Puslapio vaizdai

There was Lucy, who'd "tiffed" with her first,

And who threw me as soon as her third came; There was Norah, whose cut was the worst,

For she told me to wait till my "berd" came;

Pale Blanche, who subsisted on salts ;

Blonde Bertha, who doted on Schiller;

Poor Amy, who taught me to waltz;

Plain Ann, that I wooed for the "siller;"

All danced round my head in a ring,

Like "The Zephyrs" that somebody painted,

All shapes of the sweet "she-thing "

Shy, scornful, seductive, and sainted,—

To my Wife, in the days she was young.


'How, Sir,” says that lady, disgusted,

"Do you dare to include ME among

Your loves that have faded and rusted?"

"Not at all!"—I benignly retort.


(I was just the least bit in a temper !)

Those, alas! were the fugitive sort,

But you are my-eadem semper !”

Full stop, and a Sermon. Yet think,

There was surely good ground for a quarrel,— She had checked me when just on the brink

Of—I feel—a remarkable Moral.


"No more!" I said to Love.

"No more!

I scorn your baby-arts to know!

Not now am I as once of yore;

My brow the Sage's line can show!" "Farewell!" he laughed. "Farewell! I go !"—

And clove the air with fluttering track. "Farewell!" he cried far off ;-but lo!

He sent a Parthian arrow back!




WHEN I Saw you last, Rose,

You were only so high ;

How fast the time goes!

Like a bud ere it blows,

You just peeped at the sky,

When I saw you last, Rose!

Now your petals unclose,

Now your May-time is nigh ;—

How fast the time goes!

You would prattle your woes,

All the wherefore and why,

When I saw you last, Rose !

Now you leave me to prose,

And you seldom reply ;

How fast the time goes!

And a life,-how it grows!

You were scarcely so shy,

When I saw you last, Rose !

In your bosom it shows

There's a guest on the sly;

(How fast the time goes!)


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