But time's been so far from my wisdom enriching, Is to find fresh enchantment in magical faces. How weary is wisdom, how weary! When one sits by a smiling young dearie! And should she be wroth that my homage pursues her, I will turn and retort on my lovely aceuser; Who's to blame, that my heart by your image is haunted? TO A YOUNG LADY, WHO ASKED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING ORIGINAL FOR HER ALBUM. AN original something, fair maid, you would win me To write but how shall I begin? For I fear I have nothing original in me Excepting Original Sin! GEORGE CANNING. THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN. | This faded form! this pallid hue! WHENE'ER with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I'm rotting in, niversity of Gottingen, Sweet kerchief, checked with heaven- Which once my love sat knotting in Alas, Matilda then was true! At least I thought so at the U niversity of Gottingen, Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew, Her neat post-wagon trotting in! Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languished at the University of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen. This blood my veins is clotting in! My years are many- they were few niversity of Gottingen, There first for thee my passion grew, Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen! Thou wast the daughter of my tutor, law professor at the U niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen. WILL CARLETON. THE NEW-YEAR'S BABY. "Th'art welcome, litle bonnie bird, But shouldn't ha' come just when tha' did. HOOT, ye little rascal! ye come it on me this way Crowdin' yerself amongst us this blusterin' winter's day An' tryin' to make yerself out a New-Year's present o' heaven! Ten of ye have we now, sir, for this world to abuse, An' Bobbie he have no waistcoat; and Nellie she have no shoes; An' now ye have come, ye rascal! so healthy an' fat an' sound, No, no, don't cry, my baby; hush up, my pretty one. Why, boy! did ye take me in earnest ? Come, sit upon my knee. Ye shall have all yer brothers an' sisters with ye to play; An' ye shall have yer carriage, an' ride out every day. Why, boy, do ye think ye'll suffer? I'm gettin' a trifle old, But it'll be many years yet before I lose my hold; An' if I should fall on the road, boy, still them's yer brothers there, An' not a rogue of 'em ever would see ye harmed a hair. Say, when ye come from heaven, my little namesake dear, Did ye see, mongst the little girls there, a face like this one here? That was yer little sister; she died a year ago. An' all of us cried like babies when they laid her under the snow. Hang it! if all the rich men I ever see or knew Came here with all their traps, boy, an' offered 'em for you, Before I'd sell to another my New-Year's gift from God. "Ah!" replied my gentle fair, "Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suitsthe line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris. Call me Lalage or Doris, Only, only call me Thine." LINES TO A COMIC AUTHOR ON AN ABUsive revIEW. WHAT though the chilly widemouthed quacking chorus From the rank swamps of murk Review-land croak; So was it, neighbor, in the times be fore us, When Momus, throwing on his attic cloak, Romped with the Graces; and each tickled Muse (That Turk, Dan Phoebus, whom bards call divine, Was married to at least, he kept — all nine) Fled, but still with reverted faces ran; Yet, somewhat the broad freedoms to excuse, They had allured the audacious Greek to use, Swore they mistook him for their own good man. This Momus - Aristophanes on earth Men called him— maugre all his wit and worth Was croaked and gabbled at. How, then, should you, Or I, friend, hope to 'scape the skulking crew? No! laugh, and say aloud, in tones of glee, "I hate the quacking tribe, and they hate me!' FROM "AN ODE TO THE RAIN." Composed before daylight, on the morning appointed for the departure of a very worthy, but not very pleasant visitor, whom it was feared the rain might detain. THOUGH you should come again tomorrow, And bring with you both pain and sorrow; Though stomach should sicken and Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say You're a good creature in your way; Nay, I would write a book myself, Would fit a parson's lower shelf, Showing how very good you are. What then? sometimes it must be fair! And if sometimes, why not to-day? Do go, dear Rain! do go away! |