3931 A A = = 1 ■ O A = = o B = c — — — 1 — zr i o m ^— ^ m --.-—■ ID n ^= '■" " Z U ^ — ^— rn j 3 m = O 1 2 8 1 — 5* ^^^ i — j 6 m ^^^ — j ; CD 3 1 7 = _ :> ^^= — ■ 8 ^ ^— r — I , -< | 4 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES f*e~j&°^^ MISCHIEF OF THE MUSES MISCHIEF OF THE MUSES " Clev«r work, sir! — would get up prodigiously well, — Its only defect is — it never would sell !" Twopenny Post Bag. " When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes,' They make you dread that they '11 recite them too." Don Juan. LONDON : DAVID BOGUE, 86 FLEET STREET. MDcccxr.vn. LONDON: DAVID BOGUK, PRINTER, FLEET STREET. 3??/ CONTENTS. On Autumn . . . . . . 1 Sunset . . . . . . . . 4 Translation from Schiller . . . . . .6 Ditto, ditto . . . . . . . 1 To 9 On seeing the first Swallow . . . . 11 The Passing Thought . . . . . .13 The Pages of Life . . . . . ..14 On Miles, a Country Coachman . . . . .15 Marriage a la mode Antique . . . . . 16 Written (by request) on Sherwood Forest . . . .31 On some Faded Flowers . . . . . . 32 Separation . . . . . . . 3.'3 A Summer's Morning . . . . . 34 To a Wave rolling on the Beach . . . . .30 Wanted a Seal in Parliament, 1839 . . . . . 38 The Huma . . . . . .11 • > social IV CONTENTS. PAGE Written in an Album . . . . . .43 Ditto, ditto . . . • • . . 44 0. 2 1 MARRIAGE A LA MODE ANTIQUE. And his reception there was (so to speak) As it' he 'd been expected for a week ; Rather more marked, perhaps, that the young lady Had told them what his errand was already. The father motioned him his easy chair, You 'd designate it with a courtier's air ; The mother, turbaned, frilled, and furbelowed, In all humility of stiffness bowed ; The son led first the camels to the stall, Then helped him to remove his travelling shawl ; And all, with arguments he could not blink, Pressed him in kindest terms to eat and drink. But this he steadily refused to do, Till he had told them all his story through ; Which he soon did — though not just word for word To the same purport as Rebecca heard — Demanding the surrender in due form Of the fair fortress he had ta'en by storm. They scarce knew what to say, but on reflection, As they could find no fault with the connection, They thought it best, and so perhaps it was, With a good offer, not to let it pass. And therefore wishing they were more acquainted, They made him understand that they consented. MARRIAGE \ LA MODE ANTIQUE. 25 The matter thus concluded to his mind, L'Envoy remembered that he had not dined, And made a famous meal just what you please on — Say all the delicacies of the season. Then feeling rather tired, and intending His way betimes to-morrow to be wending, He took his candle, and with most polite Expressions wished the family good night. Now what an hour had wrought, judge ye who read, And whether 't was not magical indeed ! The change surpassed (that well since he drew near) The quick reverses known to the Corsair. One hour beheld him since that point he gained Admiring, questioning, and all explained — His small talk turned to words of import deep, Proposing, and accepted, and asleep ! Kebeeca slept but little, and she dreamed, If sleep she did, of all so strange that seemed. That very morn how little did she think She trembled upon matrimony's brink, And yet that sun lit with its evening rays " The hindermost of all her maiden days.' 55* Little ken'd Girzy Sinclair, That morning whan she raise, That this wad he the hindermost 0' a' her maiden days. Old Si otch Bali i E •JO MARRIAGE A LA MODE ANTIQUE. She early rose, or so we may assume, And, on descending to the breakfast room, She found O'Grady and her sire intent Not on the breakfast, but on argument — The former wished at once to take his way With bag and baggage, if we so may say ; But this Papa by no means would agree to, And put upon it his decided veto. His daughter must not, he declared, be starting Off in this way, to increase the pain of parting. Ten days would furnish but a short reprieve ; There were adieus to make, and cards to leave. "If," said he, " with the feelings of a man You will this change of circumstances scan, Or with a father's feelings if you can, You must allow the force of what I say, Nor wish to snatch my girl so soon away. I 'm old, and could not bear at once to loose her, Merely because you were in haste to choose her. And then her mother will require, you know, Some little time to order the trousseau. But why my selfishness should I parade ? She comes— and here let all dispute be stayed. Ask her, and if she likes to go this hour, I '11 exercise no arbitrary power : MARRIAGE A LA MODE ANTIQUE. 27 But filial love, whose voice she'll ne'er disdain, Will urge her for a period to remain — Nor without ceremony to be carried; She 's in no haste, I 'm certain, to get married." Rebecca, entering, heard the question stated, And said, so far from being the least elated, She could not bear the thought of leaving home, And almost wished the time might never come. " But," she continued, if it must be so — If, as he says, the gentleman must go, I'd better let him take me, I am sure, His valuable escort to secure. '^ Besides, I know the longer I delay The more I shall increase my wish to stay, And therefore, wretched as I am about it, I'll go — but that 's the reason, never doubt it." This was conclusive, and dispatch was wronged In nothing save in taking leave prolonged — With bustle, laughter, tears, and all that same, The cavalcade set forth the w r ay it came ; And the bride blessed and pressed was watched away, By a whole household miserably gay. Rebecca in the parting scene so brief Felt more perplexity than joy or grief. •»« 28 MARRIAGE A LA MODE ANTIQUE. And of her mother's last advice heard none, " To keep her dear complexion from the sun." Again the desert 's traversed — once again The look of life o'erspreads the sandy plain. The drivers hasten on as steamers plough, 'T is victory not hope that cheers them now, (Except the hope— not distant — of reward ;) Nought can their spirits check, nor pace retard. The cattle too, that far and fast had gone, Partook the inclination to press on — And the state camel that Rebecca rode Seemed to take pleasure in his lovely load. * * # * Again the evening's rays their glories lend, And smile in peace upon their journey's end — And the expectant bride some twitterings feels In the new prospect that her fate reveals. Her maiden tremors every step increased Which brought her near and nearer to the priest, And everything was viewed with some relation To the grand object of her contemplation. At length approaching them a figure seen — A young man of good looks but thoughtful mien, So that he realized to the beholders The notion of an old head on young shoulders ; MAKRIAGE A LA MODE ANTIQUE. 29 And this was Isaac, by kind chances brought, Or by a father's hint more kindly taught, To meet his stranger bride, and in his arms Be foremost to receive her new found charms. Was it presentiment ? it must have been, "Which led Rebecca, soon as he was seen, To ask, not boldly, but with interest plain, Whom t' was she saw — nor did she ask in vain. And when presentiment she found fulfilled, When she was told, oh ! how her bosom thrilled. Immediately her camel she forsook ; And, fearful still besides of every look, ' --i -She hid her blushes underneath her veil — A female artifice ne'er known to fail, And hence the veil, which all confusion hides, Is classed among the insignia of brides. Here let an ecpial modesty be shown, And let a veil be o'er our story thrown, Particularly as no more is known. How the first interview was well got over, If Isaac proved at once a welcome lover, We can't describe, nor other details very many, Who did, or who did not perform the ceremony. We only know the wedding did take place, And there no doubt were bridesmaids, cake, and lace ; 30 MARRIAGE A LA MODE ANTIQUE. And what was better, as you must confess, Their union was replete with happiness. I only pause to wish the young and fair Happy as Isaac and Rebecca were, And must conclude by saying, tho' I thought The match to have been more made up than it ought, Yet when the affair 's reviewed as I review it The question certainly has two sides to it. Age has experience — and I must acknowledge That e'en by girls come out, and men at college, (Tho' moderns 'gainst the rule may have revolted,) Fathers have every right to be consulted. WRITTEN (BY REQUEST) ON SHERWOOD FOREST. In days of old, -when famous Robin Hood Went with his merry men thro' gay Sherwood, *._„ Astonishingly well their bows they drew, And scores of harts, and scores of hinds they slew But Sherwood's archers now are dressed, I ween, In frocks, and not frock coats of Lincoln green, And shoot, but only at a different game, With a far sharper, and a surer aim. In other words, the archers differ thus — They shot the deer, and now the dears shoot us. ON SOME FADED FLOWERS. Dear, sad memorial ! and in decay- Emblem of past delight ! thy fragrance o'er, Thou 'rt yet a talisman to half restore The hour that made thee mine : for, so to say, My heart, with all the love that eyes convey, Received eternal pledge, the bloom you wore. And gazing on thee, as a sacred shrine, Like lightning from the darkest cloud, her glance Of fervent joy and heavenly radiance Seems for a moment interchanged with mine. Such is thy secret, sympathetic sway — And when the fond illusion melts away, Thy withered leaves seem more a relic grown, And like some loved departed spirit's clay Which contemplation sees, nor sees alone, But with sad comfort, lingering ere 't is flown ! SEPARATION. Absent in body, but in spirit near To all my soul must hold as only dear, I still shall one day clasp thee to my breast With ef-erj pang of hope and fear at rest. And oh ! how sweet when all these trials o'er, And we need tremble, sigh, and wish no more, To find the prize for which we waited given, And in one glorious moment seize on heaven. Till then, as much as then, I'll call thee mine; What time may seem to sever, time shall join. Till then I 'm yours — nor deem that I forget ; We never parted — for I see thee yet! F A SUMMER'S MORNING. The grey dawn mixes with the hues of night ; Quiet and cold and unperceived at first, It rises — and the dappled clouds begin To brighten towards the East — the swallow tribe Wheel silently above, and all is still ! How sober, and how grand the landscape now ! View those large trees, which scarce a vanished age Hath marked as old, like snant sentinels That guard the soil : behold the river glide Noiseless and dark its ever winding way, And those proud turrets where the holy moon Flung late her radiance; every field and hill Looks heavy in the distance, for the dew Sparkles not yet in morning's brighter beam ; \ si M\n:i;'s MORNING. 35 Clouds overhang and nature seems to be Loath to commence her toil, and sleeps in light ! The birds awaken and the woods resound With melody; the warbling thrush prolongs His prelude soft — the blackbird's wilder note Rejoices in a chorus loud and high ; The lark sweet carols, and the cuckoo trills His solitary note along the glade. But soon the rosy-fingered morn unbars The portals of the East, and the sun comes Thro' his bright harbingers of golden clouds ! He comes ! and gives the flowers and foliage warmth, And dries the moisture of the dew-clad grass, Bidding all Nature glow beneath his ray. * * * * The fine and delicate texture of the sky, The grandeur of repose, and magic grace That lately overspread the waking world, Fade rapidly, and when the sun is high, And all is gone that was so fair tu see, Man rouses from his bed to toil and care ! TO A WAVE ROLLING ON THE BEACH. Sea wave ! whence art thou come, and wherefore here ? Thou com'st, indeed, but back again to roll; To-morrow's light perchance may see thee rear Thy crest where the mid ocean knows no shoal, And heedless all thou leav'st us, and art gone Far leagues away, unceasing rolling on. Oft thou hast washed in sport our happy shore, As playful in thy sunny smiles as now, And back hast swept, with hoarse and angry roar, In fury on the fated vessel's prow ; Or gaily kissed at eve her side whose wreck That night shall see thee bursting o'er the deck. TO A WAVE ROLLING OH Till: BEACH. .'i7 Yea, when a hardy handful that may spring Into the boat are rowing all alone, Fell, tell pursuer, follow them and fling Thy bosom over them, and they are gone ! While thou again with smiles their shores shall greet, And lave their widows' and their daughters' feet. And so thy fellow-element, the wind, Scatters the simoom's devastating cloud, And passing on doth fairy locks unbind, Or wave the scarf of lover in a crowd — Leaves land, becomes a sea-breeze, and again , -iBears danger and destruction on to men. Chanceful and changeful as this mortal life, "Who can divine thy origin or end ? How long in ripple, or in stormy strife, Sweeping o'er leagues where'er thy course may tend, Thou hast been minister of good or ill To men, to nations, but a subject still ! WANTED A SEAT IN PAELIAMENT, 1839. Had I a seat in Parliament, My country in my care, I never should be found content To sit a cypher there. No ! for Reform with vote and voice My utmost should be tried, And ministers might well rejoice To have me on their side. For they 'd be stronger ten per cent. Had I a seat in Parliament. And first I 'd show my churchman's zeal, " To turn Church lands to lay," Though how 't would answer for its weal I can : t at present say. WANTED A SEAT IN PARLIAMENT, 1839 ■"•' > It 's stood too long in statu quo For anybody's viewing, And whether it bear fruit or no, The tree must, want renewing. And nothing else I ever meant — Had I a seat in Parliament. The Corn-laws I would abrogate, The farmers are too rich ; Let all be equal, small and great, That seems the general itch. Or if this should not come to pass, Still turn and turn about; Patriots like me should have the brass, And farmers go without, And landlords whistle for their rent, Had I a seat in Parliament. The House of Peers about their ears I 'd very quickly pull, And laws observed in bygone years By one law I 'd annul ; No law at all my daily prayer, And eke my nightly dream ; 40 WANTED A SEAT IN PARLIAMENT, 1839 Mankind would then be free as air, The Whigs should be supreme, And Tories to the devil sent, Had I a seat in Parliament. The poor who see all this begun Feel trouble like a feather, And patiently, until 't is done, In union live together. And when the skies roast mutton rain, And streets are paved with gold, Why then you may be justly vain To me your votes you sold — Or say your confidence you lent, And I 'd a seat in Parliament. THE HUMA* There is an Eastern bird, which seen Over the peasant's head to fly, Assures him, tho' years intervene, A crown upon his brows shall lie. And, tho' near death's dark door he be, And pain, and grief, and shame endure, That bird he o'er his head might see For ever makes his prospects sure. And I, tho' for a time despair, Remorse, and anguish past controul, And blighted hope, and grief and care, Drive deep the iron in my soul — * The Huma, a bird peculiar to the East. It is supposed to fly constantly in the air, and never touch the ground: it is looked upon as a bird of happy omen, and the belief is, that every head it overshades will in time wear a crown. — Un HABD80N. 42 THE HUMA. T 'is for a time: my ears have heard A sound that ne'er shall fade away ; I 've heard a life-recalling word — "I love thee," I have heard thee say. So cruel fate can never send His sharpest shaft, though all combine, To you, O Fate ! I ne'er shall bend, Till you can say, " she is not thine." WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. Can that be called a conquest which is won Without an effort made, a siege begun ? Where force opposed to weakness finds it yield ? Is there a triumph in a bloodless field ? No more than you obtained, when I was free, And in a moment lost my liberty. WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. Ye rash adventurers, beware ! If such an enterprise ye dare. As here t' inscribe a single line, Your fate shall be the same as mine ! For this is an enchanted ground, In which, if once a wight is found, A new Calypso, and deceiver, Shall keep him as her slave for ever. ODE TO MARY, BY ONE OF THE OLDEST, AND NOT THE LEAST AKIU'.NI. OF HER ADMIRERS. I never thought that I should fall In love with any one at all ; Yet so it is, and I 'm thy thrall, My Mary ! When first I saw my future bride, She sate yon flowery bank beside, And milked the Cow yclept "the Pied," My Mary ! And as I gazed I found there grew Within my bosom feelings new ; I bore, and bear them still for you, My Mary ! Nor these alone— I bear the jokes Of cruel scandalizing folks, Who laugh bcauise I kiss and coax, My Mary ! 16 ODE TO MARY. And my relations say that I Am mary-ing when I should die ; And giving them real cause to cry, My Mary ! Well, if they say so, never mind, I shall be happy if I find Content and constant, fair and kind, My Mary ! But then, to what shall I compare ye ? (Women, like weather-glasses, vary) ; Then sometimes you are quite contrary, My Mary ! You look so cross and speak so loud, You make me feel completely cowed, And show yourself extremely proud, My Mary ! You say I should be more a buck, So that I only wish for luck, My head with horns may not be stuck, My Mary ! ODE TO MARY. 17 And still, though such may be the case, Yet be the faults that I would chace Forgot in such a lovely face, My Mary ! Whatever you may do or say, I still must feel as on the day When first you stole my heart away, My Mary ! Gazing on every rural charm, Thy ruddy neck, thy hand and arm, By early milking rendered warm, My Mary ! The world's dread laugh I can despise, And looking babbies in thine eyes, Think love hit Solomon the wise, My Mary ! Then let me cull before it fade The flower that 's blooming in the shade, My queen of curds ! my dairy maid, My Mary ! EPITAPH ON "CHARTIST," A HORSE WELL KNOWN WITH THE HOLDERNESS HOUNDS. Chartist !* who failed but at the last, whose game Showed strong in death, whose vice was but in name, Who ne'er thy master's confidence abused, Who always rose, and never once refused ! 'Twas thy death-note at Kelkf by Taylor:}: blown, And the last whoop thou heard'st was but thine own ! Sleep on ! thou 'st vanished, as thou oft hast done, Before the melee in a brilliant run — But of thy wonted fleetness what remains ? The hoof that spurned the follows, turf detains ! * Chartist on his last day went through an hour's run, and left off perfectly fresh — hut after returning home appeared distressed, and died of exhaustion, from no visihle cause. On dissection, it was found he had sustained a rupture of the liver, and had bled to death. + Kelk pastures, where the fox was found, and to which he returned after an hour's run, and where he was killed. } The huntsman. L' INSOUCIANTE. *■*■» She has no heart — at least for love ! But soul she has in plenty ; And tho' no man her breast can move, She moves nineteen in twenty. No melting moods I 've had with her, But melting moments many ; And after all I must aver That they 're the best of any ! The wounds she gives, altho' severe, Are playful, not past healing, She 'd rather see you love than fear, And more at ease than kneeling. Lovely as lively she appears, And radiant as of heaven, But less of saint than angel wears — Not much of angel even. ii 50 L INSOUCIANTE. But she is all a man can wish, And lhore than all one fancies Of heroines, whether heathenish, Or modern in romances. All that is generous, kind, and good, All that is soft and pleasing, All that is witty, but not rude, All that she knows is teasing ! And surely she besides must have, To make this vast impression, The magic girdle Venus gave To Juno in possession ! Or whence the charm? her wandering eyes Would make an anchorite wander ; Her cheek of loveliest eastern dyes Would make the Grand Turk grander. Her brow seems always shone upon, Her smile like lightning plays ; And more than all, her form is one Embodying every grace ! l' insouciante. r>i But such man's lieart — e'en these combined Could not for ever win it — And we must leave the case we find, With still a mystery in it. And tho' this magic spell away, We then might break our fetter, For that, and for my heart I say, If she will keep 'em — let her ! P.S. — Since writing the above I find She 's altered like the season ; She liked me once, but changed her mind, And cuts me without reason. Unluckily she 's got my heart, But that I '11 soon recover ; Which will not, underneath the smart, Be soon again a rover. Now to discern her faults I 'm free, But here who ever knew much ? Her only fault 's not liking me, And mine — I like her too much. HER MAIDEN NAME. " What's in a Name?" Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Scene 2. An hour, one little hour ago, Her maiden name she bore ; And with a sadness meant for show She wrote, and gave it o'er. But that's a sigh! and from the heart It seems as tho' it came — As some one speaking makes her start To hear her maiden name. And why ? Her present state with doubt As much as hope is rife — The past is certain and points out The moonlit road of life ; Where shadows only soften still The brightness of the way, And where the morn, smile how it will, Will never smile so gay. + ■ -> HER MAIDEN NAME. 53 E'en midst the smiles, the tears of some The name that strange seemed grown, Within the portal of her home She fancies still her own : Oft in her dreams she '11 hear it too, And not surprised reply, But find imagination grew From wakeful memory. And so, perhaps, in after years, That name, tho' half forgot, Shall bring back almost childhood's tears, For thoughts that else were not. It seems a magic power to spread Before her at a glance The picture, now with rapture read, Of all her youth's romance. A parent, or some dear old friend, Who the new name ne'er heard ; Some fair young playmate whose sad end Her girlish griefs had stirred, — These shall come back, and many a scene Before that marriage vow, And " dancing days," and " sweet eighteen," And lovers — not so now ! .p1 her maiden name. Some she beholds death soon may smite, Soon may remain, at most, Few who remember, or who might, The name she lately lost. And with that loss an undefined And gloomy feeling grows, Such as may chill the happiest mind, And start it from repose. Alas ! of such few flowers as fall Along the path we tread, The sweetest seem among them all Those soonest found, and dead ! For those she culled while yet 't was May, Oh ! deem her not to blame, If with a sigh she turned away, To hear her maiden name ! ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. The leaves that autumn strews around Are emblems of a fall more dear ; And winter's snow that chills the ground, Shall find a gloomier winter here! This is the day that, far from sight Of all who loved and all who sighed, She must be taken, leaving light In the cold silent grave to hide. The eye, the hand, the heart are still — That eye, whose glance was magic's power- That hand, at whose touch hands would thrill- That heart, the sweetness of the flower ! And can it be ? Can Death's fell stroke Anticipate the stroke of Time ? The silver link at once be broke E'er worn and chafed in earthly clime ? ■>l> ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. How lately was she absent never, Where joy's all- varying form was known ! And has she left us now for ever, To trace our former path alone ? 'T is like the mid-day sun, when clouds Swift and sad messengers appear ; And darkness suddenly enshrouds The heaven that seemed so bright and fair. The sun shines forth again to-day, If not to-day, to-morrow shines : But for thy loss, the kind, the gay, Still, still, the aching heart repines. O lost to earth, and earthly ties ! Than whom they none more fondly drew ; If aught of comfort can arise, 'Tis that none less earth's sorrows knew. We may know age, and pain, and care, While calm thy rest among the dead ; And oft may wipe away the tear, Thou never didst, and ne'er wilt shed ! ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 57 When old and grey, if such we grow, And glancing backward on the past, How strange 'twill seem to view thee so, In youth's fair freshness as thou wast ! No thought of thee can ever come, Save hallowing thoughts of peace and love ; They follow thee beyond the tomb, And hail thy smile in realms above ! ON THE IVY. Ivy ! that on the monastery wall, Seem'st full of life, to speak but of the dead ; How many a race since first thy leaves were shed Have wandered here in cowl, and cloak, and shawl ! And yet this is no place for you at all ! Perchance thou mourn'st the glories of old days : But sure the shades of friars blithe and jolly Love not a monument so melancholy ; And to ourselves thou 'rt still more out of place. Gaily we walk beneath the arches' frown, Where thy long shoots extend from earth to air ; But coldly on the gazer look'st thou down, And sounds of laughter echo sadly there ! Julia declares the Ivy picturesque, And this I venture — all 't is mine to say — Ivy do thou the compliment repay : ON THE IVY. 59 Remain no longer conjuring up the past, Since sorrow's emblem now appears burlesque — Live to record what thou hast seen to-day, The charms of her who looked upon thee last. Then be thy character of grief forgot, And be transformed to myrtle on the spot ! ' i - « TO A LADY ON HER PICTUEE. How can the limner's skill that form define ? How that sweet smile express ? or in what dyes That cheek's warm blushes with its snow can join? Or paint the azure of those speaking eyes ? How can the attempted grace by art displayed To nature's fairest pattern e'er be true ? How can the soul on canvas be pourtrayed ? How can your picture ever equal you ? No more this page can my one thought contain, Tho' admiration it may well declare ; For search my heart and find that there you reign, And more, much more, than admiration there ! ON THE NEW YEAR. 'T is the new year ! the last hath scarcely flown, Its joys are vanished, and its troubles past ! For ever gone, the shortest year e'er known — The too long year, it may be, ends at last ! ..• ^But see, as if to turn such thoughts as these, How lovely is the first of the new year — Full of tranquillity and breathing peace, So sweet, so silent, to the eye and ear ! The moon and stars seem on this world beneath To gaze intently from the clear blue sky, And earth is hushed, not with the sleep of death, But that of calm and guileless infancy ! The breeze is stilled, the hoar-frost lightly spread Lends a more silvery aspect to the plain — ( )n Nature's fare rejoicing may be read, Ae if she field in Paradise her reign ! 62 ON THE NEW YEAR. And hopes as bright as Heaven will fill the mind; Which like that brightness clouds may soon obscure; Love, if we love, is something more refined, And almost, tho' a human passion, pure. The heart's best feelings unalloyed arise, And, with reflexion softened by the scene, We look where happiness in future lies, And scarce regret the pleasures that have been ! E'en for the moment care shall seem at rest, Sorrow less harsh in aspect shall appear — So beauty's smile can ease the troubled breast, And friendship's aid the mournful heart can cheer ! The influences of the hour supreme Pervade our retrospect of good or ill — The year is o'er, and should be as a dream That fades with dawn, tho' 't is remembered still. THE RETURNING SMILE. Bright, bright as ever beams thy smile, And that glad look returns, Where spreads unknowingly the wile Each eye and heart discerns. Why was that glance of fire subdued, And half those charms withdrawn, But that their influence renewed Should over-match their dawn ? So when the sun long clouded breaks At evening forth in pride, The storm gone by more welcome makes The glories he could hide. And then 't is passing sweet to mark On earth his glittering lines, While o'er the distant hills, tho' dark, Like Hope, the rainbow shines ! THE FAIRER FLOWER. These flowers, tho' now so lovely to my eye, If they could hear me praise them would reply, " No thauks to you, sir, tho' you may be right, When next you see us you '11 neglect us quite. Wait but to-night, and then we are afraid A fairer flower will throw us in the shade ! " LOVE A FLOWER. The flower that blooms in pride to-day, Was yesterday a bud — no more — And grew so gently we may say We never noticed it before. Thus love in embryo remains. Till, in some unexpected hour, The bursting bud its freedom gains, And thus expands — a perfect flower ! t ■*■ * UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50to-7,*54 (5990) 444 TIIE LIBRARY XJNIV: Y OF CALIFORNIA * LOS ANGELES PR Mischief of 3991 the Muses LW68 PR 3991 A1M68 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 386 378