She moves like Dian in her woody bowers, THOMAS HOOD. NO! No sun-no moon! No morn-no noon No dawn-no dusk-no proper time of day— No sky-no earthly view No distance looking blue— No road-no street-no "t'other side the way"— No indications where the Crescents go- No recognitions of familiar people No courtesies for showing 'em- No travelling at all-no locomotion, No inkling of the way-no notion "No go"-by land or ocean No mail-no post No news from any foreign coast— No park-no ring-no afternoon gentility— No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, THE DONKEY AND HIS PANNIERS. THOMAS MOORE. A DONKEY Whose talent for burden was wondrous, His owners and drivers stood round in amaze- What! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy, So easy to drive through the dirtiest ways, For every description of job-work so ready! One driver (whom Ned might have "hailed" as a "brother") Had just been proclaiming his donkey's renown, For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or other When, lo! 'mid his praises, the donkey came down. But, how to upraise him?-one shouts, t'other whistles, Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes "There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease; The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses, And this is his mode of transition to peace."" Some looked at his hoofs, and, with learnèd grimaces, But others who gabbled a jargon half Gaelic, Exclaimed, "Hoot awa, mon, you're a' gane astray" And declared that "whoe'er might prefer the metallic, They'd shoe their own donkeys with papier maché." Meanwhile the poor Neddy, in torture and fear, Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan, And, what was still dolefuler-lending an ear To advisers whose ears were a match for his own. At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far As to see others' folly, roared out as he passed'Quick-off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are, Or your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his last." ANONYMOUS CARDINAL WOLSEY. CARDINAL WOLSEY was a man Of an unbounded stomach, Shakspeare says, But had he seen a player in our days He would have owned that Wolsey's bulk ideal This actor's belt surrounds, Which is, moreover, all alive and real. This player, when the peace enabled shoals To visit every clime between the poles, Must not, in this proceeding, be mistaken; In this most laudable employ He found himself at Lille one afternoon, Refreshing in the fields his soul, With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces, When we are pleasantly employed time flies:- Until the moon began to shine; On which he gazed a while, and then Pulled out his watch, and cried-" Past nine! Why, zounds! they shut the gates at ten." Backward he turned his steps instanter, He couldn't gallop, trot, or canter, (Those who had seen him would confess it), he Marched well for one of such obesity. Eying his watch, and now his forehead mopping, He puffed and blew along the road, Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping, "Tell me," he panted in a thawing state, Charles Medler loathed false quantities, And Medler's feet repose unscanned, While Nick, whose oaths made such a din, Does Dr. Martext's duty; And Mullion, with that monstrous chin, And Darrel studies, week by week, And I am eight-and-twenty now— The world's cold chain has bound me; In parliament I fill my seat, But oft when the cares of life Have set my temples aching, When visions haunt me of a wife, When duns await my waking, When Lady Jane is in a pet, Or Hobby in a hurry, When Captain Hazard wins a bet, For hours and hours, I think and talk I wish that I could run away From house, and court, and levee, Where bearded men appear to-day, Just Eton boys, grown heavy; That I could bask in childhood's sun, And dance o'er childhood's roses; |