Puslapio vaizdai
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The words your voice neglected, Seemed written in your eyes ; The thought your heart protected, Your cheek told, missal-wise ;I read the rubric plainly

As any Expert could;

In short, we dreamed,-insanely, As only lovers should.

I broke the tall Enone,

That then my chambers graced, Because she seemed "too bony,"

To suit your purist taste; And you, without vexation, May certainly confess Some graceful approbation, Designed à mon adresse.

You liked me then, carina,—
You liked me then, I think;
For your sake gall had been a
Mere tonic-cup to drink;
For your sake, bonds were trivial,
The rack, a tour-de-force;
And banishment, convivial,-

You coming too, of course.

Then, Rose, a word in jest meant
Would throw you in a state
That no well-timed investment
Could quite alleviate;
Beyond a Paris trousseau

You prized my smile, I know;
I, yours-ah, more than Rousseau
The lip of d'Houdetot.

Then, Rose,-But why pursue it?
When Fate begins to frown
Best write the final " 'fuit,"

And gulp the physic down.

And yet, and yet, that only,

The song should end with this :

You left me,-left me lonely,

Rosa mutabilis !

Left me, with Time for Mentor,

(A dreary tête-à-tête !)

To pen my

"Last Lament," or

Extemporize to Fate,
In blankest verse disclosing

My bitterness of mind,—
Which is, I learn, composing

In cases of the kind.

No, Rose. Though you refuse me, Culture the pang prevents; "I am not made "-excuse me

"Of so slight elements;"

AD ROSAM

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."

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OME, Laura, patience. Time and Spring

COME

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

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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;

OUTWARD BOUND

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

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"Mabel."

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