Part 133 (1/2)

”How many a couple, like the wind, ”Which nothing in its course controls, Left time and chaperons far behind, ”And gave a loose to legs and souls;

How matrimony throve--ere stopt ”By this cold, silent, foot-coquetting-- ”How charmingly one's partner propt ”The important question in _poussetteing_.

”While now, alas--no sly advances-- ”No marriage hints--all goes on badly-- ”'Twixt Parson Malthus and French Dances, ”We, girls, are at a discount sadly.

”Sir William Scott (now Baron Stowell) ”Declares not half so much is made ”By Licences--and he must know well-- ”Since vile Quadrilling spoiled the trade.”

She ceased--tears fell from every Miss-- She now had touched the true pathetic:-- One such authentic fact as this, Is worth whole volumes theoretic.

Instant the cry was ”Country Dance!”

And the maid saw with brightening face, The Steward of the night advance, And lead her to her birthright place.

The fiddles, which awhile had ceased, Now tuned again their summons sweet, And, for one happy night, at least, Old England's triumph was complete.

[1] An old English country dance.

GAZEL.

Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh; Already, in the unopened flowers That sleep around us, Fancy's eye Can see the blush of future bowers; And joy it brings to thee and me, My own beloved Maami!

The streamlet frozen on its way, To feed the marble Founts of Kings, Now, loosened by the vernal ray, Upon its path exulting springs-- As doth this bounding heart to thee, My ever blissful Maami!

Such bright hours were not made to stay; Enough if they awhile remain, Like Irem's bowers, that fade away.

From time to time, and come again.

And life shall all one Irem be For us, my gentle Maami.

O haste, for this impatient heart, Is like the rose in Yemen's vale, That rends its inmost leaves apart With pa.s.sion for the nightingale; So languishes this soul for thee, My bright and blus.h.i.+ng Maami!

LINES ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ., OF DUBLIN.

If ever life was prosperously cast, If ever life was like the lengthened flow Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 'Twas his who, mourned by many, sleeps below.

The sunny temper, bright where all is strife.

The simple heart above all worldly wiles; Light wit that plays along the calm of life, And stirs its languid surface into smiles;

Pure charity that comes not in a shower, Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds, But, like the dew, with gradual silent power, Felt in the bloom it leaves along 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: