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Nothing they gat or of hope or ease, But only to beat on the breast and say:"Life we drank to the dregs and lees Give us―ah! give us-but Yesterday !"
YOUTH, take heed to the prayer of these! Many there be by the dusty way,—
Many that cry to the rocks and seas “Give us—ah! give us-but Yesterday!"
ON A FAN THAT BELONGED TO THE
MARQUISE DE POMPADOUR.
HICKEN-SKIN, delicate, white,
Picture above, if you can,
Eyes that could melt as the dew,— This was the Pompadour's fan!
See how they rise at the sight,
Thronging the Eil de Bauf through,
Courtiers as butterflies bright,
Beauties that Fragonard drew, Talon-rouge, falbala, queue, Cardinal, Duke,—to a man,
Eager to sigh or to sue,— This was the Pompadour's fan!
Ah, but things more than polite
Matters of state and of might,
Things that great ministers do; Things that, may be, overthrew Those in whose brains they began ;
Here was the sign and the cue,— This was the Pompadour's fan!
WHERE are the secrets it knew?
Weavings of plot and of plan? -But where is the Pompadour, too? This was the Pompadour's Fan!
A BALLAD TO QUEEN ELIZABETH
of the Spanish Armada.
ING PHILIP had vaunted his claims;
He had sworn for a year he would sack us; With any army of heathenish names
He was coming to fagot and stack us;
Like the thieves of the sea he would track us, And shatter our ships on the main;
But we had bold Neptune to back us,― And where are the galleons of Spain ?
His carackes were christened of dames
To the kirtles whereof he would tack us;
And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus,-
Let his Majesty hang to St. James
The axe that he whetted to hack us;
He must play at some lustier games
Alas! that his Greatness should lack us !— But where are the galleons of Spain?
GLORIANA !-the Don may attack us Whenever his stomach be fain;
He must reach us before he can rack us, . . And where are the galleons of Spain?