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Can you tell me who was she, Gentle nursling, fenced about
Mistress of the flowery wreath, With fond care, and guarded so,
And the anagram beneath

Scarce you've heard of storms without, The mysterious K E!

Frosts that bite or winds that blow ! “ Full a hundred years are gone

Kindly has your life begun, Since the little beacou shone

And we pray that heaven may send From Venice balcony :

To our floweret a warm sun, There, on summer nights, it hung, A calm sunimer, a sweet end. And her lovers came and sung

And where'er shall be her home, To their beautiful K E.

May she decorate the place ;

Still expanding into blooin, “ Hush ! in the canal below

And developing in grace.
Don't you hear the plash of oars
Underneath the lantern's glow,
And a thrilling voice begins
To the sound of mandolius?
Begins singing of amore

And delire and dolore
O the ravishing tenore !

In tattered old slippers that toast at

the bars, “ Lady, do you know the tune ? And a ragged old jacket perfumed Ah, we all of us have hummed it !

with cigars, I've an old guitar has thrummed it, Away from the world and its toils and Under many a changing moon.

its cares, Shall I try it? DO RE MI .

I've a snug little kingdom up four What is this? Ma foi, the fact is,

pair of stairs. That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is, To mount to this realm is a toil, to be And a man -- I let the truth out,

sure, Who's had almost every tooth out, But the fire there is bright and the Cannot sing as once he sung,

air rather pure ; When he was young as you are young, And the view I behold on a sunshiny When he was young and lutes were day strung,

Is grand through the chimney-pots And love-lamps in the casement over the way, hung."

This snug little chamber is cramm'd

in all nooks LUCY'S BIRTHDAY. With worthless old knick-knacks and

silly old books, SEVENTEEN rosebuds in a ring, And foolish old odds and foolish old Thick with sister flowers beset,

ends, In a fragrant coronet,

Crack'd bargains from brokers, cheap Lucy's servants this day bring.

keepsakes from friends. Be it the birthday wreath she wears Fresh and fair, and symbolling Old arinor, prints, pictures, pipes, The young number of her years,

china, (all crack'd,) The sweet blushes of her spring. Old rickety tables, and chairs broken.

backed ; Types of youth and love and hope ! A twopenny treasury, wondrous to Friendly hearts your mistress greet, Be you ever fair and sweet,

What matter ? 'tis pleasant to you, And grow lovelier as you ope !

friend, and me.

see :

No better divan need the Sultan re- | It was but a moment she sat in this quire,

place, Than the creaking old sofa that basks She'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile by the fire ;

on her face ! And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music A smile on her face, and a rose in her you get

hair, From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy And she sat there, and bloom'd in my spinet.

cane-bottom'd cbair. That praying-rug came from a Turco- And so I have valued my chair ever man's camp;

since, By Tiber once twinkled that brazen Like the shrine of a saint, or the old lamp ;

throne of a prince ; A mameluke fierce yonder dagger has Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I drawn :

declare, 'Tis a murderous knife to toast muf. The queen of my heart and my canefins upon.

bottom'd chair. Long, long through the hours, and when the candles burn low, and the the night, and the chimes,

company's gone, Here we talk of old books, and old In the silence of night as I sit here friends, and old times;

alone As we sit in a fog made of rich Lata. I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair -kie

My Fanny I see in my cane-bottoni'd This chamber is pleasant to you, friend,


She comes from the past and revisits But of all the cheap treasures that she looks as she then did, all beauty

miy room ; garnish my nest,

and bloom ; There's one that I love and I cherish So smiling and tender, so fresh and so the best :

fair, For the finest of couches that's padded And yonder she sits in my cane-botwith hair

toin'd chair. I never would change thee, my cane

bottom'd chair.

and me.

"Tis a bandy-legg'd, high-shoulder'd, PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX.

worio-eaten seat, With a creaking old back, and twisted | LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PRINT.

old feet; But since the fair morning when Fanny As on this pictured page I look, sat there,

This pretty tale of line and hook I bless thee and love thee, old cane- As though it were a novel-book bottom'd chair.

Amuses and engages :

I know them both, the boy and girl ; If chairs have but feeling, in holding She is the daughter of the Earl, such charms,

The lad (that has his hair in curl) A thrill must have pass'd through My lord the County's page is.

your wither'd old arms ! I look'd, and I long'd, and I wish'd A pleasant place for such a pair ! in despair ;

The fields lie basking in the glare ; I wish'd myself turn'd to a cane-bot. No breath of wind the heavy air tom'd chair.

Of lazy summer quickens.

Hard by you see the castle tall ; THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY.
The village nestles round the wall,
As round about the hen its small The rose upon my balcony the morn-
Young progeny of chickens.

ing air persuming,

Was leatless all the winter time and It is too hot to pace the keep ;

pining for the spring; To climb the turret is too steep ;

You ask me why her breath is sweet, My lord the earl is dozing deep,

and why her cheek is blooming,

It is because the sun is out and birds His noonday dinner over : The postern-warder is asleep

begin to sing. (Perhaps they've bribed him not to prep) :

The nightingale, whose melody is And so from out the gate they creep,

through the greenwood ringing, and cross the fields of clover. Was silent when the boughs were bare

and winds were blowing keen :

And if, Mamma, you ask of me the Their lines into the brook they launch ;

reason of his singing, He lays his cloak upon a branch,

It is because the sun is out and all the To guarantee his Lady Blanche

leaves are green. 's delicate complexion : He takes his rapier from his haunch,

Thus each performs his part, Mamina ; That beardless doughty champion the birds have found their voices, staunch;

The blowing rose a flush, Mamina, her He'd drill it through the rival's paunch

bonny cheek to dye ; That question'd his affection !

And there's sunshine in my heart,

Mamma, which wakens and re-
O heedless pair of sportsmen slack ! joices,
You never mark, though trout or jack, And so I sing and blush, Mainına, and
Or little foolishi stickleback,

that's the reason why.
Your baited snares may capture.
What care has she for line and hook ?
She turns her back upon the brook,

Upon her lover's eyes to look
In sentimental rapture.

“Quand vous serez bien vieille, le soir à la

chandelle O loving pair ! as thus I gaze

Assise auprès du feu derisant et filant,

Direz, chantant mes vers en rous esmerveil. Upon the girl who smiles always,

lant, The little hand that ever plays Ronsard m'a célébré du temps que j'étois Upon the lover's shoulder ;

belle." In looking at your pretty shapes, A sort of envious wish escapes

SOME winter night, shut snugly in (Such as the Fox had for the Grapes)

Beside the fagot in the hall,
The Poet your beholder.

I think I see you sit and spin,

Surrounded by your maidens all.

Old tales are told, old songs are sung, To be brave, handsome, twenty-two ; Old days come back to memory ; With nothing else on earth to do,

" When I was fair and But all day long to bill and coo:

young, It were a pleasant calling.

A poet sang of me!" And had I such a partner sweet ; A teniler heart for mine to beat, There's not a maiden in your hall, Aantle hanıl my clasp to meet ; Though tired and sleepy ever so, I'd let the world flow at my feet, But wakes, as you ny name recall,

And never heed its brawling. And longs the history to know.

You say,

I will not enter there,
To sully your pare prayer

With thoughts unruly.

And, as the piteous tale is said,

Of lady cold and lover true, Each, musing, caities it to bed,

And sighs and envies you ! "Our lady's old and feeble now,". They'll say ; "she once was fresh

and fair, And yet she spurn'd her lover's vow,

And heartless left him to despair : The lover lies in silent earth,

No kindly mate the laıly cheers ; She sits beside a lonely hearth,

With threescore and ten years !”

But suffer me to pace
Round the forbidden place,

Lingering a minute
Like outcast spirits who wait
And see through heaven's gate

Angels within it.

Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are THE AGE OF WISDOM.

those, But wherefore yield me to despair, Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled While yet the poet's bosom glows,

chin, While yet the dame is peerless fair ! That never has known the Barber's Sweet ladly mine! while yet 'tis time shear,

Requite my passion and my truth, All your wish is woman to win, And gather in their blushing prime This is the way that boys begin, The roses of your youth !

Wait till you come to Forty Year.

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains,

Billing and cooing is all your cheer; AT THE CHURCH GATE.

Sighing and singing of midnight


Under Bonnybell's window panes, ALTHOUGH I enter not, Yet round about the spot

Wait till you come to Forty Year. Ofttimes I hover: And near the sacred gate,

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, With longing eyes I wait,

Grizzling hair the brain doth clearExpectant of her.

Then you know a boy is an ass,

Then you know the worth of a lass, The Minster bell tolls out

Once you have come to Forty Year. Above the city's rout,

And noise and humming ; They've hush'd the Minster bell :

Pledge me round, I bid ye declare, The organ ʼgins to swell :

All good fellows whose beards are

gray, She's coming, she's coming!

Did not the fairest of the fair My lady comes at last,

Common grow and wearisome ere

Ever a month was passed away ? Timis, and stepping fast,

Anıl hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast :

The reddest lips that ever have kissed, She comes

- she's here --- she's past The brightest eyes that ever have May heaven go with her!


May pray and whisper, and we not Kneel, undisturb’d, fair Saint !

list, Pour out your praise or plaint Or look away, and never be missedi, Meekly and duly ;

Ere yet ever a month is gone.

* If you

Gillian's dead, God rest her bier, What was my astonishment

How I loved her twenty years syne! What was my compunction,
Marian's married, but I sit here When she reached the Offices
Alone aud merry at Forty Year, Of the Didland Junction !
Dipping my nose in the Gascon

Up the Didland stairs she went,

To the Didland door, Sir;
Porters lost in wonderment,

Let her pass before, Sir.

“Madam," says the old chief Clerk,

“Sure we can't admit ye.” WERTHER had a love for Charlotte “ Where's the Didland Junction Such as words could never utter ;

deed ?" Would you know how first he met her?

Dauntlessly says Kitty. She was cutting bread and butter.

doubt my honesty, Charlotte was a married larly,

Look at my receipt, Sir." And a moral man was Werther, Up then jumps the old chief Clerk, And, for all the wealth of Indies, Smiling as he meets her. Would do nothing for to hurt her.

KITTY at the table sits So he sighed and pined and ogled,

(Whither the old Clerk leads her), And his passion boiled and bubbled, “I deliver this," she says, Till he blew his silly brains out, As my act and deed, Sir.” And no more was by it troubled.

When I heard these funny words

Come from lipis so pretty ;
Charlotte, having seen his body

This, I thought, should surely be
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,

Subject for a ditty.
Went on cutting bread and butter.

What ! are ladies stagging it ?

Sure, the more's the pity ;
But I've lost my heart to her,

Naughty little Kitty.

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