• ^ujf vinii 4i>' c^ \\U-Uft!VLKV/V '/r A>. ^OFCALIFO/?^ .-A^OFCALIFO/?^. O ft 1^ S V •'J UJ,! : ^\V\EUNIVER5yA .vKlOSAf 'iJDNV-SO\'^' '^AyiiJAi, \\UUMv£R5'/A 'Jr ■'% o -.".ViUl- ^/^ilJAINn-3WV ^ \WtUNIVER%. -ri (—) IT -< v>;lOSANCFLfr^; Jii^uNvsoi^'^' "^-^i^^aaAiNn^uv'' > ^ r OAdVciail-iV^^ i^v ,\\tlJNIVER% ^lOSANCElfj> ^^^t^ ''>. .S:10S'/' '^ laoNVSoi^^^ :m UNIVERi SANGElfj> ^^ AR> sm^^^ rp 55 >• r< JAINn-3\\v ■WO/- mm\Oyr , \W[ UNIVER.J/A TAtirnp.. - aF-rMirnpi,, <\U tvivfrv/a, .vinSA, 1 1 '.J( ODDS AND ENDS. BY THE SAME AUTHOR, C O S T A N C A, A roEM. ODDS AND ENDS. Jn Vtxst nntr uprose BY WILLIAM HENRY MERLE, ESQ. ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, FROM DESIGNS DV THE AUTHOR. LONDON: pniNTi-;n FOR LONGMAN, RRES, ORME, BROWN, AND (JUKEN, PATF.RNOSTF.n HOW. 18.3L LONDON' : S. Manning & Co. Printer?, London-house Yard, St. Paul's. PR Sozo CONTENTS. Page The Loves of a Pig and a Cat .... 1 To the Wild Bullfinch, and those who know his Note* in the Woods ...... 19 To a Lady, in return for some Flowers she had painted . 23 Translation of the well-known Lines by Macrobius . . 27 On a Tear ...... 29 On the Death of an Orphan Child, wiio died of Consumption 33 Chartley Castle, and Mary Queen of Scott's Glass . 41 To , on her Birth-day . . . .50 Xo , on her Birth-day .... 53 The First Day of Spring . . . . .63 The Prayer of Venus and Cnpid .... 65 To Laura ....... 67 An " Untoward Event " ..... 73 Lines, written upon revisiting the Wye and Tintern-abbey, after an Absence of many Years ... 75 • I am induced to adil a nole iiiyselt, fiiiilinij how lew persons are aware tlial tlie BulU'incli in a stale of nature t needle. 1 601 30G VI CONTENTS. Page The White Pigeon and Iron Crow . . . .79 Farewell ....... 87 To my Wife, on her Birth-day . . . .91 A Laconic Description of the Fire -Worshippers in Moore's "Lalla Rookh" ..... 93 To Laura, after a Trifling Quarrel . . . .97 Lines, addressed to a Geneva Watch, presented to my Mother 103 Speech delivered from the Throne of his gracious Majesty the King of Petty-France and Pickpockets . . Ill Lines written by Guido, during Exile and Sickness . 116 Translation . . . . . . 117 Translation from a Greek Epigram . . . .121 Consolation for the Loss of a New Hat . . . 122 In Remembrance of my Dog Gelert . . . 124 Lines written underneath the foregoing . . . 125 Hasty Picture of a City and its Inhabitants . . . 129 Written in Pencil, on receiving a "Souvenir" from a Lady who had often requested some Lines for her Album 133 The Arab Gray . . . . . .137 On the Failure of Two successive Hay-harvests . .139 To a Lady . , . . , . ] 40 My Natal Day ...... 141 Final . . . . . . .145 ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJECTS. Cupid turned Butcher Pig in Pan Puss feeding on Bacon's Works Cupid's Double Barrel Mary Queen of Scott's Glass The Tame Wild-ducks The Iron Crow Hinda's Heels CUT BY T. Williams W IlITE . Branston and Wright Etched hii Cruikshank T. Williams Branston and Wright PAGE 3 6 8 11 , 40 , 71 84 93 101 His Majesty the King of Petty-' ^ ... \v,,,,am< T 1 11- 1 I . I I. '> ILLIAM» . i ranee and Pickpockets S The Block-head and Wooden-hand Branston and Whigmt 125 The Arab Gray ♦ . . Thompson . . 136 The Same . . • • .138 My Natal Day . . T. Williams . . H4 • The designs which accompany the " Aiah Gray," are entirely due I" the invention of Cruikshank. Having taken a lancy to the subject, they were given np to the devices of his pencil. THE LOVES OF A PIG AND A CAT. i; THE LOVES OF A PIG AND A CAT. FOUNDED IN FACT. Descend, ye Nine ! on tuneful wing : Ye Nine ! — not less than that — For love 's my theme : the love I sing- Between a Pig- and Cat. » Forbear your smile ! — where'er it grow, Love 's still a thing divine : A jewel's still a jewel, though It grace the snout of swine. There lived a Pig, — the date we pass For reasons stro)ig and clear, Let one suffice — that I, alas ! Have iK'ViM- heard the year. b2 THE PIG AND CAT. Of Piggy's deatli one fatal day The fame has long survived; And therefore I make bold to say, Before his death — he lived. — He lived, I 'm sure, — and sure 't is true There also lived a Kitten ; And short the time, before the two Were mutually smitten. Whence sprang this love the learned doubt, Conjectures scarce avail; Puss perhaps vi^as smitten with his snout, — Perhaps tickled by his tail. — But what coidd pierce the living flitcl And Piggy's heart attach ? Unless that Pigs are prone to itch, And Kittens apt to scratch. Howe'er it was, — round Pig and Cat Affection linked her chain ; But how they learned to love and chat, May never be so plain. THE PIG AND CAT. 5 They deeply loved — if it be love, In every hour and weather, To eat, to drink, to lie, to rove, And always sleep together. And thus awhile their moments flew In bliss no wealth could buy ; And Pussy purred, while Piggy drew His grunt of luxury. But cruel man of love makes light. Compassion meets a dead stop. When hunger prompts an appetite For bacon, or a pork-chop. The Farmer deemed such love a whim, Gross profit filled his head; The only thought that weighed with him, Was Piggy's weight when dead. And woe to Alderman or Hog, Whom feasting renders fatter ; Death fells the former, like a log, Tlie butcher sticks the latter. THE PIG AND CAT. And vtiiii jilike were prayers and squeaks Of two as pure as lambs — Poor Piggy's head was turned to cheeks, His legs walked into haras ! Yet why the mournful tale pursue, How Pig was hung and quartered. Enough— too much— to know it true That he hideed was slaughtered. He died ; and death to Piggy gave That rest he gives to man, For feeling dwells not in the grave, Nor in the pickle-pan. THE PIG AND CAT. But how describe that fatal day, Poor Pussy's frantic cry ; When all she loved was torn away, And Pig was doomed to die? Puss had no words ; but, ah ! her look, Her mien, her anguish spake ; Despair was there — 't was Nature's book. Which told the heart would break. What now to Puss was pity's voice. The parlour rug for bed, The varied meats to tempt her choice ? Could these restore the dead ! — She scorned them all ;— He was not nigh To share the proffered cheer, And what is life without the tie Which made existence dear. Ah ! what indeed, but one cold blank From which tlie wretched shrink ! A desert spot, wliero all is rank — Puss woidd not oat nor drink. 9 10 rili; VIG AND CAT. Lives must be fed, though nine they l)e,- And Cats have nine, we know; — The worm can pierce the hardest tree, The strongest bend to woe. And withering hope had sown its blight Within poor Pussy's breast. As still she watched by day and night The haunts by memory blest. And there she sat, till faintly rose Life's last, and fluttering tide ; Then all was hushed in calm repose. The heart was broke — she died ! If f*iggy'*> tale has tickled me. And roused a sportive vein ; 'Tis as from thought the wretched flee By making light of pain. THE PIG AND CAT. 11 My heartless mirth intends no sneer ; I vow by earth and heaven, Had I the power to shed a tear, To Puss it should be given ! This cannot be ; yet from her fate — Although the moral 's dry — I '11 preach, and say — " Go, imitate A Cat's fidelity !" Note. — The habits and peculiarities of animals arc always interesting when we know them to be well authenficatecl, and I cannot refrain from relating tlie following instance of singu- lar attachment. In the latter part of March, 1830, an ewe in (lie Hock of Robert I'attison, Kscj., Dorset, died in yeaning 12 THE LAMB AND COW. a male lamb of unusual size. The lamb survived, and was taken up by the shepherd, and carried by him to the dairy- house, to be brought up by hand. As, however, the lamb appeared to be particularly strong and healthy, the shepherd thought he would try if he could induce him to draw milk from a cow which had calved that day. The trial succeeded, and in a short time he was brought to suck without assistance. For three days the lamb and the calf were suckled together without distinction. The calf was then taken away, and the cow immediately fixed her affection solely on the little change- ling, as she did not shew any of the usual signs of uneasiness at the loss of her own offspring. From that time the cow and lamb were inseparable companions. The lamb would distin- guish her from all the other cows which fed in the same pasture, would bleat after her as his own dam, and was always answered by the lowing of his step-mother, who, when driven with the rest of her companions to be milked night and morn- ing, could never be persuaded to leave the yard without him. She generally suckled him in a standing posture : and this was not attended with difficulty to either, as the lamb stood high on his legs when first born, and grew rapidly in consequence of the great increase of nourishment. How long this extra- ordinary attachment would have continued is uncertain, as the experiment was not carried beyond the third month. At that period it became necessary to change the pasture of the cows, THE LAMB AND COW. 13 and they were driven to the water-meadows — a land of plenty for the cows, who eat and thrive ; but fatal to sheep, who eat and die, becoming in a short time coathed, and victims to a disease for which no remedy has hitherto been discovered. Sad, alas ! was the alternative for the pet lamb : nothing re- mained but the Irish humanity of Pat, who killed his horse to save it from dying: as in poor Piggy's case, the butcher's knife became the instrument of death. The shepherd adds, that the cow was not reconciled to the loss of her little nurse- liiig for many days after the separation : she bellowed inces- santly, and ran to and fro in search of him, with every demonstration of restlessness and anxiety in her look and manner; and a considerable time elapsed before she settled down into her wonted quiet. To the fiu-mer it may be inte- resting to know, that the lamb weighed fourteen pounds the quarter : to the epicure, that the meat was exquisitely fine. The friend who favoured me with the above particidars, added another anecdote, equally well authenticated, and which, though somewhat foreign to the piu-pose, I shall add, as illustrating the habits of Ijirds, and because it will lead me to relate an extraordinary combat which I witnessed between four ravens. 14 LOVE AND WAR. " A battle between two crows was witnessed by some men work- ing in a saw-pit, near Dorchester. Two crows (a male and a female, it is presumed) were seen to alight in a water-meadow, separated only by a small rivulet from the field in which the men were at work : shortly afterwards, a third crow joined the former two. The intrusion was ill-timed — it was presently resented — love gave place to war, and a desperate conflict ensued between the rival compeers, who buffeted each other with their wings, and used their beaks and claws with all the courage and determination of two game cocks. The fight was renewed at intervals, and lasted, upon the whole, nearly half an hour. Meanwhile the female continued hovering over-head, wheeling round and round, and occasionally darting down upon the combatants ; whether for the purpose of animating or suspending the fray could not be determined. At length one of the sawyers, perceiving that the hostilities had ceased, walked up to the scene of action. One bird he found lying on his breast quite dead, his feathers dirty and much stained with blood, which flowed from a wound in his thigh, the bone of which was completely crushed.* The other had suffered so severely, and was so far exhausted, that being unable to effect * My liiend, with his usual iiigoiiiiily, has prescivecl the rival warriors. THE FOUR RAVENS. 15 his escape, he was taken and executed on the spot, without regard to the courtesy of arms. The female crow flew off at the approach of the man, but soon returned again, and was observed during the remaining part of the day, sitting on the neighbouring trees, kunenting with hoarse and dissonant cries the untimely fate of her lost companions." THE FOUR RAVENS. Some years since, while living in Surry, my attention was attracted by an unusual " croaking of the raven," or rather by that peculiar sound which is familiar to the ear of every sportsman, and is instantly recognised as the cry of war. Upon quitting the house, I perceived four ravens upon wing, between whom hostilities had commenced : they continued to skirmish for some time, each struggling to gain the upper hand, and strike upon the enemy beneath ; before long, however, they came to close quarters, and soon were so interwoven and matted together that they were either unable, or, in the bitter- ness of anger, forgot to make use of their wings, without which aid not Icarus, nor the flying American, could evade the laws of gravitation — neither could tlie ravens: down they came, and tumbled en masse upon earth. I shouted to the gardener; he 10 THE FOIH RAVENS. rallii'd liis forces, and in a few niimites the four combatants were made prisoners, and this too without receiving a wound, an escape which rarely happens when opposed to the power of a raven's beak: in fact, the four birds were so completely absorbed in the spirit of contest, that, as " the Billy's " master would have said, " it was a hard matter to choke them off." I presented two of the captives to a neighbour; and gave to the remaining two the range of our garden, where they remained a long time, and would have done so much longer, had not a gardener endeavoured to make certainty doubly sure, and seeing how effectually flight was prevented by clipping one wing, in the infinity of his wisdom clipped two wings equally. The consequences may be foreseen: as the feathers grew, both wings became equally strong, and the prisoners escaped over their walls. As they were never seen nor heard of afterwards, it is fair to presume that during their confinement they gained wisdom, and having had ample leisure to reflect "what a couple of old fools we were," they contrived to live in peace and harmony for the rest of their days. — No bad hint to man himself. TO THE WILD BULLFINCH, -AND THOSE WHO KNOW HIM IN THE WOODS. TO THE WILD BULLFINCH, AND THOSE WHO KNOW HIS NOTE IN THE WOODS. Bully, sweet bird, I love thy note Of wildest minstrelsy, When thou dost tune thy murmuring throat, And art at liberty. — Thou art the fairies' mournfid lyre Which tells of broken vows, When they from frolic mirth retire To weep amidst the boughs ; Thou art the zephyr's softest breath Which sighs along the gale, When zephyrs raise for summer's death Their melancholy wail; c 20 TO THE M^LD BULLFINCH. It is the spirit of tlie leaves Wliicli lingers near the dead, And throngh thy beak of sable grieves For life and beauty fled. For this, and for thy melody. Thy soft and plaintive tone, I '11 love thee, Bully, till I die,— But not for this alone. I scarce know how, but thou dost tell Of sorrow — love, and bliss. When, choked with tears, I breathed "farewell," And sealed it with a kiss. 'T was winter — but the sunbeams shed Their light o'er sleeping earth ; Like smiles which stay, though life be fled. — The type of happier birth ! Tlie copse which closed the world was bare. Each flower and leaf had perished ; Save thou and we no life was there, No hope which once we cherished. TO THE WII.D BULLFINCH, 21 Wlio made the "we" — 'tis, Bully, thou. And only thou canst say, Thou only heard'st our parting vow, While throned uj)on thy spray. Thou saw'st our tears in silence flow, Our love amidst despair. Thou caught'st the essence of our woe, And murmured it in air. For this, I '11 love thee till I die ; For this, my prayers are given For love and life, with liberty, — Without, what 's earth or heaven ? Sweet sylvan bird, till thou shalt die, I '11 wish thee, Bully, this ; And after death a purer sky, A tiny world of bliss. c-2 TO A LADY, IN RETURN FOR SOME FLOWERS SHE HAD PAINTED. I 'vE marked the print of fairy foot, And wished the form had taken root, — A model cast in sand ; — But when had hopes the power to save ? My wishes found a watery grave As tides swept o'er tlie strand. — I 've marked the flash of sparkling eye — The tear half formed — the feeling sigh — Sweet echo of the mind ; — And wished for some magician's skill To bid their beauties linger still, Like gems for ever shrined. — 24 TO A LADY. On winter's eve, with raptured ear, I've heard some strain to memory dear, Yet turned to weep the while ; To think that sounds, so loved — so sweet- Were borne away on wings as fleet, As soft as Pleasure's smile. — I 've gazed on flowers with fond delight, And thought the chill of coming night Might doom them to decay ; And then I 've felt, that I would give One year of life could they but live One other brilliant day. — And, Lady, hast thou read my thought. And has thy magic pencil wi-ought The hopes I dared not speak ? Thou hast ! — thou hast ! — before me lie In fadeless tints, the form — the dye — The bloom from nature's cheek. TO A LADY. 25 As bow the wretclied to their shrine, And clasp their beads with warmth divine, With fervour such as this I bend before thy gifted wand, I seize thy small and fairy hand, And breathe a poet's kiss. Start not ! blush not ! for heaven is there, And with it blends my spirit's prayer, Too pure to taint or die ; Its record calls a blessing down. And asks for thee a rosy crown To mark thy destiny. 1828. TRANSLATION OF TUT. WELL-KNOWN LINES BY MACROBIUS. " Kissing," says the New Monthly for 1821, "was an act of religion in ancient Rome. The nearest friend of a dying person performed the rite of securing his soul by a kiss, sup- posing that it escaped through his lips at the moment of expiration." " Dulcemque florem spiritus (ejus puella?) Duco ex aperto tramite, Anima tunc aegra et saucia Concurrit ad labras mihi." Through lips — no more soft Love's retreat- Her spirit flew to realms above, Her fainting soul then rushed to meet My last — sac' — kiss of faithful love. Neio Monthly, October, 1821. ON A TEAR. Thou sparkling drop, as crystal clear, From whence thy source, and why thy birth ? Fall'st thou to hail the new-born year — O'erflows the cup of joy on earth ? Or hast thou been in sorrow niu-st. Thy sire despair, whicli never spoke ? And hast thou now thy prison burst. To save a heart which else had broke ? It is not thus : I see — I feel Thou art a gem of purer kind ; And rays of heaven thy birth reveal, The essence of an liumbled mind ! 30 ON A TEAR. One other year ! — and memory swept O'er records of a life misspent ; Of time and talents lost, I wept, And heard a voice, which said, " Repent !" I ne'er had thought to weep again, — Resigned to God's mysterious ways ; But holy thoughts came o'er the brain. And touched the spring of early days ; Such days as when the yoimg, full heart In innocence and prayer o'erflows ; I felt a tear unbidden start. And thus my voice spontaneous rose : — " On thee, O God ! my hopes are built, And when Thy voice shall call me hence, May this pure drop outweigh my guilt, — It is the Tear of Penitence !" Litenirij Gazette, Jan. 1, 1824. ON THE DEATH OF AN ORPHAN CHILD. ON THE DEATH OF AN ORPHAN CHILD, W&H)a IftcO of (!i:0n;Sumjptt0n. 1816. Sweet pledge of those once dear to me ! The blow is struck — and thou art free ! Thy little life of sufferings past Is changed for one that 's doomed to last, To one, where joys unfading live, Where blooms that peace the world can't give ; Where, if the pang thou here didst meet Before the eye of memory fleet. Such thoughts but rise in faintest gloom, To gild with bliss thy happier doom : — Then hush, my sighs ; and cease, my tears ! 'T were sin to weep thy shortened years, For mercy dwells with God's decree ; The blow is struck — and thou art free ! 34 ON THE DEATH OF AN ORPHAN. Poor tender bud, it seemed as though 'I'hou wert not for this world of woe, For scarce had she wlio gave thee birth Received the crown of righteous M^ortli, Than sickness, like some worm accurst, Attacked each blossom ere it burst. And slowly — surely — preyed by stealth Beneath thy rose of infant health : Awhile indeed thou wert the ray ^Vliich chased a father's grief away ; The source of pleasure linked with care, Of raptures which but parents share ; But when that father's soul had fled, More quickly drooped thy fainting head. And thou didst learn to bless the blow Which freed thee from this world of woe. Yes — thou art fled, and thou art blest. Each trial past — thy sufi'erings rest; Thou 'rt fled, — but O ! the poet's eye Can pierce the realms of distant sky, Can view — although he may not paint, Such scenes as must in language faint, ox THE DEATH OF AN ORPHAN. 35 For, ah ! how faint were words to trace Each change that marks a father's face, When starts the tear, e'en from excess Of overpowering happiness, — And language ne'er could boast a charm To tell how on that father's arm. The wife — the mother — now reclines ; How soul with soul each link entwines ; How both now humbly bow the knee In silent gaze of ecstasy, — As pledges once on earth adored, Are all again in heaven restored. Though, Charlotte, still, methinks I see The throes which sickness dealt to tliee, I feel, had fate delayed the blow. Thou wouldst perchance have lived to know Such keener pangs as rack the mind, When those best loved prove most unkind : And what are tears in childhood's day But fleeting clouds o'er infant play ? — Like heat-drops from the summer sky, This moment seen, the next gont' by. D ;36 ON THE DEATH OF AN OUPHAN. But oh ! those bitter, scaklhig- tears Which burst from grief in later years, Awhile resistless roll their tide, And if at lensrth their source be dried — They cease — as falls the raging wind, Which, ceasing, leaves a wreck behind : And hadst thou run a longer course. With feeling — passion — all in force. Perchance — yet wherefore chances name, Since life and sorrow are the same ? Then far be every selfish thought, Wliich had been witli thy misery bought, — Oh ! thine is now an happier sphere, And prayers were sin that wished thee here. CHARTLEY CASTLE, AND MARY QUEEN OF SCOTT'S GLASS. iVHAf CHARTLEY CASTLE, AND MARY QUEEN OF SCOTTS GLASS. There are some persons wlio possess a power of fascination wliich acts like enchantment: we ap- proach within their sphere, determinations are for- gotten — reason is disarmed, and we only feel that we have bowed to the magician's wand. Napoleon possessed this power in an eminent degree ; but in the history of womankind, Mary Queen of Scotts is recorded as the unrivalled enchantress. Her final doom, which was decreed by our tyrannical " Good Queen Bess;" her trials, while yet in the glow of youth atul beauty, have doubtless added much to the symj)athy which her fate has so gene- rally awakened. Tliej' were as allies ; but the force by which she cun(pu're(l, existed in that spell which 42 CHAHTLEY CASTLE. won all hearts, — a inag'ic not to be described; but wliicli was felt, and ne\'er could be forgotten by all who looked upon her features and listened to her voice. This was not a charm which passed like the dreani of happiness, — once felt, it became a part of existence : the feeling was communicated, and they who listened warmed in the reflection, until succeeding ages with nearly one accord, regard Avith devotion the traces of her footsteps, and hold as sacred that which had ever been touched by the lovely martyr. Three fourths of the world would throw down the gauntlet as champions for her entire innocence ; and few indeed amidst the remaining fourth, wlio do not feel a pleasure, at least a relief, in shutting their eyes against those " damning proofs" M'hich the love of truth has brought to light. Chartley Castle was one of the many places where the ill-fated Mary sojourned as a prisoner: her stay there was short ; but as elsewhere, the spot is con- secrated to her memory, and in the Mold and vene- rable park, a small mound is still pointed out as her favourite resort, where she would sit and listen for hours to the charms of music, — in remembrance of which, the said mouiul is to this day called "Fiddler's CHARTLEY CASTLE. 4:} Hill;" a title, we confess, fatal to the ear of romance, for tliongli the finest masters of painting have introduced angels as fiddling in heaven, there is something in the word " fiddle" — in the form of a " fiddle," most indisputably anti-romantic. But what can a word avail against the enchantress — the lovely and unfortunate? If there be one who doubt the power of her spell, let him seek the spot, and he will find that all association of the ridiculous is absorbed in interest and compassion for the royal prisoner. The spot itself seems to have been chosen as commandinof the most extensive view of the surrounding country ; and I can fancy her feelings identified with some poor bird deprived of liberty, forbidden to fly, yet deriving some happiness as the sight ranged over the distant fields, and the ear listened to the strains of other days, which floated with the passing breeze, and met no prison walls to check their flight. It was in the year 1821, that I accompanied my friend on a visit to the late Lord Tamworth, wUo was then staying at Chartley Castle. Of the "real original" Castle but little remains, and still less of the more recent building where the Queen of Scotts was held in 44 CHAllTLEY CASTLE. captivity, — the former owed its strength to the hill on which it stood, the latter to a deep and wide moat by which it was entirely siurounded ; but its girdle of water, and the deeper source, which sup- plied such powerful defence against the attack of man, were unable to subdue the element of fire; nearly the whole was burnt to the ground. A few rooms had been restored from the ruins, to serve as a sporting residence for our noble host, and, as the cellars had escaped the conflagration, there were the means of doing justice to the warmth of his hospitable welcome; although, tradition says that at the time of the fire, the ruling butler true to his trust, and naturally thinking nothing so valuable as good wine, selected the finest, and braved the danger of the flames, in order to convey his beloved charge to the custody of that piece of water which we have already spoken of as supply- ing the moat. There is an old and somewhat vulgar adage, as to the fish which escaped from the fryingpan into the fire ; and in this case the transi- tion from fire to water proved equally fatal, — the well filled bottles sank to such a depth of water and mud, that they were lost beyond recovery. Day CHARTLEY CASTLE. 45 after day the disconsolate butler fished and fished, without obtaining so much as a glorious nibble ; the extreme depth and the nature of the ground pre- cluded the possibility of draining, — a measure, which had it been possible, he would gladly have adopted though at the risk of flooding the country around : all was in vain, and there the rosy wine is still blooming, unless, indeed, some river god has deemed it fair plunder, and poured it forth at the banquet of water nymphs and mud larks. Some months previous to our arrival the surrounding moat had been successfully drained, for the purpose of clear- ing away the mud which had accumulated for ages; in many parts it had attained to the depth of from twenty to thirty feet, yielding to the farmer a rich harvest, and the antiquarian a mine of endless wealth ; but alas ! no Dr. Dryasdust M^as near, to watch over the sacrilegious shovels as they broke upon the slumbering relics, and cast them aside with reckless indlfi'erence : there were, it must be allowed, some exceptions to this Gothic devastation, and things, which the farmer knew to have no positive power of vegetation, were collected and preserved; sucli as armour, swords, daggers, and 46 CIIAKTLEY CASTLE. shields in infinite variety; curious and elegantly- formed drinking vessels; immense pewter dishes, inlaid Math gold, after the Chinese fashion of intro- ducing mother-of-pearl upon the black-ground of their brilliant varnish, and also some of the moim- tain of empty bottles discovered opposite to the door of the ancient butlery — there, tell-tale remains of departed spirits seemed to have been collected from every knoM'n part of the world: some were perfect Patagonians ; others, as the old song says, " though very little fellows," were doubtless " of right good stuff;" some with the neck of a crane, others round and apoplectic as an overfed alder- man ; but their chief curiosity arose, not from the shapes, which would have puzzled a mathematician, but from a thin regular coating- which had formed in the course of years, and which, when dry, as- sumed the splendour of the peacock's tail, and exhibited the prismatic colours as we see them dis- played in the oriental shells. — Yet what were these but atoms in infinity ? the mud, teeming with curi- osities, had been carted away, spread upon acres and acres of land, and afterwards carefully picked over by labourers, who carried their collection to CHARTLEY CASTLE. 47 fill Up the deepest cart ruts. Neither I nor my friend positively fainted when w^e heard the fatal tale, we had enough of strength to inquire whether it were yet too late to sally forth and rescue, — " a something might be saved," was the cheering reply, and early the next morning we took the field. On oiu- march, what desolation met the eye ! — to Dr. Dryasdust, the Car of Juggernaut could scarcely have caused a greater pang than the track marked by the crushing waggon. We hurried on, and soon arrived at some fields where the remains of other days had not been gathered to such inglorious sepulchre; the sun and rain had whitened the skeletons, which in a large proportion bore wit- ness to the determined attacks in the butlery : — on a sudden our attention was directed to the Glass represented in the annexed etching. Its figure and style bespoke the refinement of "auld lang syne." We read the first two lines*: " Je songe tons jours a vous, Je suis tout a fait sensible," — and at the same moment our imaginations iden- tified the relic with the enchantress, Mary Queen 48 CHARTLEY CASTLE. of Scots. It was tlie language of her beloved France; it was the " gentilezza," — the tone of her feelings : we thought then, and have since ascer- tained, that the very writing accorded with the fac-similes which have been handed down to pos- terity. Beneath these lines, were two others, con- fessing the spell which won all hearts: the less polished nature of some Englishman — it might have been of her gaoler— was touched to softness, blessed the lovely hand which had traced the pass- ing thought, and found relief by expressing the sympathy awakened. " Blessed be the hand which wrote it, I with you may be thought it." Let the sceptic doubt, and call for proofs: I wish for no more. In those days but few could write; the letters must have been cut by the pointed diamond, — a pen worthy of a royal hand. At all events, since I feel a happiness in believing I have touched the glass which had been pressed by the loveliest lips that ever spoke, let me enjoy my faith, though it be delusion. TO * * * ON HER BIRTH-DAY. TO * * * ON HER BIRTH- DAY. The Blackbird's lay has (lied away; A long— long niglit lias checked his flight, And grief has chained his drooping \nng ; And she whose praise, in happier days. Called the varied note from his warbling throat, No longer bids the minstrel sing. And the wintry blast o'er his hopes has past ; And his crest of pride, and the joyons tide Which glanced in the sparkling eye. Ne'er more shall be seen in the woodland green; Wit_feeUng— thought, are as things of nonglif, I'oi- all have been doomed to die. 52 TO , ox HER BIUTII-DAY. But tlie fetter and yoke of the world shall be broke, The hour must quickly be M^hen the soul shall be free, And for worlds of sunny bliss her wings shall be spread ; And if thought turn away from the hope of this day, 'Tis e'en amidst despair to offer up a prayer For her who awakes all the dreams which have fled. And the Merle's last strain is for thee, dear Jane ! And his prayer is now, that thy virgin brow. And the eyes of soul with their dark lash veiled. May for years be bright with their gay, pure light; That the blessing of heaven to thy path be given; And for years, as now, may thy birth be hailed ! Nov. 3, 182G. TO , ON HER BIRTH-DAY. Twelve months ago, November tliird, The spirit moved an idle bird, Whom Englishmen call " Black," * To hail the day in blithest strain. In honour of la petite Jane ; But he had lost the knack. * It is scarcely necessary to remind tlie reader, tliat " Merle " is originally French, though sometimes used as an English word. The " Merle " here alluded to, is most decidedly French in origin, seeing that, after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, his grandfather was ohliged to fly from home — country — every native haunt, and seek refuge from that bird of prey, Louis XI V'., in this happier land. The adopted motto of "Le Merle aime la liberte," proves that the love of joke mingled with the love of liberty. The latter is certainly inherited by the race of Blackbirds; and for the reader's sake, I humbly hope that the} are not (piite wanting in the former. 54 TO , ON HER BIRTH-DAY. He sought the woods — the silent dell, Where Inspiration used to dwell, But she was not at home ; He called on Fancy — sent his card ; They both denied themselves : 't was hard ! Nor thought nor verse would come. Where next to call ? — He called to view The days when Wit and all his crew Were his especial cronies ; When life was young, and galloped past As merrily, and quite as fast, As Will and Regy's ponies. The past arose ; his feelings throbbed, His very heart with pleasure sobbed, To see such visions float : But soon, alas ! too soon they sank, Again he felt the world a blank, And sorrow filled his throat. TO . ON HEK BIRTH-DAY. 55 Thus sadly musing on his perch, He spied, beneath a weeping birch,* Miss Melancholy sitting; And " Come," she cried, " take oflp your hat, The while we have some sober chat, And I pursue my knitting." He heard the call, and, bold as Platoft", He marched, but could not take his hat off, Because — he had no hat on ; Forthwith the njinph of tears and sighs. Wiped first her nose, and then her eyes, And thus began to chat on. " My sister Sorrow — by the way, She 's sticking in your throat, you say, — Well, she, and brother Pain, And I — your most obedient, Are each a sure ingredient To work your good and gain. • Ask any boy if llic birch be not a more sorrowful tree ilian the willow. e2 56 TO , ON HER BIRTH-DAY. " We come ; tlie vicious halt on ruin's brink, The heartless feel, the thoughtless think; We hint before we go, That man was born to mourn — to die — To hope a brighter, purer sky. And peace, unknown below. "'Tis true, our visit oft offends, Till mortals learn we are their friends ; Like doctors with their phials, W^e chasten those we love — of old, You must have heard how man, like gold, Is purified by trials. " Then leave awhile those idle flirts, With laughing eyes, and tattered shirts, The Messrs. Wit and Mirth ; And here, amidst this pensive gloom, Reflect upon that awful doom Ordained to all on earth." TO , ON HER BIRTH-DAY. 57 She ceased ; lier talk inspired tlie bird With thoughts as sad as though he 'd heard And felt the hangman's Jack close ; And darkly flowed the songster's lay, Wliicli was, we must confess, as gay And graceful as a black dose. In haste he flew to Jane's Mamma, Who complimented him with, " Psha ! Your wits are on a shelf: By one so happy, young, and good. This song will not be understood, — I '11 keep it to myself." A year has passed on rapid wing, And still the Bird would gladly sing If he could tune his pipes ; He calls on Mirth to rule the day. For Janey's sake to drive away All vinegar and swipes. 58 TO , ON HER BIRTH-DAY. " All hail," he cries, " November ale ! If jugs are scarce, bring out a pail ! — Hail frolic, bells, and plenty ! The Blackbird hails his Fairy Queen, Whom Time pronounces just thirteen, — He wishes she were twenty. " Beware ! " he says, " for Winter 's near, Provision 's scarce — the leaf is sear — And quickly fails the Christmas berry : Then guard those lips of summer dye. The Blackbird has a thievish eye, And doats on the red, red cherry ! " He has, 't is true, though comical. Much wisdom anatomical, Knows how to steal each heart:* Then shield a fruit he fondly spies. Lest he should seize the virgin prize, To make his cherry tart. * The black and white heavti? of the garden, we presume. Queiy, should we read "steel?' TO -, ON HER BlUTH-DAY. 59 " And veil those eyes of kindling flash Beneath their dark and silken lash, Like Cupid in his bower ; Or there the bird will bask, and say, Existence flows from their pure ray As light supports the flower. " And hide those locks of glossy brown, Or else within that tempting crown He '11 build his nest, and — guess — As Yankies say — he 'd learnt to win A crown of gems, — the very pin- Nacle of happiness ! " As thus he sang, with feelings high, A whisper, soft as sorrow's sigh, Said, " Shame ! you naughty bird ! Are these the fruits of last year's schooling? 'Tis time that you should cease your fooling; Indeed, you're half absurd! ()0 TO , ON HE 11 BIRTH-DAY. *' Your notes are bad ! — your credit 's light ! Your bill's dislioiioured — bankrupt quite In sense as well as rhyme ! Your crest of pride is bald, or so, What once was black is turned to snow, And this before your time ! " You should have been the Mother's voice, And said, ' With trembling I rejoice; And while I hail the day, I bow before the heavenly throne. For blessings to my daughter shewn My adoration pay. " ' But mothers know a mother's pride, Her bosom's full and joyous tide. Which owns a source divine : Yet may I ne'er, with fondness blind, Foryet to make the heart and mind As perfect as their shrine ! TO , ON HER BIRTH-DAY. 61 " ' And grant, O God, that health with joy, That peace of mind, fair Virtue's boy, May guide her path for years ! Be thou to her the rainbow's smile, The star which can all woes beguile, And light this vale of tears ! ' " In cadence sweet, the whispered prayer W^as borne along the silent air — What more could Blackl)ird say then ? With humbled crest, and swelling throat. He whistled forth a graver note — A fond and hearty — Amen ! Nov. 3, 1827. THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING. Hail to the sun ! the bright blue sky, For they are life to me, — Triumphant Spring bids Winter fly. And Nature's soul is free. Hail to the sun ! whose heaven-born ray Hath roused each slumbering vein ; Life, love, and mirth with frolic sway Through all creation reign. Through all — ay, all — for life and love Are felt by every flower ; For Venus and the turtle-dove The leaves have formed a bower. 64 THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING. Mark yonder buds, liow side by side Their cheeks fond nestling to, Who dare deny Love's magic tide Flows every fibre through ? And see those flowers of warmer hue. Like Ijeauty fair and frail ; Whose coral lips young Phoebus woo And toy wdth every gale. Behold yon bee, whose roguish glance Has steered his fluttering wing ; He stops, and gives — O blessed chance !- A kiss without a sting. Ah ! what is spring with sun o'ercast ? 'T is youth with brow of age — A summer's day with chilling blast ? 'T is Cupid turned a sage. Then hail the sun, and summer's ray, Which bid soft feelings glow, Which as they give one happy day, Wake sympathy for woe ! 1824. THE PRAYER OF VENUS AND CUPID. As Venus once within her arms Was fondling Master Cupid, " The Bards," said she, "who sing our charms Are all too gross or stupid." Her smiling Boy, cried " Banish care, Apollo we '11 implore : " Could man or god refuse the prayer ? He heard — and gave them Moore ! TO LAURA. Thanks, Laura, thanks — the strug-g-le's o'er, The fatal die is cast — 'T is sweet to know, we meet no more, That every hope is past ! The burst of fate may perhaps disarm The startled soul at first, But soon, methinks, there flows a balm From words which speak the worst. I feel within a calmness shed. The slumber of despair, Each cord is snapt — the heart is dead Alike to joy or care. 68 TO LAURA. To be alone on earth — to feel There breathes not one below, To weep my faults — to heaven appeal, Or turn one shaft of woe. To mark, unmoved, the forked light. Whilst echoing thunders sound, Yet feel a something near delight. As ruin stalks around. To gaze on Nature's loveliest face, As smiles each living kind, And then a mix'd emotion trace. Of hate with grief combined. I, this had Ijorne — ay, more than this Had not one sigh inspired ; For I have felt e'en nearest bliss Witliin myself retired. But ah ! to view from eyes like thine, The glance that seemed all soul, To list the sigh that from a shrine So pure, so softly stole ; TO LAURA. 69 To view thee as some star of light, Some more than earthly spell, With power to guide my soul aright, My varying passions quell ; To find such dreams as long had fled Once more resume their reign, And feelings deemed for ever dead, Start forth to life again : lliis could not last, — such thoughts were must Until the brain grew wild, The trembling heart with feeling burst, The man became a child ! Yet need I blush that I could weep ? I scorn the Stoic's sneers — If 't were a crime — my sin is deep. But few have shed such tears. On hopes thus raised there weighed a stress Which made endurance vain — They were not tempered by success, So soon were snapt in twain, F 70 TO LAURA. ^^''e meet no more ! — such words now own No ])ower to wound the ear, Fate's keenest stroke is weak 'gainst one With nought to hope, nor fear. If e'er one wish — one prayer — I shape, 'T is now by chance expressed; I start when words like these escape, " O God ! may she be blest !" 1810. l:^ *»* The following " untowai'd event " occurred in a market- town in Warwickshire, some ten years since. " Who'll buy two wild-ducks?" Bessy cried, — A sceptic near, their race denied, — Bess, angry, turned her back : That moment both the slandered birds. To prove for once a woman's words, Flew off, and shouted " Quack !" Note. — A similar circumstance occurred to a friend of mine last year, though attended with a happier result, thanks to copper caps and douhle barrel. Anxious to store his pond, he purchased some ducks, which, having arrived at their intended home, were set at liberty, — a word which they appeared to understand so thoroughly and prize so highly, that they immediately took flight, and chose a settlement I'f their own. Luckily for my friend, it was at no great distance ; and after a short pursuit, the wandering ducks paid the penalty of death, and were brought back to store the larder instead of the pond. 1- -J LINES, WRITTEN UPON REVISITING THE WYE AND TINTERN-ABBEY, AFTER AN ABSENCE OF MANY YEARS. When life and hope were yomig, I dwelt In other worlds, I 'm sure : Nae care I kenn'd, — and oh ! I felt So happy — so secure ! Mine was indeed a world o' bliss, I ween 't was little like to this ; Lang syne it was, — tliose days are flown — It was a world indeed my o\ni. Dear, happy, artless hours of youth ! When feeling ne'er was chill'd ; When kindness seem'd so like the truth. My very heart it thrill'd. Oh ! tlien I kenn'd a world of bliss. But little, little like to tliis ; Lang syne it was, — those days are flown — It was a workl indeed my own. 76 LINES, ETC. To doubt, I liacl na' tlien been taught, Nor dreamt that man deceived ; And woman's lips, with sweetness fraught, Were lov'd — and aye believed. Lang syne it was, and time has proved This canna' be the world I loved ; I now but weep o'er pleasures flown. O'er worlds which once were all my own. Lilcrunj Gazette, 1823. THE WHITE PIGEON AND IRON CROW. THE WHITE PIGEON AND IRON CROW, **^n o'n- tiuc Calc." "The mid-day of superstition is past; but while hope, fear, and sickness hold their empire on earth, the mind of man will occasionally be acted upon by a feeling, whose magic power has been broken, not destroyed — whose sun has set to rise no more, though some fainter rays may for ever continue to be reflected." — An Ominous Legend. It seems some twenty years or more,* Since last I knocked at 's door — A friend esteemed of old, — The servant said, " My master's out, sir, " But, pray walk in, for I 've no doubt, sir. • This is a poetical license, — in reality, not above six or seven years. 80 'J'lIE AVUITE PIGEON AND IRON CROW. Should Mistress e'er be told That yovi were here, and would not halt, She '11 think it must have been my fault. And peradventure scold." Well, well — thought I, I '11 just peep in, But what was my surprise To find mamma and daughter weeping As though they 'd lose their eyes ! I asked — " what bless'd relation's dead? Has some poor valued friend been wed?" " Oh no !" they cried, "had that been all, Well might our griefs be counted small, We shudder whilst we tell, — Just now with dark, ill-omened clack, Upon the rug, upon her back — A milk-white Pigeon fell ! " Politeness bade me pause ; At length I said, " it seems a folly, To waste those tears, and melancholy For such a trifling cause. THE WHITE PIGEON AM) lUOX CROW. 81 No doubt this was, — I 'm j)erhaps absurd Because my notion's humbler — A pigeon of a race I 've heard By breeders named, a tumbler ! " * Then added, — for I wished to soothe The pangs which nought could quite remove, — "Oh! had this bird, which once was white, Pursued some other, happier flight, Then ne'er had been her eye mauled; She would have spared this trembling woe, And feathers once as white as snow, Had ne'er been turned to pie-bald ! " " For shame ! " they cried, " to treat with jest, The signs of heaven — the tortured breast, This day will soon be rued : Though you may smile, indeed it's true. Ne'er pigeon down a chimney flew. But something bad ensued." It struck me then, the words were just, Around was an infernal dust, I sneezed, and said with hiughter, • A particular species of Pigeon so called. 82 THE WHITE PIGEON AND IRON CROW. . " Such omens none can e'er dispute, The rug — the carpet 's spoiled with soot, Which, doubtless — followed after." Some years had past, the winds were cold, Or else my friend's great coat was old, It matters not, or age, or season. Or whatsoever was the reason — And few indeed e'er name a true one — Enough to know, he 'd built a new one ; And such a one, since man was breeched, The Fates ne'er cut, nor Graces stitched, A lady vowed — of course, 't was truth — TiU then e'en from her earliest youth, Papa ne'er looked so like Adonis, Though he was much too wise to own this ; But what care thieves for Gods or Graces ? They 've small respect for things or places : Scarce twice two weeks had passed away. Since first that coat beheld the day, Wlien thieves attacked, per force and boring. The house wherein my friend was snoring ; They fingered all that met their view. Stole candlesticks and snuffers too, THE WHITE PIGEON AND IRON CROW. 83 Of minor spoons some dozen pairs — The greater ones were all up stairs — And Oh, remorseless villains ! took The great great-coat, which graced a hook ! Guess you, some maid absorbed in love — A waiting-maid, I mean — Forgot to take these things above. Where they had safer been ? I pr'ythee think not so — These were with providence all wise, To bless and glut the plunderers' eyes, On purpose left below^ ; Lest finding all their labour lost, Their project and their temper crost, With blasphemies emphatic, They might have sworn to venture higher. And mounted with intentions dire To ransack every attic. Wlien fame the doleful story brought, I first shed tears, as friendship ought ; Then said — my doubts shall now be ended, My wavering faith be crushed or mended. So straightway sent to know, 84 ■niF. wiirn; i'jgkox axd ikox crow. Ere beams were cleft, ere bolts \\ere burst, Ere midnig-ht rogues had done their worst, If fate, on deeds like these intent, For \\'arning, down tJie chimney sent A monstrous Iron Crow ! FAREWELL. FAREWELL. If some dread loss, some weight of heaviest woe, Our every thought to one fixed centre bind ; TIio' moments then with lingering- motion flow. The hours unvaried leave no trace behind : But ah ! when some mark'd day recalls to mind Such sparkling joys as once 'twas wont to cast. By contrast rous'd — witli anguish more refin'd — We scan those happier days which fled too fast, And start — amazed to find that one more year is past. One other year : — and how great cliange may be Within that space ! — liow fears in endless train With those few words arise ! The past I see In loveliest tints renewed ; and then what pain To tiiink that she, wliose smiles once formed the chain G 88 FAKE WELL. To which my earthly hopes all seemed to cling, Forg-ets the wretch who owned and blessed their reign, Whilst one — yet hold — that thought might touch the string To madness wound — and fear-struck Fancy droops her wing. Enough — too much — to think those dreams are fled, Which soothed my pangs when life seemed fleet- ing by, For aye hadst thou, loA^ed , cheered my bed, E'en death methought had forced no yielding sigh ; And when, the one by every purest tie Revered — the friend, than life itself more dear. To some far happier world was borne on high. Ah, then forlorn indeed ! hadst thou been near. Thy smiles methought had sometimes checked the falling tear.* * The writer of the above had scarcely recovered from a violent illness when he had a more severe trial in the loss of a relation, who for years had been dear — as a father, friend, and companion. > FAREWELL. 89 But whence rose hopes like these which claim no base ? Does fate ordain that we must all pursue A shade that lures, yet mocks, our idle chase ? — For though, perchance, when last I bade adieu, One parting look spoke more than words could do— And though, perchance, my hand were pressed again With greater warmth than was to friendship due, Yet these sweet tiioughts revive their charms in vain, As memory paints the frequent glance of cold dis- dain. Said 1 — I dreamt? And in a world like this What's life itself hur duc continued dream. From M'hich how few, indeed, e'er wake to bliss ? What thougli awhile youth's livelier fancy teem With views of endless joys ! What though they seem c; ■_> 90 FAREWELL. No fairy sketcli in faithless tints arrayed ! Yet short 's their reign as some bright meteor's gleam, For they — like flowers that deck the grave new- made — * But smile 'midst grief to-day, and wnth to-morrow fade! Then, perish thoughts which once were dear ! — despair Must trace that word of saddest, wildest tone, Which gains for thee — if ever yet the prayer For others' weal were heard at Mercy's throne — All bliss that may to one on earth be known : Hadst thou, like me, e'er felt love's magic spell ; Had fate's stern will e'er bade thee part from one Too dearly loved — Oh, then no need to tell ! — That fatal word — that prayer of agony's — Farewell ! 181G. * In allusion to a custom prevalent in Wales and some parts of England. TO MY WIFE, ON HER BIRTH-DAY. The pearl, thoug-li pure as virtue's tear. The sparkling gems as crystal clear, The chain-like webs of fairy gold, Obey the rich — are bought and sold : No — nought in air — from sea, from earth — Shall hail the day which saw the birth Of tliee, my own, my Mary ! When poets feel the words they say. Their fervent, pure, though simple lay Outweighs the gems on regal brow; And such the gift 1 offer now, — " The warmest wish that heart can give, The prayer to Heaven that thou mayst live Happy and blest, my Mary !" Venice, 1829. LACONIC DESCRlPllOX OF THE FIRE-WORSHI rPEKS IN MOORES "LALLA ROOKII." Pro re paiica loquar.^ — Vik. The sweet-heart of Hiiida Was burnt to a cinder : And she, luckless daughter ! — Jumped into the water. 4^ TO LAURA. TO LAURA. LINES WRITTEN AFTER A TRIlLlNd QUARREL, No, Laura, no ! — it is in vain ! Those smiles cannot deceive me ; Thy thoughts will strike a chord of pain When I 'm about to leave thee ! Thy looks — thy manner — all are changed; Yet grief will soon await thee : Thy heart awhile u)ay l)e estranged, But oh ! thou ne'er wilt hate me ! 9tt I'O LAURA. No, Laura, no ! — too long — too well Thy every thought I 've known ; I feel thy memory oft must dwell On scenes for ever flown. Believe me — 't is no easy task, The truth thou canst not shroud Beneath the shade of pleasure's mask, By mixing with the crowd. E'en then I 've seen a tear arise. And swell the vacant eye — As feelings taken by surprise Forgot that mirth was nigh. Ay, too, sometimes when most you mean To prove yourself offended, A word of kindness drops between, Unguarded — unintended. Go, seek for friends ! — you '11 soon find some Who charm by being new ; But years must pass — and sorrows come Ere you can prove them true. TO LAURA. yy I've marked through sun and wintry wind With tenderness unceasing, A woodbine round a sapling twined, Their love with years increasing; I've marked — perchance with foolisli pain — The woodman's fatal blow, And seen those links of love remain, Though death had laid them low! Thus, Laura, grew our early love — Unchanged through grief and joy ; Till time, methought, a link had wove, WHiich nought could e'er destroy: And why should words, in anger spoken, Crush friendship formed by years? Must hopes of future sun be broken — Because one cloud appears ? Each hour — as fate unweaves our lot — Some hope, some pleasure rifles ; And friends once gained — like heaven — sliould not lie thrown away for trifles. 100 TO LAURA. 'T were harsh shouldst tliou that bark condemn, Wliich rights wlien all seems lost ; Then pardon words I could not stem, Awhile in passion tost. As seas close o'er the vessel's course, Thus souls like ours should blend ; Thus words which wound should lose their force. And angry feelings end. TlfijS\ilLLI/\li/l^' LINES ADDRESSED TO A GENEVA WATCH. LINES ADDRESSED TO A GENEVA WATCH, PRESENTED TO MV MOTHER. LnTLE bauble, adieu ! gayest offspring of art, — I destine you now for another; Go — and true to your trust, with all fi'ankness impart The love which I feel — for a mother. Though we part, it is not that despairing I seek To obtain from some fair one a vow. Which the sweet lips of woman so firmly can speak, And the weight of a straw can o'erthrow. It 104 LINES. For no heavenly smile by your aid do I plead, Which I know but too well would not last, Since a trifle could soon cause a frown to succeed. And my heaven be quickly o'ercast. Purer far is the charge which to you I ascribe, And sacred 's the homage I pay ; For the love of a mother demands not a bribe — Her smiles beam unclouded each day ! On yourself and the giver, then, credit reflect. And beware, lest your hands should deceive, To which end, all your works must be far more correct Than are his whose advice you receive. With the lot which awaits you contented remain. Or in value you're certain to fall. For believe me — though strange it may seem — if you gain, You will soon be worth nothino- at all. — LINES. 105 You must also remember, as part of your creed, That " not to obey is a crime," And when wanted to go, you must always proceed, And that too — without loss of time. As an index of truth, when she looks on your face. And is taught how her time steals away, Oil ! then whisper this truth — "even time has no space Which shall e'er know my love to decay." 1814. II 2 SPEECH, &c. SPEECH DELIVERED FROM THE THRONE OF HIS GRACIOUS MAJESTY THE KING OF PETTY FRANCE AND PICKPOCKETS. We look with pleasure to the confidence and co-operation existing between ourselves and our beloved subjects, and trust to their continuance, from having been so often linked together by the strongest ties. As man is that superior animal which claims the exclusive privilege of scratching himself all over, we despise those idle alarmists who infer, because our state is ticklish, that we must go to Old Scratch. Our arts are flourishing; I)ut we have noticed with alarm, the ck'vation to which some of our 112 SPEECH. worthy subjects have attained, — a height which must prove fatal to their lives and well-being, and which, we are willing to believe, was not originally contemplated by their wildest ambition. — We trust to see no more of this. We look with complacency to our customs, and can assure the nation that our resources arising thence are rapidly increasing. We recommend our council to persevere in the system of free trade, the blessing and profits of which stare us in the face : and the justice of making free with our neighbour's property is too palpable to require argument. Our Continental alliances continue unshaken : with the United States we are as thick as two pick-pockets, and our colony of New South Wales bids fair to rival its Mother Country in clever researches; as botanists, they are collectively su- perior to our London College. With regard to our domestic cstaljlishments, ac- SPEECH. 11;} counts are most satisfactory. Our prisons are well regulated and respectably filled. We there see to advantage the march of intellect: the guilty are taught to tread the steps which lead to health and strength. From our throne, we return thanks to our well-beloved Mrs. Fry, trusting that oiu- rising generation will be innocent as the fry vniborn, and as ably protected from the snares of the Devil as white-bait fi-om the nets of man, thanks to our merciful Court of Aldermen. We beg to calm the public mind, by assuring our well-beloved subjects, that a Popish plot does not exist : we confess to the curious fact of finding near our throne a bag-full of skeletons, a dark lantern, and Berry's phosphorus box. We ordered the former to be buried in silence, or preserved as a memento of our calling; the two latter we have retained for the benefit of our ministry. To om- Lords and Commons we look forward with confidence for the continuance of such liberal supplies as the exigences of our state require, trusting that our taxes Mill be levied with such 114 SPEECH. delicacy and tenderness, that the money of the rich will pass from their pockets, and the loss be vuifelt. We conclude by stating the only pleasant con- viction we ever arrived at, — namely, that We, in the purity of our conscience, consider Reform to be utterly unnecessary. Note. — This is the age of cant, and endless are the perver- sions effected under that mask. — " Prevention is better than cure ; " I tliercfore think it wise to say, that the above was written two years since; and although it may be deemed a merry satire on the style of composition which usually pen'ades the Speech put into the King's mouth, I should be the last man to insult, directly or indirectly, one who is so justly beloved and respected as our present monai'ch. King William the Foiuth. LINES, &c. LINES WRITTEN BY GUIDO, DURING EXILIC AND SICKNESS. Perch' io iion spero di tornar gianiinui, Ballatetta, in Toscaiia, Va tu leggiera, e plana Dritta alia donna mia. * # * Tu voce sbigottita, e deboletta, Ch' esci piangendo dello cor dolente, Con I'anima' e con questa ballatetta Va ragionando della strutta mente. Voi troverete una donna piacente Di si dolce intelletto Che vi sara diletto Starle davanti ognora. Anima e tu I'adora Senipre nol suo valore. — * * * TRANSLATION. Since I 've no hope, my little lay. To see my country more, Go, softly haste, and ever stay With her whom I adore. — * # * * And thou, my voice, — desponding, weak, That canst but tones of sorrow speak, With this my lay and soul take flight, Go tell, the mind is sunk in night : And thou shalt then a lady meet Of intellect so passing sweet, That to be near Shall heaven appear ; My soul and thou bow down before her, And for her worth for aye adore her ! 118 LINES. Tu senti, ballatetta, clie la morte Mi stringe si, clie vita m'abbandona ; E senti come '1 cor si sbatte forte Per quel, clie ciasciin spirito ragiona ; Tant' e clistrutta gia la mia persona, CIi' i' non posso sofFrire : Se tu mi vuoi servire Mena I'anima teco, Molto di cio ti prego, Quando uscira del core. — TRANSLATION. 119 Thou feelest now, my little lay, That death hath struck — life ebbs away ; Thou feel'st how strongly beats my heart W^ith every breath that speaketh now : So deeply grief hath played her part, She can inflict no further blow. If thou hast still the wish to serve. Lead forth my soul with thee ; O this my fervent prayer observe. When from my heart 't is free ! 1822. TRANSLATED FKOM A GREEK EPIGRAM. The mother has forgot her first-born pledge To dream of one beneath a distant sky : When, lo ! the child has gained the cliff's loose edge ! Oh, stir not ! — speak not ! — or the boy must die. With all a mother's lore, she bared her panting breast, The infant saw it, sought it, and was saved and blest ! Literary Gazette, August, 1822. CONSOLATION FOR THE LOSS OF A NEW HAT. Poor Bird has lost liis dandy hat, — His friends all weep a loss like that, And shew their love and wit, By saying — " We had felt less shock, If he had merely lost the block His hat was "w^ont to fit." IN REMEMBRANCE OF MY DOG GELERT. i2 IN REMEMBRANCE OF MY DOG GEI.ERT. Humble 's the mark — the hand can boast no skill, Which now would fain this last sad office fill, Would strive, my much-loved dog, thy worth to save, And bid thy memory live beyond the grave ! Should chance, kind stranger, lead thy footstep nigh, Blush not to grant one tributary sigh ; Trust me, a tear might be with justice paid, For here my brave, my faithful Gelert's laid ! LINES WRITTEN UNDERNEATH THE FOREGOING, ON SEEING THEM BADLY PRINTED ON A SMALL PIECE OF WOOD. You say, " the hand can boast no skill ! " Who sees the printing, dearest Will, That truth might quickly guess : But wherefore stick the lines up here ? — Unless to make it also clear The head can boast still less ! HASTY PICTURE OF A CITY AND ITS INHABITANTS. HASTY PICTURE OF A CITY AND ITS INHABITANTS. Some new houses of red brick — of mud, wood, and plaster ; ^lany old ones, Mliicli threaten some grievous dis- aster ; Many streets witiiout pavement — one or two with sad rou^h ones ; ^^^itll a few pretty younj;^ girls, iind with many old tough ones; Many streets which allow just one cart to go through ; .U[>t, oue street hig enough, h\ good luck, to hold two 130 A CITY AND ITS INHABITANTS. By good hick, for in fear so mucli ground should be waste, Here the market they hokl — here display their good taste, And with baskets, old women, stalls, cabbage and meat. For six months they block up the one side of the street — Then they change, lest one side should dare laugh at the other. And the rest of the year deal as wisely with t'other.* Nor is this the sole rule which a stranger sur- prises. Where the time for rejoicing's the week of assizes. Where the ladies all feelings of woman forego. Fancy music in chains — find a pleasure in woe ! * It is the custom in this city to hold the market in the only tolerable street for six months on the one side, and the other six on the other side. A CITY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 131 And resort to the court to be seen, and to stare, And to laugh while resounds the wild shriek of despair;* Where, by customs ordained, look a girl in the face. And forthwith yours is voted a desperate case — Merely offer an arm, all who near you may stand. By the morrow will swear that you offered your hand ! Where, at balls so much rudeness and riot 's dis- played. Such disputes from all sides for precedency made. That you 're standing three deep — when you stand in your place. When your turn comes to dance, dancing's out of the case; * 111 most county towns, it is the custom for ladies to fre- quent the courts of justice as a morning's lounge. At Exeter it seems to be the principal amusement ; and witli little regard to feeling or delicacy, the criminal hall is preferred. — This was written in 1818, and it would appear that the same custom is preserved. It was only at the last assizes that a prisoner cut his throat in the dock, while the jury were delibe- rating on their verdict; and, say the papers, "the court was principally filled by ladies." 1:3*2 A crrv and its inhabitants. Wliere, sucli learning and skill are so wondrously shewn, Tluit e'en all understand all affairs — but their own ! Hold, enouifh ! — other features there surelv need not, — Should one reader still doubt of the name of this spot, Where there 's little to please one, and not much to vex one, — 'Tis the pride of the West — 'tis — in short, it is — Exon ! WRITTEN IN PENCIL, ON RECEIVING A " SOUVENIR " FROM A LADY WHO HAD OFTEN REQUESTED SOAfE LINES FOR HER ALBUM. The fair skin of an ass, and a pencil of lead ! Why, the hint is enough to raise words from the dead, — Your satire could not fail ! Like a woman, at last you have carried your end, — So my thanks, dearest , in six verses I send. As heavy as they 're frail ! THE ARAB GRAY. Quick ! quick ! my steed, thy aid I need, There is fire beneath my brow! Like the gasp of death, is my heaving breath, Let me vault to my saddle bow. Away ! away ! my Arab gray, For life is in thy spring, Tlie rushing wind, we '11 leave behind, And mock the eagle's wing. By the roaring main, o'er the sandy plain. Now we cleave the air ! And it seems in our flight, like the dew of the night I'o iny deep despair. 138 'I'Ht: ARAB GRAY. O'er the liills we sweep ! in tliy bounding leap There 's a rush of joyovis tide — Now I live once more, as I 've done before, In the strength of lonely pride. Am I then alone ? — a monarch on the throne, In loneliness may move ; I feel my Arab's bound, I see my faithful hound, I 've two on earth to love ! Thanks ! thanks ! my gray, our course w'e '11 stay. Thou shalt drink at the shady well ; Thy nostrils are spread, thy veins are ruby red, We will rest in the lonely dell. Blessed spirit of good, thy dwelling's in the wood, Thy path by the world untrod ; Now my passions thou hast quelled, and the heart which rebelled. Has turned all its thoughts to God. Dec. 28, 1828. ON THE FAILURE OF TWO SUCCESSIVE HAY HARVESTS. Though we, last year, had sun enougli, alas ! But little hay was made — for want of grass : This year's as bad; for now — the devil take it ! We 've grass enough, yet want — a sun to make it. TO A LADY WHO REQUESTED SOME LINES IN RETURN FOR A HEAD REAUTIFULLY DRAWN. " Sweet Mary of the jet-black steed," When thou canst condescend to plead, Refusal must be vain ! — And if I fail, the fault 's with thee. My head is all a head should be. Save — that it wants a brain. MY NATAL DAY. Heavily broke the hour of dawn Which told another year was gone ! And the sun was hid By the thunder's lid ; No light was there But the forked glare, As the dark dense clouds Burst their sable shrouds ; And the earthquake arose Like a giant from repose, And shivered at its birth The bands of the earth ; And the granite rocks like an aspen shook, And rivers were shrunk to a babbling brook, Then the sea upreared with its foaming head, And cities were sunk in the ocean's bed. And this was my natal day ! 144 MY NATAL DAY. Aud I felt my heart accord With the spirits then abroad ; My pulse was wild as the reckless wind, And passions swept o'er my reeling mind, My thoughts were dark as the thunder's scowl, And the withering blast with its deep, deep howl : The shriek and the yell of agonized fear Like harmony fell on my feverish ear ; For hatred — love — revenge — despair, And madness springing from its startled lair. Ay, these it was, o'er heart and brain, Like tyrants held their troubled reign — And this was my natal day ! 'T was eve — a voice from Heaven was sent, Which stilled each warring element. And bade them cease ; And all was peace.* — The hum of the bee was lieard from afar, And, fixed in his flight, like a diamond star, * They only who have lived in a tropical climate, can form a just idea of such total and sudden change from storm to sunshine. MY NATAL DAY. 145 The pigmy bird — the gentle breeze Which kissed the tears from the drooping trees, And all beneath the smiling sky With one accord made melody. — Then the parting sun his radiance shed, On the couch where the wind had pillowed his head, And nature was hushed in the slumber of niglit, And Time passing on, thus marked in his flight The close of my natal day ! Like the shadow of death, night around me fell, And my brow was calmed by the midnight's spell, And I hallowed the sleep of the dreaming air, And in silence breathed a sinner's prayer. For my spirit was bowed to the will of God. As the rock which awoke to the Prophet's rod, My heart was touched, and gushing tears Renewed the spring concealed for years ; They fell as the dew to the fevered ground. My agony passed — yet I looked around. And I envied the flowers, whose griefs arc as light As the shadow that 's cast by the eagle's fliglit, For never more can my tears be dry. She 's dead who was as the summer skj- — 146 MY NATAL DAY, Whose voice could charm as the gentle breeze Ah ! never more can I hope for these ! My sun is set in the winter of woe, The dreams of youth with their sunny glow- Can rise no more, — my lonely bark Flags on through hours, cold, dreary, dark. And journeys to the grave ! Septe7nher 18, 1827. FINAL. TO THK READEU. In sportive mood o\ir page began, From light to grave the change lias ran, And now we reach the end : If I have touched a mournful theme, The " finis " of an earthly dream, Forgive, — and call me friend. As sorrow waits on all below. If I have chased a moment's woe, I have not lost my end ; And, Reader, thou may'st bless the day Bestowed upon an idle lay. And call the minstrel, friend. The blackbird is no rara avis — No dying strain to " Merle or Mavis," Does fate in pity lend; Or sweet should be his parting note. The words which tremble in his throat, " Farewell ! — adieu ! — my friend." S. Manning & Co., Printers , London-House Yard, St. Punl's. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 30m-7,'70(N8475s8)— C-120 'm, i\ms//j '/- ^' rs.. i5 /DJO^