The gossips, from the market-stalls,
Cried news of Joe and Tim;
But June shed all her leaves, and still
There came no news of him.
And then, at last, at last, at last,
One blessed August morn,
Beneath the yellowing autumn elms,
Pang-panging came the horn;
The swift coach paused a creaking-space,
Then flashed away, and passed;
But she stood trembling yet, and dazed
The news had come-at last!
And thus the artist saw her stand,
While all around her seems
As vague and shadowy as the shapes
That flit from us in dreams;
And naught in all the world is true,
Save those few words which tell
That he she lost is found again—
Is found again-and well!
H, Postumus, we all must go:
This keen North-Easter nips my shoulder;
My strength begins to fail; I know
You find me older;
I've made my Will. Dear, faithful friend-
My Muse's friend and not my purse's !
Who still would hear and still commend
My tedious verses,—
How will you live-of these deprived?
I've learned your candid soul. The venal,The sordid friend had scarce survived
But you-Nay, nay, 'tis so. The rest
Are not as you: you hide your merit;
You, more than all, deserve the best
True friends inherit;—
Not gold, that hearts like yours despise;
Not" spacious dirt" (your own expression),
No; but the rarer, dearer prize—
You catch my thought? What! Can't you
You, you alone, admired my Cantos;I've left you, P., my whole MS.,
In three portmanteaus !
LITTLE Blue-Ribbons!" We call her that
From the ribbons she wears in her favourite
hat;
For may not a person be only five,
And yet have the neatest of taste alive?—
As a matter of fact, this one has views
Of the strictest sort as to frocks and shoes;
And we never object to a sash or bow,
When "little Blue-Ribbons" prefers it so.
"Little Blue-Ribbons" has eyes of blue,
And an arch little mouth, when the teeth peep through;
And her primitive look is wise and grave,
With a sense of the weight of the word "behave ";
Though now and again she may condescend
To a radiant smile for a private friend;
But to smile for ever is weak, you know,
And "little Blue-Ribbons " regards it so.
She's a staid little woman! And so as well
Is her ladyship's doll, "Miss Bonnibelle";
But I think what at present the most takes up
The thoughts of her heart is her last new cup;
For the object thereon,-be it understood,-
Is the "Robin that buried the Babes in
Wood""
It is not in the least like a robin, though,
But "little Blue-Ribbons " declares it so.
"Little Blue-Ribbons " believes, I think,
That the rain comes down for the birds to drink;
Moreover, she holds, in a cab you'd get
To the spot where the suns of yesterday set;
And I know that she fully expects to meet
With a lion or wolf in Regent Street!
We may smile, and deny as we like-But, no,
For "little Blue-Ribbons " still dreams it so.
Dear "little Blue-Ribbons"! She tells us all
That she never intends to be "great" and "tall";
(For how could she ever contrive to sit
In her "own, own, chair," if she grew one bit!)
And, further, she says, she intends to stay
In her "darling home" till she gets "quite gray";
Alas! we are gray; and we doubt, you know,
But "little Blue-Ribbons" will have it so!
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