Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stain'd, And waved it round her beauteous brow. And Fancy bid me mark where, o'er Who thus in song their voices blended :— " Shine, shine for ever, glorious flame, "Take, Freedom! take thy radiant round- EPILOGUE. LAST night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat, I view'd him, as he spoke--his hose were blue, And mingle Love's blue brilliances with mine; By my advice Miss Indigo attends Lectures on Memory, and assures her friends, "Pon honour!--(mimicks)—nothing can surpass the plan What! choose a heroine from that Gothic time, When no one waltz'd, and none but monks could rhyme ; When lovely woman, all unschool'd and wild, No, no-your gentle Inas will not do- And has the sprite been here? No-jests apart- TO THE MEMORY OF JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN. Ir ever life was prosperously cast, If ever life was like the lengthen'd flow Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 'Twas his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below. The sunny temper, bright were all its strife, And stirs its languid surface into smiles; Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds, But, like the dew, with gradual silent power, Felt in the bloom it leaves among the meads; The happy grateful spirit, that improves And brightens every gift by fortune given, That, wander where it will with those it loves, Makes every place a home, and home a heaven: All these were his.-Oh! thou who read'st this ston, When for thyself, thy children, to the sky Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone, That ye like him may live, like him may die! EPITAPH ON A WELL-KNOWN POET BENEATH these poppies buried deep, The bones of Bob the Bard lie hid; Through every sort of verse meandering, Till fiction having done enough, To make a bard at least absurd, And give his readers quantum suff. He took to praising George the Third: And now, in virtue of his crown, Dooms us, poor whigs, at once to slaughter; Like Donellan of bad renown, Poisoning us all with laurel-water. And yet at times some awkward qualms he Death, weary of so dull a writer, Put to his works a finis thus. THE SYLPH'S BALL. A SYLPH, as gay as ever sported Her figure through the fields of air, By an old swarthy Gnome was courted, And, strange to say, he won the fair. The annals of the oldest witch A pair so sorted could not show- And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures, Who knocks them down to the best bidder. Home she was taken to his mine A palace, paved with diamonds allAnd, proud as Lady Gnome to shine, Sent out her tickets for a ball. The lower world, of course, was there, Musical flint-mills-swiftly play'd By elfin hands-that, flashing round, Like some bright glancing minstrel maid, Gave out, at once, both light and sound; Bologna-stones, that drink the sun And water from that Indian sea, And pretty phosphorescent fishes, 'Mong the few guests from Ether, came That wicked Sylph, whom Love we cal.My Lady knew him but by name, My Lord, her husband, not at all. Some prudent Gnomes, 't is said apprized He should, by all means, be kept out. But others disapproved this plan, And, by his flame though somewhat frighted, Thought Love too much a gentleman, In such a dangerous place to light it. However, there he was-and dancing With the fair Sylph, light as a feather: They look'd like two young sunbeams, glancing, At daybreak, down to earth together. And all had gone off safe and well, But for that plaguy torch-whose light, Though not yet kindled, who could tell How soon, how devilishly it might? And so it chanced-which in those dark And fireless halls, was quite amazing, Did we not know how small a spark Can set the torch of Love a-blazing. Whether it came, when close entangled In the gay waltz, from her bright eyes, Or from the lucciole, that spangled Her locks of jet-is all surmise. Certain it is, the ethereal girl Did drop a spark, at some odd turning, Which, by the waltz's windy whirl, Was fann'd up into actual burning. Oh for that lamp's metallic gauze— 1 Around illicit, dangerous fire!— The wall he sets 'twixt flame and air (Like that which barr'd young Thisbe's bliss,) Through whose small holes this dangerous pair May see each other but not kiss.' At first the torch look'd rather bluely-- And, crack! the ball-room all exploded. Were blown-legs, wings, and tails-to pieces While, 'mid these victims of the torch, The Sylph, alas! too, bore her partFound lying, with a livid scorch, As if from lightning, o'er her heart! Partique dedere Oscula quisque suæ, non pervenientia contra.-Ovid. "Well done!" a laughing goblin said, Escaping from this gaseous strife; ""T is not the first time Love has made A blow-up in connubial life." REMONSTRANCE. After a conversation with L-d J— R———, in which he had intimated some idea of giving up all political pursuits. WHAT! thou, with thy genius, thy youth, and thy name Thou, born of a Russel-whose instinct to run The accustom'd career of thy sires, is the same As the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes on the sun! Whose nobility comes to thee, stamp'd with a seal, Far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set; With the blood of thy race offer'd up for the weal Of a nation that swears by that martyrdom yet! Shalt thou be faint-hearted and turn from the strife, From the mighty arena where all that is grand, And devoted, and pure, and adorning in life, Is for high-thoughted spirits, like thine, to command? Oh no, never dream it-while good men despair Between tyrants and traitors, and timid men bow, Never think, for an instant, thy country can spare Such a light from her dark'ning horizon as thou! With a spirit as meek as the gentlest of those Who in life's sunny valley lie shelter'd and warm; Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose To the top cliffs of Fortune, and breasted her storm; With an ardour for liberty, fresh as in youth, It first kindles the bard, and gives life to his lyre; Yet mellow'd, even now, by that mildness of truth Which tempers, but chills not, the patriot fire; With an eloquence-not like those rills from a height, Which sparkle, and foam, and in vapour are o'er; But a current that works out its way into light Through the filt'ring recesses of thought and of lore. Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade; Yet think how to freedom thou 'rt pledged by thy name. Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delphi's decree, EPITAPH ON A LAWYER. HERE lies a lawyer-one whose mind (Like that of all the lawyer kind) Resembled, though so grave and stately, The pupil of a cat's eye greatly; Which for the mousing deeds, transacted On lawyers' mind or pussy's retina. Like imps at bo-peep, play'd the devil; Put all at once to a bass viol. Nay, even when honest (which he could Be, now and then,) still quibbling daily, He serv'd his country as he would A client thief at the Old Bailey. But do him justice-short and rare His wish through honest paths to roam; Born with a taste for the unfair, Where falsehood call'd, he still was there, And when least honest, most at home. Thus, shuffling, bullying, lying, creeping, He work'd his way up near the throne, And, long before he took the keeping Of the king's conscience, lost his own. MY BIRTH-DAY. "My birth-day!"-What a different sound That time around him binds so fast, How hard that chain will press at last. Vain was the man, and false as vain, Who said, "were he ordain'd to run His long career of life again, He would do all that he had done."- Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly— That cross'd my pathway for his star! 1 Fontenelle.-"Si je recòmmençais ma carrière, je ferrais tout ce que j'ai fait " All this it tells, and, could I trace The lights and shades, the joy and pain, Which hath been more than wealth to me; Where Love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark, And comfortless, and stormy round! FANCY. THE more I've view'd this world, the more I've found That, fill'd as 't is with scenes and creatures rare, Fancy commands, within her own bright round, A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. A single charm that's not from Nature won, Oh! what is happier than to find When, tired with toil on land and deep, The ills of all life's former track- TO MY MOTHER. Downward again to that dear earth ILLUSTRATION OF A BORE. If ever you've seen a gay party, They've grown when the damper was fled— And come sparkling to you, love, and me! A SPECULATION. Or all speculations the market holds forth, TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. That in our lakes of silver lie, Or sleep, enwreathed by Neptune's smiles, How gladly back to thee I fly! SCEPTICISM. ERE Psyche drank the cup that shed One drop of doubt into the bowlWhich, mingling darkly with the stream, To Psyche's lips-she knew not why Made even that blessed nectar seem As though its sweetness soon would die. Oft, in the very arms of Love, A chill came o'er her heart-a fear That death would, even yet, remove Her spirit from that happy sphere. "Those sunny ringlets," she exclaim'd, Twining them round her snowy fingers"That forehead, where a light, unnamed, Unknown on earth, for ever lingers "Those lips, through which I feel the breath "Smile not-I know that starry brow, Those ringlets and bright lips of thine, Will always shine as they do now But shall I live to see them shine?" In vain did Love say, "Turn thine eyes In vain the fatal drop that stole Into that cup's immortal treasure, Had lodged its bitter near her soul, And gave a tinge to every pleasure. And, though there ne'er was rapture given Like Psyche's with that radiant boy, Hers is the only face in heaven That wears a cloud amid its joy. FROM THE FRENCH. Of all the men one meets about, Go when and where you will, he 's there. Try the West End, he's at your backMeets you, like Eurus, in the EastYou're call'd upon for "How do, Jack?" One hundred times a-day, at least. A friend of his one evening said, As home he took his pensive way, "Upon my soul, I fear Jack's deadI've seen him but three times to-day!" ROMANCE. I HAVE a story of two lovers, fill'd With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness And the sad doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd Two young and longing hearts in that sweet mad ness; But where to choose the locale of my vision Oh, for some fair Formosa, such as he, And which Queen Fancy might make all her own, For Love to live in-pure and exquisite ! A JOKE VERSIFIED. "COME, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life, There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife.""Why, so it is, father,-whose wife shall I take?" ON LIKE a snuffers, this loving old dame, By a destiny grievous enough, Though so oft she has snapp'd at the flame, Hath never caught more than the snuff. FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER. HERE lies Factotum Ned at last : Long as he breathed the vital air, Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd In which he had n't some small share. Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was outWhatever statesmen did or saidIf not exactly brought about, Was all, at least, contrived by Ned. With NAP if Russia went to war, "T was owing, under Providence, If France was beat at Waterloo- Was owing half that day's applause. Then for his news-no envoy's bag E'er pass'd so many secrets through itScarcely a telegraph could wag Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. Such tales he had of foreign plots, With foreign names one's ear to buzz in From Russia chefs and ofs in lots, From Poland owskis by the dozen. When GEORGE, alarm'd for England's creed, For though, by some unlucky miss, 1 Psalmanazar. |