Puslapio vaizdai
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I leave to common lovers
The hemlock or the hood;
My rarer soul recovers

In dreams of public good.

The Roses of this nation-
Or so I understand
From careful computation-
Exceed the gross demand;

And, therefore, in civility

To maids that can't be matched,

No man of sensibility

Should linger unattached.

So, without further fashion-
A modern Curtius,
Plunging, from pure compassion,
To aid the overplus,-

I sit down, sad-not daunted,
And, in my weeds, begin

A new card-"Tenant Wanted,
Particulars within."

OUTWARD BOUND

(HORACE, III. 7)

Quid fles, Asterie, quem tibi candidi
Primo restituent vere Favonii ..
Gygen?"

COME, Laura, patience. Time and Spring

Your absent Arthur back shall bring, Enriched with many an Indian thing

Once more to woo you;

Him neither wind nor wave can check,
Who, cramped beneath the "Simla's " deck,
Still constant, though with stiffened neck,
Makes verses to you.

Would it were wave and wind alone!
The terrors of the torrid zone,

The indiscriminate cyclone,

A man might parry;

But only faith, or "triple brass,"

Can help the "outward-bound" to pass
Safe through that eastward-faring class
Who sail to marry.

For him fond mothers, stout and fair
Ascend the tortuous cabin stair

Only to hold around his chair

Insidious sessions;

For him the eyes of daughters droop
Across the plate of handed soup,
Suggesting seats upon the poop,
And soft confessions.

Nor are these all his pains, nor most.
Romancing captains cease to boast-
Loud majors leave their whist—to roast
The youthful griffin;

All, all with pleased persistence show
His fate," remote, unfriended, slow,"-
His "melancholy" bungalow,—

His lonely tiffin.

In vain. Let doubts assail the weak;
Unmoved and calm as "Adam's Peak,"
Your "blameless Arthur" hears them speak
Of woes that wait him;

Naught can subdue his soul secure;
"Arthur will come again," be sure,
Though matron shrewd and maid mature
Conspire to mate him.

But, Laura, on your side, forbear
To greet with too impressed an air
A certain youth with chestnut hair,-
A youth unstable;

Albeit none more skilled can guide
The frail canoe on Thamis tide,
Or, trimmer-footed, lighter glide

-

Through "Guards" or "Mabel."

Be warned in time. Without a trace
Of acquiescence on your face,
Hear, in the waltz's breathing-space,
His airy patter;

Avoid the confidential nook;

If, when you sing, you find his look Grow tender, close your music-book, And end the matter.

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Unless, by chance, my watch is fast;

-Aunt Mabel surely told us "ten."

HUGH.

I doubt it she can do it, then.

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Nay; it is scarcely mine, the crime,
One can't account for railway-time!
Where shall we sit? Not here, I vote ;—
At least, there's nothing here of note.

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