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But see !—the bent topsails are ready to swellTo the boat-I am with thee-Columbia, farewell !
TO LADY H,
Tunbridge-Wells, August 1805.
And Tunbridge saw, upon her pantiles, The merriest wight of all the kings
That ever ruled these gay gallant isles;
At eve they did as we may do,
And lovely Stewart smiled like you !
That woman then, if man beset her, Was rather given to saying “yes,"
Because as yet she knew no better! Each night they held a coterie,
Where every fear to slumber charmed, Lovers were all they ought to be,
And husbands not the least alarmed ! They called up all their school-day pranks,
Nor thought it much their sense beneath To play at riddles, quips, and cranks,
And lords showed wit, and ladies teeth. As—“Why are husbands like the Mint?”
Because, forsooth, a husband's duty Is just to set the name and print
That give a currency to beauty. “Why is a garden's wildered maze
Like a young widow, fresh and fair ?" Because it wants some hand to raise
The weeds which have no business there!” And thus they missed, and thus they hit,
And now they struck, and now they parried, And some lay in of full-grown wit,
While others of a pun miscarried. 'Twas one of those facetious nights
That Grammont gave this forfeit ring For breaking grave conundrum rites,
Or punning ill, or--some such thing.
From whence it can be fairly traced
Through many a branch and many a bough, From twig to twig, until it graced
The snowy hand that wears it now. All this I'll prove, and then-to you,
O Tunbridge ! and your springs ironical, I swear by Heathcote's eye of blue,
To dedicate th' important chronicle. Long may your ancient inmates give
Their mantles to your modern lodgers, And Charles's love in Heathcote live,
And Charles's bards revive in Rogers ! Let no pedantic fools be there,
For ever be those sops abolished, With heads as wooden as thy ware,
And, Heaven knows! not half s', poiished. But still receive the mild, the gay,
The few who know the rare delight Of reading Grammont every day,
And acting Grammont every night !
Never mind how the pedagogue proses,
You want not antiquity's stamp, The lip that's so scented by roses
Oh! never must smell of the lamp. Old Chloe, whose withering kisses
Have long set the loves at defiance,
May fly to the blisses of science !
Alone o'er her Ovid may melt,
Which wiser Corinna had felt.
But for you to be buried in books
O Fanny! they're pitiful sages, Who could not in one of your looks
Read more than in millions of pages! Astronomy finds in your eye
Better light than she studies above, And Music must borrow your sigh
As the melody dearest to love.
In Ethics—'tis you that can check,
In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels ; Oh! show but that mole on your neck,
And 'twill soon put an end to their morals. Your Arithmetic only can trip
When to kiss and to count you endeavour ; But Eloquence glows on your lip
When you swear that you'll love me for ever.
Of arts is assembled in you-
Man never need wish to go through!
May confer a diploma of hearts,
My divine little Mistress of Arts !
Time shall only teach my heart
Farewell, Bessy !
And repose our hearts at last :
When I think I stray from thee,
Can it, dearest! must it be?
Which then we hid not ;
To speak, but did not.
And yet she chid not ;
Sweet soul ! I did not.
Of footstep, coming soft and light !
That foot that comes so soft at night!
Though still the western clouds are bright;
With those we love exchanged at night!
She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so :"
'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season :"
HERE'S THE BOWER.
And the tree she planted :
Oh how that touch enchanted !
* These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its device a Cupid, with the words "At Night" written over him.
I saw the moon rise clear
O'er hills and vales of snow
The track I wished to go.
For well my rein-deer knew
That path which leads to you.
How soon the heart forgets,
Her sun that never sets !
And chasing every pain,
'Twill never set again.
LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL. YOUNG Love found a Dial once in a dark shade, Where man ne'er had wandered nor sun-beam played ; " Why thus in darkness lie,” whispered young Love; “Thou whose gay hours in sunshine should move?" “I ne'er," said the Dial, “ have seen the warm sun; So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one." Then Love took the Dial away from the shade, And placed her where heaven's beam warmly played. There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye, While, all marked with sunshine, her hours flew by.
Oh how,” said the Dial, “can any fair maid, That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade?”