■'iJWWf^*^^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 OCCASIONAL VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER FLETCHER. 
 
 PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION 
 1885
 
 RiCHAKD Clay and Sons, 
 
 BHEAD STREET HU.L, LONDON, E.C., 
 iir.d r.imzay, Suffb!/:.
 
 ?R 
 
 VALENTINES. 
 
 TO 
 
 Bright vision of a few brief days, 
 Then hid from my enraptured gaze; 
 I desolation never knew 
 Till that to thee I said Adieu. 
 
 Calm haven for the tempest-tossed, 
 True rudder to the well-nigh lost, 
 Although the cruel hand of fate 
 Decrees that we must separate ; 
 
 And thou, the star of my dark night 
 That burst on my enraptured sight, 
 Wert destined evermore to be 
 A shadov; of the memory. 
 
 B 
 
 922005
 
 VALENTINES. 
 
 Ah, many a fair one I have seen, 
 And fancied each miglU be my queen, 
 But not till I beheld thy face, 
 Radiant with sweet perfection's grace, 
 
 Ah, not until that Heaven-sent hour 
 Felt I the force of Beauty's power; 
 A magic wand and distaff given, 
 A golden link 'twixt earth and heaven. 
 
 And like tlie fleeting butterfly, 
 Which only lives that it may die. 
 And tastes the honey of the flower, 
 So give me joy for one sweet hour. 
 To-day to fancy thou art mine, 
 And I thy loving Valentine.
 
 TO 
 
 Dost thou mind of the night 
 When with silent dehght, 
 In words low and sweet 
 Did we greet, did we greet, 
 On a deep hidden seat, 
 Far removed from the crowd 
 Talking fast, laughing loud. 
 
 Thy head on thy hand, 
 In a hazy dream-land? 
 Oh, say thou wilt make 
 Once, cnce for my sake, 
 Thy sweet thoughts awake 
 On St. Valentine's day. 
 To that time passed away 
 When we met and we parted in this world for aye. 
 
 B 2
 
 VALENTINES. 
 
 Perhaps nevermore 
 
 On this troublesome shore 
 
 Shall we meet, shall we meet; 
 
 But to thy gliding feet, 
 
 With their movements so fleet 
 
 Through the wild mazy dance, 
 
 Fly my thoughts in a trance. 
 
 When every thing fades 
 
 In these earthly arcades, 
 
 Then shall memory lly 
 
 To a time long passed by — 
 
 To that blest night when I 
 
 Led thee out to the dance 
 
 With my thoughts in a trance.
 
 TO SUSAN. 
 
 I OFTEN says if e'er I woos one 
 
 It will be Sue, that's short for Susan ; 
 
 In all the world I ne'er will choose one 
 
 If it's not Sue, that's short for Susan. 
 
 At supper-time, when we are boozin', 
 
 We all toast Sue, that's short for Susan. 
 
 Whene'er in solitude I'm musin', 
 
 I long for Sue, that's short for Susan. 
 
 There's many a girl I find amusin', 
 
 But none like Sue, that's short for Susan. 
 
 Most men like gain— I'd still be losin' 
 
 My heart for Sue, that's short for Susan. 
 
 If this appeal you're for refusin', 
 
 And prove a stony-hearted Susan, 
 
 Your coldness I'll not be abusin', 
 
 But mourn for Sue, that's short for Susan. 
 
 Across the sea I'll soon be cruisin', 
 
 And leave my Sue, that's short for Susan.
 
 TO MISS F . 
 
 AN ACCOMPLISHED SKATER, 
 
 Since first I saw you skate with grace 
 
 Each wondrous evokition, 
 Your sHm revolving figure made 
 
 In nie a revolution. 
 
 I now can but in saddest mood 
 
 Frequent Trafalgar Square, 
 And pensive watch the sparkling spray 
 
 Of your two namesakes there. 
 
 Oh, do not from your Valentine 
 
 Relentless turn away, 
 Come back and meet — don't turn on me 
 
 Your back entire to-day.
 
 TO MISS F- 
 
 As here I plead, oh, do not go 
 
 Forwards to double out, 
 But meet me, dearest, take a turn — 
 
 Don't make cross cuts and pout. 
 
 And though you love the ice and cold, 
 
 To-day, dear, if you please. 
 Melt, shed your spray upon my heart — 
 
 Sweet Fountain do not freeze ! 
 
 Then from the orange wfeefl we've met XyilcCC 
 
 Through many a wintry hour, 
 Perhaps in time there'll bud and spring 
 
 A beauteous orange flower. 
 
 ,.^<i.
 
 TO TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Two roses budding on their stems, 
 
 Alternate red and white, 
 Bright emblems of two maiden gems, 
 
 One dark, the other light. 
 
 Say, Cupid, shall I write to Minna, 
 
 This fitting time embrace, 
 And try if haply I can win a 
 
 Smile from her pensive face? 
 
 Or shall I confidently send a 
 
 Missive light and gay, 
 To rosy-cheeked and fair-haired Brenda, 
 
 Upon this festive day? 
 
 A notion strikes — perhaps the scribe is 
 
 To take it nothing loth, 
 Tutissimus in medio ibis, 
 
 So write a line to both.
 
 TO TWO SISTERS. 
 
 'Tis well a beau should have two strings, 
 Lest one should say him nay, 
 
 Although two belles he never rings 
 Upon the happy day. 
 
 Still middle courses may be found 
 
 To be but fit for fools ; 
 The waverer may fall to ground 
 
 Uncertain 'twixt two stools. 
 
 Then, gentle rose, whichever wears 
 
 No thorn upon her brier, 
 Stoop, if your Valentine thus fares, 
 
 And raise him from the mire.
 
 TO AMY. 
 
 Why warbles my licart like a sweet bird in May, 
 Singing loud in the sunshine from every spray? 
 And to whom do I pour out my amorous lay? 
 Toiijours c'est a voiis — parceque votis eies Aimce. 
 
 Why amongst the gay throng am I always distraite 
 Why, when fair ones are near, have I nothing to say ? 
 Is it only with thee I am joyous and gay? 
 Seulemetit avec vous — parceque voiis etes Aifnee. 
 
 Why wander I listless o'er bank and o'er brae ? 
 Why leave I untasted my cafe an laitl 
 Why at each thing I try am I never au fait ? 
 Ah, dit-on -bourquoi ? parceque vous etes Aimce 
 
 Why cannot I mix in the midst of life's fray ? 
 ^Vhy wander my thoughts when I kneel down to pray ? 
 Ah, of hope ever springing there comes not a ray, 
 Quelquefois je suis triste ? — parceque vous etes Aim'ee.
 
 TO AMY. II 
 
 Why don't I my heart's dearest wishes obey? 
 Why not pluck up my courage, and ask if I may 
 At once know my fate? but my dearest, dest vrai, 
 Je suis un peu timide — parceque vous Hes Aimed 
 
 Besides I'm not certain what mammy might say ; 
 Papa might put himself in a terrible way : 
 
 Then, dearest, there would be the d 1 to pay ; 
 
 Ca ne conviendrait pas — parceque vous etes Aimee. 
 
 Still, still, I shall sigh for the dawn of that day, 
 When from Hanover Square in a four-horse post-shay, 
 Midst a shower of shoes we shall hasten away; 
 Je serai tout d vous—et voiis toujours Aimee.
 
 (FOOT) LIGHTS OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 TO THE SAME. ' 
 AFTER THEATRICALS AT LICHFIELD. 
 
 When on thy lonely bed 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound thee, 
 Is ne'er the glimmer shed 
 Of other days around thee? 
 Should flickering spark 
 From out the dark 
 Of dying embers wake thee, 
 Dost think of him, 
 The burning glim, 
 Who never would forsake thee? 
 But chiefly when the shimmer 
 
 Of moonlight falls before thee, 
 Do mem'ries of the glimmer 
 Of other days come o'er thee ?
 
 (FOOT) LIGHTS OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 When puss outside the house 
 A catermiauhng's keeping, 
 And in consequence the mouse 
 A golden harvest's reaping; 
 When too strong tea 
 Has conquered thee 
 And may-be kept thee waking, 
 When ghosts down stairs 
 'Mongst drawing-room chairs 
 Their usual larks are taking — 
 Each star that then shall rise 
 
 When slumber's chain don't bind thee, 
 Shall glimmer in thine eyes 
 Of days long left behind thee. 
 
 Perhaps by fancy led, 
 
 When sleep at length has found thee, 
 The boards once more to tread, 
 With dear old friends around thee; 
 The mountain scene, 
 The curtain green. 
 The dazzle and the glitter, 
 The happy crowd, 
 The laughter loud, 
 And then the next day's litter.
 
 14 VALENTINES. 
 
 But in thy dreamland haze, 
 Oh, say those scenes remind thee 
 
 Of the ghmmcr of the days 
 So long long left behind thee. 
 
 Dost thou not picture all 
 
 The actors met together, 
 Hawksweed, and Tim, and Small, 
 The wolf near Rita's tether? 
 
 Dear Mabel Freake, 
 
 Each painted cheek. 
 Dramatic vows half broken. 
 
 Old Sharratt's drawl, 
 
 Not least of all 
 That speech at supper spoken ? 
 
 The wit, the jokes. 
 
 The parish folks. 
 With eager faces listening? 
 
 Those eyes that shine — 
 Can it be Avine 
 
 That makes those orbs so glistening?
 
 (FOOT) LIGHTS OF OTHER DAYS. 15 
 
 So when the god of sleep, 
 
 His votary has crowned thee, 
 Through dreams a glimmer'll creep, 
 
 Of perished joys around thee. 
 
 But or asleep or waking, 
 
 Say, love, in any phase, 
 Thy Valentine thou'lt take in 
 The glimmer of old days. 
 At least to-night 
 Be thy delight, 
 As evening shades grow dimmer,, 
 To douse thy glim. 
 And dwell on him 
 And whitebait- days with glimmer 
 Thus musing on thy bed 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound thee, 
 Thou'lt feel the glimmers shed, 
 Of vanished days around thee.
 
 THE THOROUGHBRED SOPHIA. 
 
 Of all the fillies in the field 
 
 A man might well admire, 
 Sure every one the palm must yield 
 
 To that thoroughbred Sophia. 
 
 She is not like some sluggish ones, 
 
 Who whip and spur require, 
 She takes the leap and never shuns, 
 
 Does that thoroughbred Sophia. 
 
 She will not swerve aside or rear, 
 
 She'll take it as a flyer, 
 Hark ! Forrard ! Yoicks ! she'll never fear, 
 
 Will that thoroughbred Sophia. 
 
 She has no tricks, she's no coquette, 
 
 No jib, she's not a shyer; 
 She'll win the race, so make your ?3et 
 
 On that thoroughbred Sophia.
 
 THE THOROUGHBRED SOPHIA. 
 
 Oh ! you who want a well-bred mare, 
 Whene'er you may descry her, 
 
 Pull out your purse and do not spare, 
 But give the price and buy her. 
 
 A graceful ] ack, head small, the eye 
 Clear, large, and full of fire, 
 
 The pasterns long, the instep high, 
 All these have my Sophia. 
 
 So easy o'er the road of life 
 
 She'll trot and never tire, 
 I'll give the price and take a wife. 
 
 If you'll consent, Sophia. 
 
 Don't shun the true and stable mind 
 Of your poor but loving squire, 
 
 Such judge of points you'll never find 
 Throughout all Staffordshire. 
 
 Oh, dearest one, if you will deign 
 To grant my heart's desire. 
 
 With nothing but a snaffle rein 
 I'll lead you, my Sophia.
 
 i8 VALENTINES. 
 
 Then hail the day which, rising bright 
 O'er Lichfield's ancient spire, 
 
 In double harness shall unite 
 Yours truly with Sophia.
 
 TO AN OLD FRIEND, 
 
 WHO EAD ASKED HLM TO COLLECT STAMPS FOR HER. 
 
 St. Valentine has come at last, 
 Another year is gone and past, 
 Ah sure. Old Time flies very fast, 
 
 My Emma. 
 
 You asked of me, some time ago. 
 The favour of old stamps, and so 
 I've seen the packet daily grow, 
 Till now it makes a goodly show, 
 
 My Emma. 
 
 For you of course my blood I'd shed, 
 For no one else, I've always said. 
 Would I collect e'en one Queen's head, 
 
 My Emm_a. 
 
 c 2
 
 VALENTINES. 
 
 My country, Queen, e'en a Queen's head, 
 I honour, but by fancy led, 
 To-day I much prefer instead 
 
 Queen Emma. 
 
 Some love the flame of a new lamp. 
 But I, an old fogey on life's tramp, 
 Incline to one of the old stamp, 
 
 Like Emma. 
 
 O pray forgive what I have said, 
 And this effusion when you've read, 
 Don't stamp your foot or toss your head. 
 
 My Emma. 
 
 Accept this Valentine, I pray, 
 Pardon presumption on this day, 
 And look with favour on my lay, 
 
 My Emma.
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Susan O'Brien, 
 
 Are you still sighin' 
 Down by the silver sea ? 
 
 You are not alone 
 
 In your pitiful moan, 
 For partners in sorrow are we. 
 
 Life is not here 
 
 All skittles and beer, 
 Stretching out its monotonous length ; 
 
 So let us join hands 
 
 O'er its treacherous sands, 
 And in union may we find strength. 
 
 If bolsters and pillows 
 
 In Denmark Villas 
 Are hard to the sleepless head, 
 
 May this billet to Brighton 
 
 Thy miseries lighten, 
 And smooth the soft down of thy bed.
 
 2? VALENTINES. 
 
 So, Susan O'Erien, 
 
 Leave moanin' and sighin' 
 To the wind and the changeable sea, 
 
 For faithful and true 
 
 To his sweetheart Sue 
 Is her Valentine down in Torquay. 
 
 February 14, 18S5.
 
 ON "VALENTINE'S BEEF-JUICE." 
 
 WRITTEN WHEN ILL IN ROME. 
 
 In general on this blest day 
 To loving strains I tune my lay, 
 And then whate'er my fancy sings 
 Is borne aloft on Cupid's wings 
 
 To some fair Valentine. 
 
 This year has been to me denied 
 The sending broadcast far and wide 
 Some pretty Valentine. 
 
 But still the brimming cup of pleasure 
 Is poured to me in even measure, 
 Which I can lie and sip at leisure — 
 A cup of "Valentine," 
 \^'h February, 1884.
 
 VALENTINES TO CHILDREN.
 
 VALENTINES TO CHILDREN. 
 
 TO H. D. 
 
 Dearest Hermy, 
 
 Much I fear me, 
 'Stead of your awaiting me, 
 
 Whining, pining, 
 
 Years declining, 
 I shall have to wait for thee. 
 
 Oh, now you're small. 
 
 But when you're tall, 
 Alas! what will your sweetheart be? 
 
 Features shrinking, 
 
 Blinking, sinking 
 To the gi-ave quite totteringly.
 
 28 VALENTINES. 
 
 Oh, horrid thought ! 
 
 No longer short 
 You will not have a word for me — 
 
 For one who'd falter 
 
 At the altar, 
 And put the ring on tremblingly. 
 
 When seventy-one, 
 
 Ah me, you'll shun 
 The one who took thee on his knee, 
 
 Some younger spark 
 
 Will be your mark, 
 And take your hand caressingly. 
 
 But drop one tear, 
 
 My long-lost dear. 
 And grant, oh sweet Hermione, 
 
 Thy lover old, 
 
 Through years untold, 
 One corner in thy memory.
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Ah, once more comes again 
 The day of this loved saint, 
 
 And once more let me plead my cause, 
 Oh, do not say I mayn't. 
 
 I am not like the bee 
 
 From every flower that sips, 
 
 My only wish to kiss the bread 
 And butter from your lips. 
 
 Oh, telegraph consent; 
 
 I fly to Richmond Hill 
 That I may hear from your own mouth 
 
 The wished- for words, " I will." 
 
 Oh, quickly let me know, 
 
 I cannot brook delay, 
 And happy make your Valentine 
 
 By murmuring "You may."
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 IN ANSWER TO A VALENTINE REPRESENTING A DOG 
 BEARING A BILLET-DOUX. 
 
 This morn my bacon grew quite cold, untasted was 
 
 my tea, 
 I skimmed the paper musingly, and only thought of 
 
 thee. 
 Regretfully it struck me that St. Valentine was past, 
 That this year had not brought to me the same as 
 
 did the last. 
 Election news — the Tichborne case — no charms had 
 
 they for me, 
 One only thought engrossed my soul, which was — 
 
 Hermione ! 
 They say (but in a billet-doux 'twould be rather out 
 
 of place) 
 Talk of — we will not mention whom — and you straight- 
 way see his face. 
 So I, ere even to myself of you began to talk, 
 I heard a little pattering step come up the gi-avel walk.
 
 TO THE SAME, 31 
 
 And then I heard a little voice say, " Bow-wow-wow ! 
 
 bow-wow !" 
 Surprised, I murmured to myself, *'Why, what on 
 
 earth's the row?" 
 I jumped up from my reverie, and stood upon my feet, 
 And putting on my lace-up boots, I dressed myself 
 
 complete, 
 Then ran and opened wide the gate, and what do you 
 
 think I saw? 
 A little dog going " Bow-wow-wow," and scratching at 
 
 the door ! 
 His little paws were dirty, and his heart went pit-a-pat 
 H e seemed a liule/a^igiii, and he lay down on the mat 
 And in his little mouth there was, all tied up with true 
 
 blue, 
 The sweetest little Valentine, and I saw it came from 
 
 you. 
 Perhaps, thought I, this little dog had somehow lost 
 
 his way, 
 Perhaps had got, as doggies will, with other dogs to play 
 So I didn't get my Valentine, upon last Saturday. 
 I kissed the loving words inclosed, on the picture fixed 
 
 my gaze, 
 Which vividly reminded me of all your winning ways ;
 
 32 VALENTINES. 
 
 I felt a sort of something all creeping up my back, 
 And I pressed the letter to my lips, and gave it one 
 
 more smack. 
 I said, " My little doggie, for my answer you must wait. 
 And take que/que chose a vianger^ too, before you leave 
 
 my gate. 
 Come rest yourself, my doggie, stretch your length upon 
 
 the rug, 
 And eat this pate de foie gras, and make yourself quite 
 
 snug," 
 Then I wrote this answer to my love, and sealed it 
 
 with, my seal, 
 And I said, " My dearest doggie, now you've eaten up 
 
 your meal, 
 To Richmond you must hasten back, upon your 
 
 homeward track, 
 And take this letter in your mouth, and gently bear 
 
 it back. 
 And do not you be tempted with other dogs to stray, 
 But safely bear this missive to my true love far 
 
 away."
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 An Answer to a Valentine after an autumn 
 SPENT in the Island of Coll, in 1870. 
 
 ALL THE CHILDREN HAD THE WHOOPING COUGH. 
 
 Thou wilt not forget me — my eyes too are wet 
 As my thoughts travel back with a tearful regret; 
 When other things fade, we to memory fly, 
 And a vision appears of a time long past by ; 
 Of the days when we met in that wildest of isles, 
 Which was cheered with the rays of thy sunniest smiles ; 
 When fairy forms wandered the heather amang, 
 And that drearie old castle re-echoed wi' sang, 
 When you came with a whoop — but you came at my call 
 And in spite of this drawback I loved you through all. 
 Though the malady vexed me the whole winter through 
 I didn't much mind, for I caught it from you. 
 When I think of those moments of sunshine and tears 
 My heart overflows through the vista of years. 
 'Twas a miniature print of the lifetime of man, 
 INIingled pleasures and crosses contained in a span, 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 VALENTINES. 
 
 I remember your tap at my door in the morning, 
 How oft I was late notwithstanding this warning, 
 When breakfast was o'er, to the gun-room we went, 
 Where was always perceived a peculiar scent ; 
 For Matthew was there, who with stolidest looks 
 Would propose shooting grouse, or er — er perhaps 
 
 jucks ; * 
 And each one endeav'ring his movements to quicken, 
 He'd hold out a hat, "Is it this ye'U be sikkin'?" 
 Then we all sallied forth bent on something to slay. 
 And wagging their tails, the jack snipes flew away. 
 The ladies meanwhile walked abroad o'er the lea, 
 And sketched on the land, or else bobbed in the sea ; 
 Howsoever the day spent, all ended in dinner, 
 A time ever grateful to saint and to sinner. 
 Some minds love the morning, — to all it is sweet, 
 When labour is o'er, in the gloaming to meet. 
 Though snipe followed snipe in monotonous round, 
 And a large dose of alum the evening crowned. 
 
 The jokes of the day were recounted with gusto, 
 
 And some of us coughed till we thought we should 
 
 bust oh ! 
 
 * Ducks.
 
 TO THE SAME. 35 
 
 I shall not forget — oft shall memory fly 
 To those girls at the castle, now parted for aye. 
 I remember the moments on Arnagour strand 
 Where they waved a farewell as they stood on the sand, 
 How they watched the Argyle with a drap in their 'ee, 
 Till she grew a wee speck on the far distant sea. 
 
 Does Nature pursue still her daily routine? 
 
 Are the cornfields as yellow, the grass there as green ? 
 
 Is Matthew as blithe as we kenned him sa weel, 
 
 Now we are away has he stoomach for meal ? 
 
 Does the sun shed its rays, now our spirits ha' gane, 
 
 Or do clouds overshadow that land o' McClean? 
 
 In fancy I think they were chased by thy smile, 
 
 And the sunshine derived from thy presence a while. 
 
 Does the call of the curlew still sound on the shore, 
 
 Though the voices of loved ones are heard there no 
 
 more? 
 Perhaps all is as still as we fondly remember, 
 Both sunshine and cloud in that lovely September. 
 
 Thou wilt not forget me — I ne'er shall forget 
 That isle in the ocean where you and I met. 
 
 D 2
 
 TO GERALDINE. 
 
 The nicest girl I've ever seen 
 Is surely little Geraldine. 
 
 She's just my age, about thirteen, — 
 Is that correct, dear Geraldine ? 
 
 Both short and tall, and fat and lean, 
 All worship beauteous Geraldine. 
 
 If you'll consent on me to lean, 
 I'll be your staff, fair Geraldine. 
 
 Within my eye there is no green, 
 It takes its light from Geraldine. 
 
 Oh say you'll be my lovely Queen, 
 And I'll be true, my Geraldine.
 
 TO GERALDINE. 37 
 
 Be sure that what I say I mean. 
 Then trust me ever, Geraldine. 
 
 And take me as your Valen//;z^, 
 To-day and ever, Geialdme.
 
 TO MILDRED. 
 
 Oh Mildred, in your hours of grief 
 
 And moments of your glee, 
 Oh say that you will pause sometimes 
 
 And pensive think of me. 
 
 When hungry at the mid-day meal, 
 
 Or at the social tea, 
 Oh pause amidst relays of jam, 
 
 And give one thought to me. 
 
 When naughty, and your mother takes 
 And smacks you on her knee, 
 
 Then in the tumult of your grief 
 Bestow one thought on me. 
 
 When wearied with your walk with nurse 
 
 You rest beneath a tree, 
 Under the twining branches' shade 
 
 Weave gentle thoughts of me.
 
 TO MILDRED. 39 
 
 And when, as often is the case, 
 
 You join in any spree. 
 Steal from those moments of delight 
 
 One loving thought for me. 
 
 When stodged with German, Latin, French, 
 
 From lessons you are free, 
 Amidst your dolls, your games of play. 
 
 Detach one thought for me. 
 
 In fact, dear Mildred, ever}'where, 
 
 "Whate'er, where'er you be. 
 Think of your loving Valentine, 
 
 And still remember me.
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Who plagued her cousin's life out quite, 
 Upon a visit to Fairlight? 
 
 Ah, Mildred. 
 
 Who fairly ran him out of breath, 
 And very nearly caused his death ? 
 
 Why, Mildred. 
 
 Who made him crack her many a nut. 
 Into her little mouth to put? 
 
 Again, Mildred. 
 
 Who wanted every ripe blackberry. 
 And made her lips so purple, very? 
 
 Once more, Mildred. 
 
 Who made him take her on his back 
 In spite of Uncle Ned or Jack? 
 
 Ohl Mildred!
 
 TO THE SAME. 41 
 
 Who tried, and couldn't throw her bowl 
 So very straight, poor little soul? 
 
 Poor Mildred. 
 
 Who said that she could jump a rail, 
 But when she tried it, then turned tail? 
 
 Ha! Mildred. 
 
 "Who didn't do her lessons well, 
 And scolded was by Mademoiselle? 
 
 Encore Mildred. 
 In spite of all your cousin's said, 
 Consider him to-day, Mildred, 
 
 Your Valentine.
 
 TO ISABEL. 
 
 Ie suis comme il faui^ 
 A real Bond Street swell 
 Ah yes, I'm the Beau 
 For my dear Is-a-belle. 
 
 From the top to the toe 
 I'm got up so well, 
 That I must be the Beau 
 For my dear Is-a-belle. 
 
 As older you giow 
 And emerge from the shell, 
 Still I'll be the Beau 
 For my dear Is-a-belle. 
 
 In the crowd of the Row, 
 In the noise of Pall Mall, 
 Still I am the Beau 
 For my dear Is-a-belle.
 
 TO ISABEL. 43 
 
 Or in whisperings low, 
 In some sweet shady dell, 
 I'll say, "I'm the Beau 
 For my dear Is-a-belle." 
 
 Weigh each con and pro, 
 And in charity tell 
 That I may be the Beau 
 For my dear Is-a-belle. 
 
 Oh, do not say no, 
 Or my life is a sell, 
 If I mayn't be the Beau 
 For my dear Is-a-belle, 
 
 Then to Church let us go 
 To the sound of Bow-bell, 
 To tie up the Beau 
 In a knot with the Belle.
 
 TO HELEN. 
 
 My dear little Helen, 
 With thee to be dwellin' 
 
 What happiness 'twould be to me ! 
 Within me, dear Helen, 
 There's constantly wellin' 
 
 A spring of devotion to thee. 
 
 Oh, everywhere, Helen, 
 There are violets smellin' 
 
 So sweetly in winter I see ; 
 But presently, Helen, 
 To thee I'll be tellin' 
 
 How sweeter than vi'lets you be. 
 
 Coquettishly, Helen, 
 
 Oh don't ring the bell in 
 
 A hurry, and bid me adieu; 
 Consider, my Helen, 
 'Tis hard to be quellin' 
 
 My storm of affection for you.
 
 TO HELEN. 45 
 
 If trustfully, Helen, 
 
 You'll let Cupid well in, 
 None stauncher than me you will find; 
 
 My hopes, little Helen, 
 
 You ne'er would be selHn' 
 Nor shatter my true peace of mind. 
 
 When in time, little Helen, 
 
 Both reading and spellin' 
 And knowledge and arts shall be thine, 
 
 This bosom, my Helen, 
 
 With pride '11 be swellin' 
 To think I can claim thee as mine. 
 
 Then cosily, Helen, 
 
 Together peas shellin', 
 With love in a cottage we'll be: 
 
 Thy Valentine, Helen, 
 
 For ever '11 be dwellin' 
 In peace and contentnient with thee.
 
 TO ALICE. 
 
 DURING A TIME OF ILLNESS. 
 
 A HOPE comes with this little line 
 From a very loving Valentine, 
 That little Alice free from pain 
 Will soon be on her legs again. 
 This life is not all beer and skittles, 
 But mingled with our daily victuals 
 A strain of sorrow seems to flow 
 To every mortal here below. 
 To some it comes in summer time, 
 Blasting their manhood's golden prime; 
 To most, as time is on the wing. 
 The winter of life shall sorrow bring. 
 To you, my dear, it comes in spring ; 
 But, patience for a little yet, 
 Your little trial you'll forget.
 
 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS.
 
 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 TO A COUSIN. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR IN THE DOLOMITE 
 MOUNTAINS, 
 
 Dear Mag, since the time when we parted 
 
 At the door of that foreign hotel, 
 
 Has a thought of companions departed 
 
 E'er caused one emotion to swell ? 
 
 When we turned on the steps of the station 
 
 And a third time waved back an adieu, 
 
 And our hearts felt a sort of stagnation 
 
 As the moment we dreaded came true. 
 
 Have you thought of those days 'mongst the "Dollies'' * 
 
 Which we loved, notwithstanding the wet, 
 
 Of the jokes and the laughter and follies, 
 
 With one little sigh of regret ? 
 
 Of the various chances of travel 
 
 Enjoyed by that party of four, 
 
 Of the knots that you couldn't unravel 
 
 In Italian at Tai Cador? 
 
 * Dolomites.
 
 50 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 I remember on every occasion 
 
 The flowers you stuck in your hat, 
 
 Ah ! all women love admiration, 
 
 But we like them the better for that. 
 
 It pleases you sometimes to flout us. 
 
 And vote all mankind are a bore, 
 
 But you know you can't quite do without us 
 
 To admire, and perhaps something more. 
 
 Perhaps you'll remember hereafter 
 
 The extraordinary things that you did, 
 
 How we all of us mingled our laughter, 
 
 And your excellent parient chid. 
 
 How you spilt on your garments a plateful. 
 
 On the same day you lost a blue veil, 
 
 Of what was your wandering pate full 
 
 When you sat down and smashed up a rail ? 
 
 And then, with your fingers so plastic, 
 
 When your mind was a little distrait, 
 
 You knotted a piece of elastic 
 
 In a most extraordinary way. 
 
 I remember your sketch at Primiero, 
 
 How you cast it away with a fling, 
 
 The paper you vowed you would tear O ' 
 
 And said 'twas a horrible thing.
 
 TO A COUSIN. 51 
 
 Then the mind of your caro cugmo, 
 
 When you fondled the child of your host, 
 
 Was in doubt if you lo\ ed a lainbitio, 
 
 Or worshipped a Dolly the most. 
 
 Ah ! sure how we stood in amazement 
 
 When the mule didn't relish his pack, 
 
 And the man remained lost in a dazement, 
 
 Till the beast kicked the load off his back. 
 
 Then, beholding her property suffer, 
 
 The fair owner rushed in, in a flame, 
 
 I won't swear that she called him a duffer. 
 
 But her meaning was something the same. 
 
 And then how we sang — Ricordate! 
 
 As soon as our dinner Vvas done, 
 
 La notte e bel — non scordate, 
 
 Was heard at the set of the sun. 
 
 All kinds of sweet songs we were trolling, 
 
 English, German and French o'er and o'er, 
 
 •' Break, break," " Ma char7nanter and " Tom Bowling," 
 
 Schumann, Schubert, and how many more? 
 
 O Music ! thou soother of sorrow. 
 
 Companion of every day. 
 
 Friend of yesterday, now, and to-morrow. 
 
 Thou only with life fad'st away ; 
 
 E 2
 
 52 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 If loved ones are j)rone to neglect us, 
 If afflicted by every ill, 
 Thou calmest all woes that affect us, 
 Friends are false, thou art true to us still. 
 
 Of the places we stayed at I dinna ken 
 
 Exactly which pleased us the best, 
 
 Sometimes we may fancy 'twas Innichen, 
 
 The first of our havens of rest, 
 
 But Cadore, Caprile, Auronzo, 
 
 Were delightful, p'raps equally so, 
 
 But none of us ever took on so 
 
 As at leaving the grand Agordo. 
 
 Dear Italy, classical nation, 
 
 We loved you in spite of your fleas, 
 
 Which gave us such great irritation. 
 
 We scratched, but we couldn't find ease. 
 
 You are beggars, and love far niente. 
 
 You're polite and intelligent too, 
 
 And somehow I think Nature meant ye 
 
 To bask and have nothing to do. 
 
 What a silvery sound, " .5/, Signore" 
 
 Compared with the coarse German 'y^," 
 
 It is as a catito d'amore
 
 TO A COUSIN. 53 
 
 From the screech of a night owl as far. 
 
 How I bless my good stars when they find me 
 
 In a well-made Italian bed, 
 
 The German's too short, and behind me 
 
 There's a nasty thing shoves up my head. 
 
 But all things must end, e'en our travelling, 
 
 Which, like a Deutsch bed, was too short, 
 
 But don't let us have any cavilling, 
 
 If all didn't please as it ought. 
 
 The pleasures enjoyed sure were many, 
 
 And gave us continued delight, 
 
 And shadows — I can't recall any. 
 
 Except moths * and a few things at night. 
 
 Then farewell to those Dolomite mountains, 
 Which we saw midst the sunshine and rain, 
 Let us hope to return to those fountains 
 Of pleasure and taste them again. 
 But if we four are parting for ever, 
 If this journey's the first and the last, 
 Let us each drop a tear ere we sever. 
 And mourn o'er the dust of the past. 
 
 * One of the party had a horror of moths.
 
 A BLEAT FROM THE BACK BENCHES. 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER SOME PRIVATE THEATRICALS 
 AT LICHFIELD. 
 
 Blest day of the year, 
 
 To my memory dear, 
 Which fills me with joy more than human, 
 
 When I gazed with delight, 
 
 On the first parish night, 
 At the charms of A Wonderful Woman. 
 
 Oh you who may sigh 
 
 For some brazen-faced guy, 
 Who heightens her head and her shoe, man, 
 
 Beside me come sit, 
 
 And I'm sure you'll admit, 
 That this is A Wonderful Woman. 
 
 Some swains may admire 
 Girls who don man's attire, 
 And argue with legal acumen
 
 A BLEAT FROM THE BACK BENCHES. 55 
 
 But in none can I find, 
 Such a true depth of mind, 
 As I see in A Wonderful Woman. 
 
 Some idiot he-males 
 
 Love surgical she-males, 
 Who doctor and dose, hack and hew, man, 
 
 But to win my fond heart, 
 
 Pierce it through with the dart 
 That is shot by A Wonderful Woman. 
 
 Some admire a fair, 
 
 Who with critical air 
 Will simper and smirk, and loves Schumann, 
 
 But ne'er to my ear, 
 
 Comes there music so clear. 
 As the voice of A Wonderful Woman. 
 
 Some girls give a leer. 
 
 And flirt and look queer, 
 And think that by this they can woo man, 
 
 But a glance from that eye, 
 
 One look and one sigh, 
 And I'm conquered, O Wonderful Woman !
 
 56 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 Oh many the ways, 
 
 Girls may try in this maze 
 Of human existence to do man; 
 
 But every art 
 
 Shall fall dead on this heart, 
 That's enslaved by A Wonderful Woman. 
 
 So that day of the year 
 
 To my memory's deo.r, 
 And to her I will aye be a true man, 
 
 I'll think of that night 
 
 When I gazed with delight 
 On the charms of A Wonderful Woman.
 
 TO A COUSIN. 
 
 They told me the girl of my youthful selection 
 
 Was changed from the beauty she formerly bore, 
 That the shrine v;here I once placed my fondest affection 
 
 So faded and shrunk would delight me no more. 
 They told me, but still I was slow at believing 
 
 Such change in the goddess to whom I had knelt, 
 Yet anxious I waited the time for relieving 
 
 The fears that assailed me, the doubts that I felt. 
 
 I knew how that night I was destined to meet her, 
 
 Will her cousinly welcome be stately and cold? 
 Or will sweet condescension permit me to greet her 
 
 With a tender salute on her cheek as of old ? 
 Oh, still will that cheek have the bloom and the dimple 
 
 That flashed me a smile like the sun's morning ray, 
 Or has artifice altered that maiden so simple, 
 
 And the rude hand of Time brushed the blossom away?
 
 58 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 I stood on the tiptoe of fond expectation 
 
 And pictured the form as I knew it of yore — 
 The plump embonpoint of that female relation — ■ 
 
 When a gaunt bony person came in at the door, 
 I started — I see not the smile and the dimple, 
 
 There's a hole to be sure in that visage so wan; 
 What on earth can have altered that maiden so simple ? 
 
 All her beautiful roundness is wasted and gone. 
 
 I remember the voice, whose sweet accents had charmed 
 me, 
 
 But on seating myself all enraptured to hear, 
 She put forth a note with a cry that alarmed me. 
 
 As if ten locomotives had shrieked in my ear. 
 I gazed on the form that stood upright before me, 
 
 I felt myself glued to the chair where I sat, 
 Is there nothing, I murmured, will ever restore ma 
 
 The girl that I knew ere she tried Antifat?
 
 SOLILOQUY OF OUR SPECIAL 
 ' CORRESPONDENT IN A FOREIGN HOTEL. 
 
 A FLEA or not a flea— that is the question, 
 
 Whether 'tis better to lie here and suffer 
 
 The stinging arrows of outrageous insects, 
 
 Or raise my arm against the flea that troubles, 
 
 And upon finding, squash him? To lie and sleep 
 
 No more, ah ! from a sleep to wake and feel 
 
 One leg itch, and a thousand natural things 
 
 In flesh, and hair too ; 'tis a consummation 
 
 I do not like at all. To lie, and sleep, 
 
 To sleep, perchance to start, your nose to rub, 
 
 For in one quiet sleep what things may come 
 
 When we have shuffled off our walking vestments 
 
 Must give us pause ; what we expect 
 
 Will make a misery of the long long night. 
 
 For who will bear the crawling of B flats, 
 
 Oppression on the chest, mosquitos' hum,
 
 6o VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 The pangs of an itching skin, a little gnat 
 
 Importunately buzzing, and the bites 
 
 The patient victim all unconscious gets, 
 
 When he himself might stick him through the back 
 
 With a bare bodkin ? Who such woes would bear, 
 
 And groan and sweat under a weight of clothes, 
 
 But that the rising from the couch (perhaps e'en then 
 
 Discover not the reptile — but to bed 
 
 Unsatisfied return) puzzles the will, 
 
 And makes us rather still remain tucked up 
 
 Than seek a match-box that we know not of? 
 
 Small troubles do make waverers of us all, 
 
 And thus to hunt and search with resolution 
 
 May be prevented by pale cast of thought; 
 
 With enterprise I'd find it in a moment. 
 
 I won't regard it — turning on m.y side 
 
 I'll leave all further action, — soft you, now, 
 
 And fair — I feel you — Beast ! to-morrow morning 
 
 Thy bites will be remembered.
 
 MY WHITE HAT IN OCTOBER. 
 
 'Tis the last hat of Summer, 
 
 Left blooming alone, 
 All his napless companions 
 
 Are battered and gone, 
 Each tile of his colour 
 
 With low crown or high, 
 I reflect I must sadly 
 
 Resign with a sigh. 
 
 I'll not leave my old 'un 
 
 To the dust of the hall, 
 For lovely thou still art, 
 
 To pine on a wall. 
 To the groom I will kindly 
 
 Present thee instead, 
 Or his mate in the garden 
 
 To deck his shock head.
 
 62 VKRSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 The mode I must follow 
 
 In the fall of the year, 
 When from Fashion's bright circle 
 
 Such gears disappear ! 
 When green leaves lie withered 
 
 And summer is flown, 
 Oh who'd sport a white hat 
 
 In bleak days alone ?
 
 THE HUNTING OF CETEWAYO.* 
 
 Then in eager quest departed 
 Gallant GifFord and his troopers 
 On the trail of King Cetewayo, 
 Through the donga he had quitted, 
 To the kraal where he had pic-nicked; 
 But they found not King Cetewayo ; 
 Only, scattered on the greensward, 
 Sometimes found some bits of paper, 
 Empty bottles, broken egg-shells ; 
 Knew the royal hare had squatted, 
 From the giant form he left there. 
 
 Once they saw him cross beneath them. 
 On a misty day, the meadow : 
 
 * A prize was offered by The World for the best parody of 
 Longfellow's " Hiawatha." — Subject : "The Hunting of Cetewayo." 
 The above poem gained the second prize.
 
 64 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 Sly Cetewayo, looking upward, 
 
 Made a gesture with his thick lips, 
 
 Touched his nose, and spread his fingers. 
 
 Gifford, from the higher water, 
 
 Cried aloud upon the mountain, 
 
 " Long and wide the space between us, 
 
 Rude and impudent your ways are ; 
 
 But, black biped, I shall take you. 
 
 Hare with hounds a losing game is ! " 
 
 He had hid his bulky body. 
 
 Stiff with much perambulating, 
 
 In the thickest of the forest, 
 
 Cooled his ankles in the streamlet. 
 
 Trickling o'er his blistered black toes. 
 
 Hark ! they hear a sound about them, 
 
 Bushes crashing, then a rushing; 
 
 And the red coats round and round them 
 
 Closed in waves like endless eddies. 
 
 And they knew their sire was taken. 
 
 Poor old helpless royal captive ! 
 Both his legs were puffed with walking, 
 Footsore, swollen like a bladder ; 
 Yet though bowed with his misfortunes, 
 Pride still mantled in his aspect.
 
 THE HUNTING OF KING CETEWAYO. 65 
 
 Let us drop a tear of pity 
 O'er the rough untutored savage, 
 Brave though cruel, vanquished, fallen. 
 Nevermore shall your broad footprint 
 Brush the dew from off the mountain ; 
 No more shall you burst with laughter 
 At the sallies of your jester ; 
 Far from your own native valleys, 
 In a small contracted circle, 
 Now converted to a tame cat 
 From a troublesome war eagle, 
 You'll be plucked of all your feathers 
 Like an ordinary chicken.
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WHO HAD COMPLAINED OF HIS DOG BEING BROUGHT 
 INTO THE DINING ROOM. 
 
 There lived once in a certain place 
 A spaniel, fairest of her race ; 
 Her master dearly loved his pet, 
 And highest value on her set ; 
 While Others than the fond possessor 
 Occasionally would caress her. 
 Now there a certain lady dwelt, 
 Who for most things a fondness felt, 
 And 'mongst her objects of selection, 
 Lavished upon her much affection. 
 Her master once at luncheon time 
 Committed an unwonted crime, 
 And left his pet in comfort snug, 
 Basking with pleasure on the rug.
 
 TO A LADY. 67 
 
 All people of capacious heart 
 
 Must some to other folks impart ; 
 
 Not able thus their powers t' employ, 
 
 They'd burst from an excess of joy : 
 
 So murmuring, " I really must," 
 
 She gave the dear one little crust. 
 
 And pleased with fond caress and pat 
 
 Close by her side the doggie sat. 
 
 ' Mongst mortals was there ever born 
 
 One v>-ho found love without a thorn? 
 
 True to the rule, so here, amid 
 
 Her soft sleek hair, the thorn lay hid. 
 
 There was, or (shall we say?) might be 
 
 Upon this little dog — a Flea. 
 
 Philosopher, blame not the want 
 
 Of insect insignificant. 
 
 Think you that no ambition springs 
 
 Within the breast of little things? 
 
 The smaller is the body's span, 
 
 The larger seems the mind of man. 
 
 With thoughts that compassed earth and heaven 
 
 Napoleon was but five feet seven, 
 
 With many more that I might quote. 
 
 Of greater or of lesser note ; 
 
 F 2
 
 6S VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 So being in such close proximity 
 
 \\'ith what appeared to him sublimity, 
 
 From a sweet doze this flea awoke, 
 
 And gently to himself he spoke : 
 
 " Oh, must I here for ever stay, 
 
 And batten on this food for aye? 
 
 Domestic servants, cows and sheep 
 
 For long together cannot keep 
 
 In place or field, but love to range. 
 
 And feel necessity for change. 
 
 I too, like my superior, man, 
 
 Weary in this life's little span, 
 
 Occasionally long to roam. 
 
 Although there is no place like home. 
 
 I really only make one more 
 
 Of those who say ' Excelsior.' 
 
 For pastures new I feel I pine, 
 
 Let's try this human form divine." 
 
 He spoke, and with a little hop, 
 
 He gained the wished-for haven — flop ! 
 
 But do not think this wary wight 
 
 Would on the spot begin to bite ; 
 
 By wisdom and experience taught. 
 
 He knew that then he should be caught,
 
 TO A LADY. 69 
 
 So, as discretion sways the bold, 
 
 He hides within her dress's fold, 
 
 That in seclusion he may lurk. 
 
 Till darkness bids him set to work. 
 
 Our heroine, as usual, when 
 
 The lagging clock had tolled out ten. 
 
 Scarce holding up her weary head, 
 
 With lighted candle went to bed. 
 
 She shut the door and window tight, 
 
 Expecting a delicious night, 
 
 A joyful time in slumbers deep, 
 
 Till morn should thro' the shutters peep. 
 
 O heavenly sleep — " Nature's soft nurse ! " 
 
 Than bed without her nought is worse. 
 
 Dyspepsia bringing sleepless nights. 
 
 Hobgoblins, waking with affrights, 
 
 Ghosts, burglars, tossing on your bed, 
 
 A fev'rish pulse, an aching head, 
 
 Dreams that the mind with terror fill — 
 
 These are unmitigated ill ; 
 
 Such horrors make life little worth. 
 
 And render it a hell on earth. 
 
 But not with these compared can be 
 
 The torments of one little flea !
 
 70 VERSES OX VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 Next morn the family assembled 
 
 Observed that she looked pale and trembled, 
 
 And each and every one was at her, 
 
 Inquiring what could bo tlie matter. 
 
 She sadly then these words did utter — 
 
 Before she ate her bread and butter, 
 
 Or usual cold slice of bacon — 
 
 *' Oh, never were my nerves so shaken I 
 
 I know I like to lie and tliink, 
 
 Ijiit sometimes I must take a wink; 
 
 AVorn out with years and anxious care 
 
 This tabernacle needs repair. 
 
 That dog I certainly adore, 
 
 But still I love my comfort more. 
 
 I'm sure her coat is full of fleas — 
 
 Pardon the word, but, if you please, 
 
 I must express my present hope 
 
 You'll have her washed and scrubbed with soap. 
 
 If by a flea again tormented, 
 
 I'm certain I shall go demented." 
 
 Her master scarce restrained a laugh. 
 
 For still he loves the girls to chaff; 
 
 But though he sometimes likes to vex. 
 
 Just playfully, the other sex,
 
 TO A LADY. 71 
 
 The necessary orders gave 
 
 His little dog with soap to lave. 
 
 But though they scrubbed and searched her hair, 
 
 They found no flea remaining there. 
 
 This simple story now is done. 
 
 Perhaps there ne'er was more than one, 
 
 And he is in his hiding place, 
 
 The first occasion to embrace 
 
 In happy hunting grounds to race, 
 
 And feed again upon her face. 
 
 'Tis certain mystery enshrouds 
 
 The tale, and leaves us in the clouds. 
 
 And so we'll think no more about it ; 
 
 If we can't know, we'll do without it. 
 
 Perhaps this is the explanation — 
 
 It may have been — Imagination.
 
 TO HIS SISTER. 
 
 REMINDING HER OF A DEBT. 
 
 To Wimpole Street I went one day, 
 And three-and-twenty bob did pay 
 
 Reluctant from my fob. 
 My sister certainly, I know. 
 Will send to me by P.0.0. 
 
 Tliat three-and-twenty bob. 
 
 But now has passed a month and more. 
 And though I cannot but feel sure, 
 
 And always deem it prob- 
 able, she'll send it every day, 
 Yet still my sister does not pay 
 
 That three-and-twenty bob.
 
 TO HIS SISTER. 73 
 
 I've nearly worn out all my clo'es, 
 From out my boots appear my toes, 
 
 I cannot give a job 
 To snip or cobbler, and 'cos why ? 
 My sister says it's all my eye, 
 
 That three-and-twenty bob. 
 
 By railway I must travel third, 
 I have to interchange a word. 
 
 With every low-born snob; 
 I cannot in the first repose, 
 Because that sister o' mine owes 
 
 Me three-and-twenty bob. 
 
 The poor apply to me in vain, 
 It really cuts my heart in twain 
 
 To hear them sigh and sob ; 
 To feel I cannot soothe their woes, 
 Because that sister o' mine owes 
 
 Me three-and-twenty bob. 
 
 I'm forced to borrow from the Jews, 
 They say a sister cannot choose 
 A brother thus to rob.
 
 VKRSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 And so they lend, and so I borrow, 
 My sister says, I'll pay to-morrovv 
 That three-and-twenty bob. 
 
 I sec myself in workhouse gray 
 At last, and murmuring alway, 
 
 Among a dirty mob, 
 The reason why I'm conic to this 
 Is 'cos I'm owed by that ere sis- 
 ter, three-and-twenty bob.
 
 TO A LADY WHO ASKED TO BE TAKEN TO 
 A GEOLOGICAL MUSEUAL 
 
 You asked me once to come and view 
 
 The stores of a museum ; 
 'Twould give me happiness, 'tis true, 
 
 With thee, sweet maid, to see 'em. 
 
 While hand in hand, at your request, 
 
 We con geology. 
 Though earth for me's no interest, 
 
 Still heav'n Ell find in thee.
 
 AT THE BALL. 
 
 To-night, to-night, 
 
 Come drink delight, 
 Forget the impending morrow, 
 
 Pluck the sweet flower 
 
 O' the passing hour. 
 Nor dream of coming sorrow. 
 
 I do but ask 
 
 A while to bask 
 Beneath thy rays of beauty, 
 
 Ere I awake. 
 
 And sad retake 
 The dull cold path of duly.
 
 AT THE BALL. 
 
 Our summer's noon 
 Is gone too soon, 
 
 Enjoy while burns the fire ; 
 Life's fleeting glow- 
 Will fade and go, 
 
 And all that's bright expire. 
 
 Fair maid, once more 
 
 Come tread the floor, 
 We'll dance a merry measure. 
 
 With laughter light 
 
 Arrest Time's flight, 
 And snatch a transient pleasure. 
 
 To-night, to-night. 
 
 Let's drink delight, 
 Forget the impending morrow, 
 
 Pluck the sweet flov/er 
 
 O' the passing hour, 
 Nor dream of coming sorrow. 
 
 77
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAV. 
 
 Maiden, with the laughing eyes, 
 Where as yet no teardrop lies, 
 Unacquainted still with sighs ; 
 
 Now your early girlhood's done, 
 
 .Womanhood has just begun. 
 
 For you've reached to twenty-one. 
 
 Bread and butter, and your teens, 
 You must leave for loftier scenes, 
 Soon you'll know what "grown up" means. 
 
 Chestnut buds must burst and break. 
 Little birds their flight must take. 
 ]\Iaids their childi-sh ways forsake.
 
 TO A LADY. 79 
 
 Now for you no looking back, 
 Launched upon life's endless track, 
 Never more the sail will slack. 
 
 May the promise oi your spring, 
 First a glorious summer bring : 
 ^lay autumn find you flourishing. 
 
 But if ills of mortal race, 
 
 E'er should cloud your smiling face, 
 
 Oh look beyond this little space. 
 
 If the teardrop fill your eye, 
 Maiden, look upward to the sky. 
 And find your perfect rest on high.
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Maiden, now your teens are over, 
 And this day you're twenty-one, 
 Which you celebrate at Dover, 
 At the Apollonian ; 
 
 Pray accept this bunch of flowers, 
 Emblems of each year that's gone, 
 Earnest of still happier hours, 
 As old Time rolls gaily on. 
 
 May hope every day expanding, 
 As buds open to the sun. 
 Bear rich fruit at your commanding, 
 Till the goal at last be won.
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WHO HAD SENT HIM A COMPASS. 
 
 Wherever I go and whatever I do, 
 When restless the soul tries to find pastures new, 
 And, weary of home, seeks fresh pleasures to woo, 
 When to friends for a time I have said an adieu. 
 When a favouring breeze sends my bark o'er the blue, 
 When 'mongst Frenchmen and Germans, a jabbering 
 
 crew. 
 My mind's in a state of perpetual stew. 
 When rejoicing, perhaps, in the loveliest view, 
 When with danger the tempest my pathway shall strew, 
 When the wish of the heart is still pointing au sud, 
 This dear little keepsake, presented by you, 
 Will turn to the north, "ever tender and true," 
 And, gently reminding, will point a la Sue.
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON LEAVING LIGHTFOOT ROAD, HORNSEY. 
 
 In mournful accents gently sighing 
 You said reproachful to your bard, 
 
 " At every knock your Sue was sighing 
 For Valentine or Christmas card." 
 
 That you so anxiously were looking 
 Has pierced my soul as with a dart; 
 
 To deprecate your stern rebuking, 
 I send this missive from my heart. 
 
 The road you've quitted is called Lightfoot; 
 
 Oh, take not thence a heavy heart, 
 But forward place your stalwart right foot, 
 
 And in the battle bear your part.
 
 TO MR. & MRS. KITSON, OF HENGRAVE, 
 
 ON THEIR GOLDEN WEDDING-DAY, 
 
 September 24, 1882. 
 
 Once on a time, a little ring 
 
 United heart with heart; 
 Hope's angel brushed with golden wing 
 
 Those Death alone should part. 
 
 And Joy pursued the path begun 
 
 Together side by side : 
 Few were the clouds that hid the sun 
 
 From him and his fair bride. 
 
 Still grief must come — yet if 'twas such 
 
 As none on earth could quell, 
 Heaven's sunshine with his golden touch 
 
 Illumed the tear that fell. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 The miser hoards, — some search the mine 
 
 For perishable gold, — 
 Far better jewels — Love divine, 
 
 And hearts that ne'er grow old. 
 
 These steadfast hearts upon their way, 
 
 Beat still as fond and true 
 Upon their golden wedding-day, 
 
 In eighteen-eighty-two. 
 
 As ling'ring light the hills doth leave 
 
 Reluctant, with a kiss, 
 So memory's sunshine gilds the eve 
 
 Of fifty years of bliss.
 
 LINES. 
 
 When the first streak of morning is breaking, 
 
 Commanding night's shadows to flee, 
 When the world to new life is awaking, 
 
 And the thrush carols loud on the tree; 
 Then I think how affection was springing 
 
 At the first blush of love's morning ray, 
 And joyous my spirit was singing 
 
 As the shades of my night flew away. 
 
 When the full blaze of noontide is pouring, 
 
 And the sun is aloft in the sky, 
 When the lark, as he upwards is soaring, 
 
 To the portal of heaven draws nigh ; 
 Then I think when my fondness reveahng 
 
 Her heart beat responsive to mine, 
 And the earth to my passionate feeling 
 
 Seemed a Paradise more than divine.
 
 86 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 When fading, the dayhght is dying, 
 
 And stillness is stealing around, 
 When the soft evening zephyrs are sighing, 
 
 And dew drops are strewing the ground ; 
 Then I think how, my bosom forsaking. 
 
 That dear one for ever has fled, 
 With remembrance this fond heart is aching 
 
 And my spirit's alone with the dead.
 
 GOLDEN DAYS. 
 
 Speak'st thou in solemn accents of the morrow ? 
 Mar not youth's golden days with such alloy, 
 Nor scan the horizon for the mists of sorrow, 
 Turn we to-night, and sip the cup of joy. 
 
 Oh, let not restless thought be ever tracing 
 The fancied evil of some future day. 
 The good that's borne on every hour embracing 
 In life's May morning still let us be gay. 
 
 Nature rejoices while the sun is shining. 
 Heaven sheds no tears until the day be past, 
 So let's be merry till our day's declining. 
 Keeping regrets and sorrow to the last.
 
 A TRYST. 
 
 Oh, meet nie beloved to-night, 
 
 When the evening sun's sinking low, 
 
 And the hills in the fast fading light 
 Are tipped with his radiant glow. 
 
 I shall wait by the stile that you know 
 Till your form in the dimness appear, 
 
 And your footstep, uncertain and slow, 
 Fall sweet on my listening ear. 
 
 Oh dearest, then banish your fear. 
 
 None shall see but the stars up above, 
 
 And only the nightingale hear, 
 
 When I whisper my passionate love. 
 
 Not a sound save the murmuring brook, 
 Shall break in on that moment divine, 
 
 When you give me your tenderest look, 
 And say you'll for ever be mine.
 
 A TRYST, 89 
 
 Then softer the airs of the night 
 
 Which waft me thy passion confessed, 
 
 And brighter the stars' trembUng light 
 At the moment that renders me blest. 
 
 Then gently in cadences sweet 
 Shall the nightingale carol a song, 
 
 And the streamlet that flows at our feet 
 In music shall murmur along. 
 
 Oh, come to me, queen of my heart, 
 For none else in this bosom shall reign, 
 
 Though to-night for a while we must part 
 Our souls shall ne'er sever again.
 
 TO 
 
 As yonder pure and holy star 
 Diffuses radiance from afar 
 
 Upon this world of sin : 
 So from thine eyes a beam of Hght 
 Pierces my bosom's darkest night, 
 
 And sheds a cahn within. 
 
 As swiftly on a summer's day 
 The sunshine with his warming ray 
 
 The pearly dew-drop dries; 
 Even thus when sorrow's in my heart, 
 A glance from thee, sweet, bids depart 
 
 The tear-drop from mine eyes. 
 
 As^ on the storms of ocean tost, 
 A vessel that is well-nigh lost 
 
 In harbour finds a rest : 
 So, harassed with the cares of life, 
 I find a haven from the strife 
 
 Upon thy gentle breast.
 
 LONGING. 
 
 And so, of never ending woes 
 Two banks on either side enclose 
 My waste of years, which on will roll, 
 With ceaseless chafing o'er my soul. 
 
 Oh, would that time could now push back 
 The hours that hurry on their track, 
 And once again to me restore 
 The love I've lost for evermore. 
 
 Oh folly, vain imagining, 
 
 To think that having left its spring 
 
 Instead of rolling to the main 
 
 The stream could upwards turn again : 
 
 And equal folly on the part 
 
 Of an infirm and fickle heart, 
 
 To wish that backward time would fly, 
 
 Retreating from futurity.
 
 92 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 And towards the days long past away 
 Direct the wings he spreads to-day, 
 Which always towards the future tending, 
 He flaps o'er mortals dark extending.
 
 TO SISTER DORA. 
 
 WRITTEN BY REQUEST, TO PLACE UNDER THE PORTRAIT 
 OF SISTER DORA, IN THE SISTER DORA MEMORIAL 
 CONVALESCENT HOME, AT MILFROD, STAFFORDSHIRE, 
 
 To her who scorned to live at ease. 
 On common things to fix the mind, 
 Whose sail Love set to stormy seas 
 To stem the woes of human kind, 
 
 To her, in hope to succour those 
 For whom her life was freely spent, 
 And give to weariness repose — 
 We raise this lasting monument. 
 
 True Saint, who passed spring's precious hours 
 In pouring balm to the distressed ; 
 Who quitted paths of earthly flowers, 
 And found in work eternal rest.
 
 94 VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 Sin shrinking fled her magic wand, 
 And purity revived again ; 
 To many a wretch her tender hand 
 Was stretched to soothe his bitter pain. 
 
 Unconquered in her matchless will, 
 Her spirit nerved with faith divine, 
 With gentle thoughts for human ill, 
 And hope, an ever-springing mine. 
 
 Her wave of life has passed and gone, 
 Rich freighted to the boundless sea; 
 And now to us are left alone 
 Her image and her memory. 
 
 Strangers, who enter in this place, 
 
 Gaze on the pictured form above, 
 
 And there in fancy you may trace 
 
 A welcome in the look of love ; 
 
 As stands an Angel at the gate 
 
 To heal the sick, and raise the desolate.
 
 TO SISTER DORA. 
 
 A SHORTENED VERSION, NOW PRINTED UNDER HER 
 PORTRAIT ON THE WALLS OF MILFORD CONVALESCENT 
 
 HOME. 
 
 To her, in hope to succour those 
 For whom her hfe was freely spent 
 And give to weariness repose, 
 We raise this lasting monument. 
 
 Strangers ! who enter in this place, 
 Gaze on the pictured form above. 
 And there in fancy you may trace 
 A welcome in the look of love. 
 
 Faint image of a life passed on, 
 Rich freighted to the boundless sea. 
 Of her, alas ! these walls alone 
 Remain a sacred memory. 
 
 Record of one who loved to wait 
 
 As stands an Angel at the gate, 
 
 To heal the sick, and raise the desolate. 
 
 1883.
 
 A RETROSPECT. 
 
 I MET her at a morning call, 
 
 She beamed upon me as I sate : 
 
 She rose and gently touched my hand, 
 
 I stammered, blushed, and dropped my hat 
 
 She laughed a little silv'ry laugh. 
 She eyed me with a roguish eye, 
 And left me standing in a dream — 
 A hopeless dream of ecstasy. 
 
 I met her at a county ball, 
 My tongue refused to say a word, 
 She looked an angel from above. 
 And I — uncommonly absurd. 
 
 I led her to the mazy dance, 
 Around her form my arm I placed, 
 No artifice was needed then 
 To show the world a slender waist.
 
 A RETROSPECT. 97 
 
 We wandered to the terrace walk, 
 The stars were glimmering from above, 
 I knelt when none were near to see, 
 I spoke, and told her all my love. 
 
 Oh back, oh back my memory flies, 
 'Tis five and twenty years ago— 
 Her parted lips, her sunny smile, 
 Her lily hand, her whispers low. 
 
 Ah backward, yes, my memory flies — 
 At breakfast as I crunch my toast 
 A portly form sits opposite, — 
 Who is it now that rules the roast? 
 
 That gentle voice that thrilled my soul. 
 Oh listen, as she calls to Cook ! 
 Those eyes that pierced my inmost heart 
 Now wither me with half a look. 
 
 I still can see her sylph-like form — 
 Good gracious ! what is that o'er head ? 
 Ah, such a dainty little foot — 
 It is her elephantine tread. 
 
 H
 
 9S VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 I think of that sweet whispered " yes," 
 When first I clasped her taper waist — 
 No length of arm could span it now, 
 However tight she might be laced. 
 
 That lily hand I loved to take 
 
 Is now a piece of dimpled fat ; 
 
 Only in dreams can I recall 
 
 The day I blushed and dropped my hat.
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN AT KINGSTEIGNTON VICARAGE, ON VISITING IT 
 
 FOR THE LAST TIME, AFTER THE DEATH OF THE 
 
 REV. JOHN HEXT. 
 
 For the last time I sit beneath this bower, 
 And look with sadness on the peaceful scene, 
 
 In fancy tracing many a vanished hour 
 
 Fraught with the memories of what has been. 
 
 The sunlight glances on the old elm trees, 
 The mist hangs lovely on the distant hill, 
 
 The evening bell is borne upon the breeze. 
 But he who loved the sound is cold and still. 
 
 No more shall laughter ring throughout the hall ; 
 
 Fled like a dream is every well-known face. 
 Silent for ever is his cheery call, 
 
 The hand of Death lies heavy on this place. 
 
 H 2
 
 loo VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 Where loving voices fell upon the ear, 
 
 O'er all oppressive Stillness holds her reign, 
 
 The place which teemed with life is lone and drear, 
 Their steps no more shall pass that door again. 
 
 Unwonted feet shall tread the grassy sward, 
 Strange voices sound in unfamiliar tone, 
 
 New faces gather round the social board, 
 
 And others call this cherished spot their own. 
 
 The widowed one, of her dear care bereft. 
 Feels that with him her place in life has fled, 
 
 Refusing solace e'en from blessings left, 
 
 Her absent mind holds converse with the dead. 
 
 For though we know loved friends must pass away 
 
 Inevitably to their long long rest, 
 Hope yearning cries, "A little longer stay, 
 
 Oh leave not yet the home thy love has blest I " 
 
 But genial time upon his outspread wings 
 Bears to the sufterer a healing balm, 
 
 Nature herself sweet consolation brings. 
 
 And heavenly thoughts will shed a holy calm.
 
 LINES. 10 1 
 
 The tears that come from the o'ercharged heart 
 Water the spirit as sweet dew the flower, 
 
 And as the clouds at eve new strength impart, 
 The soul draws comfort in life's midnight hour. 
 
 Fondly still feel, that though he cometh not, 
 Although his trust is left to others' care, 
 
 His spirit hovers still around the spot, 
 
 The seed he sowed will spring and blossom there. 
 
 O look not back, but cherishing regret 
 
 Within the deep recesses of the soul, 
 With fond affection, which can ne'er forget, 
 
 Still calm and happy, press towards the goal. 
 
 Peace ever comes, though fierce the battle strife, 
 Sunshine will break, though dark the clouds appear, 
 
 Comfort will temper every troubled life. 
 
 And Hope's bright smile illumine Memory's tear.
 
 ON THE YEAR i88t. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A LADY. 
 
 But yesterday a baby blooming, 
 With rosy cheek and curly head, 
 
 Unmindful of the war-clouds looming 
 Far, far above his little bed. 
 
 To-day stern Nature's laws obeying, 
 His destined course for ever run. 
 
 Within a new-made grave we're laying 
 The worn-out corpse of 'eighty-one. 
 
 How at the baby year's beginning, 
 We trusted in the brat once more, 
 
 And then with anguish found him sinning 
 Like others that had gone before.
 
 ON THE YEAR 1881. 103 
 
 The Year is but an earthly charmer, 
 And leaves his promise unfulfilled, 
 
 And we, like many an earthly farmer. 
 Perchance ne'er reap where we have tilled. 
 
 Yet gently think on him that's waning, 
 
 Qiii mal y pense hoiii soit ; 
 Le Roi est mort — another's reigning, 
 
 Peace to his ashes — Vhe le Roi! 
 
 Though years have sprung and died in sorrow, 
 
 Denying comfort to our Sue, 
 Bright hope must reckon on the mori'ow, 
 
 And trust in eighteen eighty-two.
 
 PARTED. 
 
 We parted in the gloaming, 
 
 When the moon was on the sea, 
 Oh, my love would go a-roaming, 
 
 And he said farewell to me. 
 Oh, I thought upon the morrow, 
 
 And not a word could speak 
 As he kissed the tear of sorrow 
 
 From off my pale, pale cheek. 
 
 Amidst each bright surrounding, 
 
 With laughter gay and loud, 
 I can hear his sweet voice sounding 
 
 Above the babbling crowd. 
 I steal, when none behold me, 
 
 Where the pale moon saw us part, 
 AMiere his arms did last enfold me 
 
 As he pressed me to his heart.
 
 PARTED. lOS 
 
 He soothed me — it was only 
 
 Till the bud was in the leaf — 
 Then he went and left me lonely, 
 
 Mid the silence of my grief. 
 He'd o'er the world be sailing, 
 
 But he vowed he would be true ; 
 And a cloud the moon was veiling, 
 
 As he said his last adieu.
 
 GENOA. 
 
 Fair Genoa, when first I did behold 
 
 Thy marble palaces, in all their cold 
 
 But perfect symmetry, the searching blast 
 
 Rushed through the streets — the winter sky o'ercast 
 
 Veiled the bright sun, and chilled me to the heart ; 
 
 But when thy frown had warned me to depart. 
 
 Then burst thy smile, and wooed me to remain ; 
 
 Thy softening beauty blazed, till I was fain 
 
 To Hnger on thy terraces — 
 
 As when a wayward girl her lover spurns, 
 
 A listless ear to his entreaty turns, 
 
 Despairing e'er to melt her heart of snow, 
 
 The baffled swain in grief prepares to go ; 
 
 With changeful mood she smoothes her ruffled face, 
 
 And smiles once more resume their wonted place ; 
 
 Basking in sunshine then he fain would stay, 
 
 Nor from her growing charms can tear himself away. 
 
 December, 1883.
 
 LINES.* 
 
 Ah ! 'tis the hour, 
 The trysting place ; 
 
 We meet, we meet, 
 ■With arms entwined a little space 
 
 We greet, we greet. 
 
 One moment yet 
 To dream of bliss ; 
 
 Oh stay ! oh stay ! 
 A last embrace, a lingering kiss. 
 
 Away ! away ! 
 
 February, 1865 
 
 * These lines were written at the request of a friend to add to a 
 song, of which they were to form the first and third verses. The 
 original verse, in imitation of which they were written, is, 
 Soon parting comes. 
 Time flies away : 
 
 Take heed, take heed. 
 O let us each for other pray, 
 God speed, God speed.
 
 SONNET (UNFINISHED). 
 
 The hours stay not, and life itself flies fast, 
 The days of death in horrid grandeur loom ; 
 And present things and those that are to come 
 Trouble my soul together with the past. 
 And memory and expectation vast 
 Fill me with doubt, and hurl me to my doom. 
 Without religion shining through the gloom 
 I never could these harrowing thoughts outlast. 
 If sweetness in a heart with sorrow torn 
 Exist, it comes before me, then again 
 I see my course with adverse winds pursued ; 
 Fortune in port, and with fatigue outworn 
 My pilot, useless sail and mast remain. 
 
 ^k "• 'K ••• *r^ 'V '(v Sp 
 
 [T/i€se lines, probably the last he wrote, were found after 
 his death, written in pencil in a feeble hafid, and imcor- 
 rected.]
 
 TRANSLATIONS.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Thou hast asked, O sorrow laden, 
 One poor stanza of my lay; 
 And my promise, beauteous maiden, 
 Sacred is in griefs sad day : 
 
 So my fancy brings to me. 
 
 Mournfully this harmony. 
 
 Like each wave the next effacing, 
 On the bendings of the shore, 
 Grief and joy each other chasing, 
 Pass o'er mortals evermore. 
 Nor one token leave behind, 
 As on sand no trace we find.
 
 112 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Beauty is a lovely flower, 
 Heaven's rose lent us for a day, 
 Shedding for a brief, brief hour, 
 O'er our life a sunny ray ; 
 But with sorrow's fatal breath 
 The heavenly flower soon fades in death. 
 
 Him who conquers here beneath, 
 Heaven has crowned with leaves of bay, 
 Cruel ones the poet's wreath 
 From his forehead snatch'd away ; 
 Frosted o'er the leaves we find, 
 Or with thorns are intertwined. 
 
 Now within the castle walls 
 
 Brims the cup of pleasure o'er, 
 
 Jewels glitter in the halls, 
 
 Eager dancers tread the floor ; 
 But Avithout, pale Care still waits, 
 Knocking, knocking at the gates. 
 
 Hopes that soften for a while 
 Sting of bitter human woe,
 
 "3 
 
 Only for a moment smile, 
 Then as quickly fade and go ; 
 
 As the lights and shadows fall, 
 
 Restless dancing on a wall. 
 
 Sole relief that cheers the way 
 Of one sad vmhappy race, 
 Is a bright and tender ray 
 From a sweet enamoured face; 
 
 Raven hair and eyes of blue. 
 
 We in secret love to woo. 
 
 Thou hast asked, fair sorrow-laden, 
 One poor stanza of my lay, 
 And my promise, beauteous maiden, 
 I have kept in griefs sad day, 
 
 So my fancy brought to me, 
 
 Mournfully this harmony. 
 
 From G. Prati.
 
 Upon the breast of Ocean 
 
 Two ships are tempest tossed, 
 One safe returns to harbour, 
 
 The other's wrecked and lost. 
 But blameless are the breezes, 
 
 If far their paths divide, 
 For various are the pilots 
 
 That stem the ocean's tide. 
 
 G. Prati.
 
 It is not wise, but folly to be still. 
 Made wretched by anticipating ill ; 
 The thought of possibilities, forsooth, 
 Painted with fear is greater than the truth. 
 AVho foolishly the future shadows out, 
 Insures an evil when it's still in doubt. 
 
 ] 2
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Mankind is ever dreaming 
 Of days that shall be blest, 
 
 Unsatisfied with seeking 
 A happy goal of rest. 
 
 The world with age decaying 
 Springs once again to life, 
 
 And steadfast Hope attendant 
 Sustains us through the strife. 
 
 Her gentle buoyant spirit 
 Around each cradle sings, 
 
 Each boy in faith reposes 
 Upon her golden wings.
 
 HOPE. 1 17 
 
 The youth with years increasing, 
 
 Feels magic in each spell, 
 She, constant through life's journey, 
 
 Will with the aged dwell. 
 
 It is no foolish frenzy 
 
 Begot within the brain, 
 That ever loudly singeth — 
 
 "Man, thou shalt rise again." 
 
 Oh, soul that doubting wavers, 
 
 In higher things believe. 
 And trust the voice within you. 
 
 Which never can deceive. 
 
 Schiller.
 
 RESTLESS LOVE. 
 
 Through melting snow and driving sleet, 
 Through winds that blow and storms that beat. 
 Up, up, amongst the slippery rocks, 
 Where thickest fog vain effort mocks — 
 Still onward, onward Love must go, 
 No port of rest, no peace below. 
 
 Sooner than share such doubtful joy — 
 
 A pleasure mixed with such alloy — 
 
 I'd bare my bosom to the blow, 
 
 The sword-thrust of a deadly foe. 
 Oh, fiercer than opposing darts, 
 The pangs of sympathetic hearts !
 
 RESTLESS LOVE. 119 
 
 Ah, whither, whither shall I fly 
 To hide me from Love's piercing eye? 
 Where'er I go pursues the flame, 
 In forests deep, still, still the same ! 
 Yet sweetest crown of life to me. 
 Still restless Love thou'lt ever be ! 
 
 Goethe.
 
 THE BROOKLET. 
 
 Oh, silver brooklet, bright and clear, 
 
 For ever on thou flowest; 
 Tell me, as musing I stand here, 
 
 Whence com'st thou, and where goest? 
 
 From the dark bosom of the cave 
 I haste o'er moss and flower; 
 
 The sky is mirrored in my wave 
 Through many a sunny hour. 
 
 Joy drives me into paths unknown, 
 
 I heed not whither guiding, 
 To Him who called me from the stone 
 
 My destiny confiding. 
 
 Goethe.
 
 THE MERMAID'S SONG. 
 
 In the deep where I am reigning 
 I have heard thy sad complaining; 
 I, the spirit of the water, 
 Am the fairest mermaid's daughter. 
 
 Lovely fisher-boy , with me 
 Come and dwell beneath the sea, 
 For my beauty dieth never, 
 And thy youth shall live for ever. 
 
 On a throne of coral sitting, 
 'Neath a sky of crystal flitting, 
 Come, oh fisher-boy, with me, 
 Come and kiss beneath the sea.
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 On golden winglet flying, 
 Through many a sunny hour, 
 
 The butterfly is trying 
 
 The sweets of every flower. 
 
 The God of Love is shakinsr 
 
 His torch through my briglit eye, 
 
 And many a heart is aching 
 With many a fruitless sigh. 
 
 My fancy's ever ranging. 
 
 For light of love am I, 
 Each morn and evening changing, 
 
 From flower to flower I fly.
 
 LA DIVE BOUTEILLE. 
 
 (from the FRENCH.) 
 
 Although thy cold disdain 
 Has frozen o'er my heart, 
 The wine cup once again 
 "Will joyousness impart. 
 
 Whene'er its blood I spill, 
 Which gaily overflows, 
 It warms me as I fill. 
 And all my sorrow goes. 
 
 Its sparkles bright reveal 
 A love both true and kind, 
 Which in thy charms' appeal 
 I nevermore shall find.
 
 SPRING SONG, 
 
 (translated from the GERMAN.) 
 
 Each flow'ret shall peep, 
 And the streamlet shall leap, 
 Soft eyebright appear 
 In the spring of the year. 
 
 Fair snowdrop unfold, 
 For you fear not cold, 
 Hide violet your smile 
 From the earth for a while. 
 
 Proud tulip again 
 
 Spread your flag o'er the plain, 
 
 Each daffodil gay 
 
 In the sweet month of May.
 
 SPRING SONG. 125 
 
 All blossoms that blow 
 My secret may know, 
 That daisy I call 
 Far the best of all, 
 Far the fairest of all. 
 Dear daisy, my daisy, the fairest of all !
 
 WANDERER'S NIGHT SONG. 
 
 (translated from the GERMAN.) 
 
 Over vale and mountain 
 All doth silence keep ; 
 
 With the fading daylight 
 Nature drops asleep. 
 
 Hushed is every songster 
 Safe within its nest; 
 
 Wait, oh weary pilgrim, 
 Soon thou too shalt rest.
 
 "MAIDENS FROM THE VILLAGE ROAMING." 
 
 (translation of GERMAN VOLKSLIED.) 
 
 Maidens from the village roaming 
 Through the meadows in the gloaming, 
 Gath'ring buttercups and roses, 
 Twine them into wreaths and posies. 
 
 Then the maidens lightly singing, 
 Round their heads the garlands flinging, 
 Wearily the hours forgetting, 
 Tarry till the sun is setting. 
 
 Sudden barking from their dreaming 
 Wakes the maidens, loudly screaming, 
 Down the bank where they were lying 
 All the frightened girls are flying.
 
 128 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Then there comes a gallant rider, 
 Greets his sweetheart, sits beside her, 
 Whirls his whip, and fiercely cracking, 
 Sends the howling curs all packing.
 
 Hear the words of a man who's departing, 
 
 Oh list to his spirit's last sigh, 
 
 Elvira, this poor withered flower 
 
 To thee I bequeath as I die. 
 
 How highly the gift was regarded, 
 
 Too well, dearest love, you can say — 
 
 On the day that I thought would unite us, 
 
 You were torn from my bosom away. 
 
 A symbol it was of affection. 
 
 And now 'tis a token of grief, 
 
 Oh place it once more in thy bosom. 
 
 This poor little half-withered leaf. 
 
 Perhaps on thy heart shall be graven — 
 
 If stony that heart may not be — 
 
 How I took this fond pledge of devotion, 
 
 And returned it in sorrow to thee.
 
 Where the turf, my child, doth spring 
 O'er the grave of thy repose, 
 Which thy fair form doth enclose, 
 Myrtle, hyacinths, I fling. 
 Why should I be sorrowing 
 Since thy spirit heavenward goes ? 
 To the fount where first love rose, 
 God has bidden thee take wing. 
 All too happy is thy lot; 
 Thou obey'st a fond inviting, 
 Truly death for thee is not : 
 Only veiled from mortal eyes 
 Like an angel lost, alighting 
 Once again in Paradise,
 
 LINES ON THE DOOR OF ST. CATHERINE'S 
 CELL, AT SIENA. 
 
 LuNGi il profano piede 
 Da questa santa sede; 
 Se virtu vera amate 
 E amor sentite, entrate. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 With foot profane come not 
 Within this holy spot ; 
 If virtue thou revere 
 And love, then enter here. 
 
 K 2
 
 The flower each year shall blossom, 
 
 The sun shall melt the snow, 
 And nature's beauty shall break forth 
 
 On hill and vale below. 
 But other eyes shall see it, 
 
 And other steps will tread, 
 When you and I in quiet lie, 
 
 With the long-forgotten dead. 
 
 Of the above and the two following poems only rough copies 
 have been found, and there is no evidence to show whether 
 they are original or translated.
 
 Where is no ray, there dwelleth mystery, 
 From the dark tomb to Homer's sightless orbs. 
 But when a spark illuminates the scene, 
 There the earth germinates, man's spirit shines. 
 Where'er there is a heart deprived of love. 
 Like to a dream it vanishes away. 
 Unfruitful, leaving not a trace behind. 
 Fading from sight, unknown, even as a sigh 
 Borne by the wind.
 
 Beautiful spirit, who hast ta'en thy flight, 
 
 Departing hence, to the Celestial Gate; 
 
 As thou hast left us sad and desolate, 
 
 So to each star in heaven thou giv'st delight. 
 
 I do not weep thy joy, but the sad plight 
 
 O' the world, which, in the time that thou didst live 
 
 Such honour from thy learning did derive, 
 
 This age nor that e'er saw so fair a sight. 
 
 Poor it remains, deprived of thee, and shorn 
 
 Of all its glory, waves of distress and grief. 
 
 As 'twere, o'er Rome does mighty Tiber roll — 
 
 As for great Caesar once the world did mourn. 
 
 So equally for thee, and seeks rehef 
 
 In truest tears for thy departed soul.
 
 In the woods young Klaus is prying, 
 After birdies' nests a spying, 
 To a lofty tree he's clinging. 
 Hark ! the little birds are singing. 
 But, within, the careful mother, 
 Hearing all the fuss and pother, 
 Peeps and twitters, "To our house. 
 Little ones ! look ! here comes Klaus ! 
 See, a great big stick he's bringing ; 
 Quick, my dears, you must be winging." 
 Perr! a fluttering, hush, hush, hush, 
 Empty nest and empty bush. 
 Little birdies laugh at Klaus, 
 Finding but a vacant house, 
 Homeward must he go dejected. 
 Without the prize that he expected. 
 Birdies in a chorus mock at 
 Clever Klaus's empty pocket. 
 Little birdies laugh at^ Klaus, 
 Laugh at Klaus, 
 Finding but a vacant house.

 
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