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But time's been so far from my wisdom enriching,
How weary is wisdom, how weary!
When one sits by a smiling young dearie!
And should she be wroth that my homage pursues her,
Would you have me behave more discreetly,
Beauty, look not so killingly sweetly.
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?
Excepting Original Sin!
THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTT1NGEN.
Whkxe'er with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U
nlversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.
Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenblue.
Which once my love sat knotting in —
Alas, Matilda then was true!
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 U
niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.
This faded form! this pallid hue! This blood my veins is clotting in!
My years are many — they were few When first I entered at the U
niversity of Gottingen, 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 Got tingen, niversity of Gottingen.
Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu,
That kings and priests are plotting in;
Here doomed to starve on water gruel, never shall I see the U
niversity of Gottingen. niversity of Gottingen,
THE NEW-YEAR'S BABY.
"Th'art welcome, fitle bonnie bird,
Times are bad." — Old English Ballad.
Hoot, ye little rascal! ye come it on me this way
Crowdin' yerself amongst us this blusterin' winter's day
Knowin' that we already have three of ye, and seven,
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;
And Sammie he have no shirt, sir (I tell it to his shame);
And the one that was just before you we a'n't had time to name.
An' all the banks be smashin', an' on us poor folks fall;
An' but for your father an' Sandy a-findin' somew'at to do,
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.
Why, boy, do ye think ye'll suffer? I'm gettin' a trifle old,
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
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
PROM "LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT ROOM."
Nor cold nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
These scented rooms, where to a gaudy throng. Heaves the proud rat her distended breast
In intricacies of laborious song.
These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint; But when the long-breathed singer's uptrilled strain Bursts in a squall — they gape for wonderment.
I Asked n.y fair, one happy day,
By what sweet name from Rome
Arethusa, or Lucrece.
"*Ah!" replied my gentle fair,
"Beloved, what are names but air?
Choose thou whatever suitsthe line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris. Call me Lalaje or Doris,
Only, only call me Thine."
LINES TO A COMIC AUTHOR ON AN ABUSIVE REVIEH'.
What though the chilly widemouthed quacking chorus
From the rank swamps of murk Review-land croak;
So was it, neighbor, in the times before us,
When Momus, throwing on his attic cloak,
Romped with the Graces; and each
tickled Muse (That Turk, Dan Pheebus, whom
bards call divine, Was married to —at least, he kept —
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 n,< 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 ami
knees should swell —
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!
Dear Rain! if I've been cold and
Take no offence! I'll tell you why.
With three dear friends! in truth we
groan — Impatiently to be alone. We three, you mark! and not one
The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
John Gilpin was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear —
"Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.
To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton
All in a chaise and pair.
My sister and my sister's child,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
He soon replied — " I do admire
Of womankind but one,
Therefore it shall be done.
I am a linen-draper bold,
And my good friend the calender
We have so much to talk about,
EPIGRAM ON "THE RIME OF
Your poem must eternal be,
For, 'tis incomprehensible,
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin — " That's well said;
And for that wine is dear, We will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and clear."
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
O'erjoyed was he to find [bent. That, though on pleasure she was
She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allowed • To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud.
So three doors off the chaise was stayed.
Where they did all get in; Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folks so glad.
As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin at his horse's side
And up he got, in haste to ride,
For saddle-tree scarce reached had he,
His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.
So down he came; for loss of time, Although it grieved him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he know, Would trouble him much more.
'Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind. When Betty screaming came down stairs,
"The wine is left behind 1"
"Good lack!" quoth he; "yet bring it ine.
My leathern belt likewise,
Now Mrs. Gilpin (careful soul)
To hold the liquor that she loved,
Each bottle had a curling ear.
And hung a bottle on each side,
Then over all. that he might be
Equipped from top to toe, His long red cloak, well brushed and neat.
He manfully did throw.
Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed.
With caution and good heed.
But finding soon a smoother road
The snorting beast began to trot,
So "Fair and softly." John he cried;
But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.
So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright, He grasped the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.
IIis horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,
Did wonder more and more.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;
Of running such a rig.
The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Till, loop and button failing both,
Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;
As hath been said or sung.
The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all; And every soul cried out, "Well done!" As loud as he could bawl.
Away went Gilpin — who but he?
His fame soon spread around — "He carries weight! he rides a race!
'Tia for a thousand pound!"
And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view
Their gates wide open threw.
And now, as he went bowing down
The bottles twain behind his back
Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke
As they had basted been.