o'er thy prey!
Hopeless love, bright maiden,
Is a fever strong,
But the grave once laid in,
We sleep sweet and long:
Alas, that Lethe's stream flows but in idle song!
A STOLEN KISS.
No, Maggie! I'll take no denying:
Anear thee, my winsome wee witch,
What dullards deem proper decorum
I never could practise or preach.
Come, come, then! my sweet blushing bright one,
What needs you should take it amiss
If from those red lips so inviting
I sometimes should pilfer a kiss.
Let gommerals, blind to thy beauty,
A better behaviour shew,-
'Twere nonsense to find in such fellows,
A rule by which others must go.
As for me, love, I must and will win it,
Whate'er be the price of my bliss:
-will be here in a minute!
Mag's lover, of course, had the kiss!
(Addressed to a friend who expected an appointment in a certain public establishment.)
If thou canst at once agree, sir,
To be what no man should be, sir,
Bend thy head-the yoke is near;
Come, devoted one, come here.
Would'st thou (let me plainly speak, sir)
Kiss the foot that would thee kick, sir-
Treadmill toils, meanwhile, thy share?
Then,
by all means, hasten here.
Would'st thou for thy masters know, sir,
Things thou once would think too low, sir,
For aught else than scorn? Ne'er fear
Finding them in dozens here.
If the flunky thou would'st play, sir,
Fawn and flatter all the day, sir,
In that case that only-steer
Quick along-thy port is here.
Yet, for all such prospects cheery,
If thou comest, much I fear me,
Thou will often, sighing, swear
"Better I were hanged than here!"
SINCE moralizing's out of fashion,
And gossipping the "ruling passion,"
Methinks it were but little harm here
To sing you of a certain charmer.
And first, it might be well to state here
How lords and lairds were "wooing at her,"
In youthful prime, when every charm
Of hers the coldest heart might warm,—
How many Colins she had slain,
How many Strephons sighed in vain,
How many sonnets in her praise
Were penn'd by bards of other days,—
But lest ye'd think my tale too long,
We'll leave her "dancing days" unsung.
Behold-her gay meridian past,
Her charms deceitful fading fast,
Her fond admirers getting rare,
Her hope fast dwindling to despair—
She nun-like from the world retires,
And to a saintly life aspires,
As many of her sisters do
When we, poor sinners, cease to sue.
No more she apes the peacock gay,
Attending opera or play;
No more she heedeth Fashion's call;
She hates to hear of rout or ball,
And thinks such scenes of sinful mirth
Should be quite banished from the earth.
Shame on the age that can allow
This low-neck style of dressing, now
So common to both girl and dame !
The waltz, too!-a still greater shame
It was to see how girls can prance
Unblushing through that wanton dance!
Woe to the hand that ever would
Its presence on her waist intrude!
No-never in her life would she
Admit of so much liberty;
She always was of men afraid,
And hopes to live and die a maid!
Behold her now, a saint full-fledged,
On social problems much engaged;
And seeming to be fairly grown
The very Dorcas of our town,-
So many garments old and new
The needy to her bounty owe.
And then she visits all the sick-
Was ever lady half so meek?
Condemns Sir Walter, quotes good Boston
Was ever lady half so Christian?
She lives in very pious hope
To see the downfall of the Pope,
And hopes his time will soon be up:
She tells such interesting news
'Bout Juggernaut and the Hindoos,
With all that's done among the Jews,-
And then, with what a grace she coaxes
Your mite to Missionary boxes!
Alas! that whispering tongues there be
Who in all this mere shamming see—
A well-played part, that soon would end
Should fortune her a husband send;
They've heard she paints—and 'tis well-known
Her wealth of curls not all her own;
They fear she feeleth more at ease
Before her glass than on her knees!
They've seen her often, when at church,
Like any sinner nod and lurch,
However much the preacher there
Might merit more attentive ear.
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