»769i 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 VERSES 
 
 OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 BY 
 
 A. HAYWARD. 
 
 (ErprintcJi, iijttfj aniitttons, for JFrirutis.) 
 
 MDCCCLXXXII.
 
 printed by BaM.ANTVNF.. HaNSON A: CO. 
 - hditiburgh and Lond^^n
 
 ?K 
 
 1 ^?>- 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 To an Unknown Lady Singing in the next Room at an 
 
 Hotel ....... I 
 
 To Mrs. ....... 3 
 
 To C 4 
 
 To Nina longing for a Male Friend .... 5 
 
 To Lady E. P. . . . . . ■ .6 
 
 To C. , on a Report of her Flirting .... 7 
 
 To a Discarded Bouquet ..... 8 
 
 A Common Fallacy ...... 9 
 
 To a Pair of Gloves ...... 10 
 
 La Dame aux Violettes . . . . .11 
 
 On the First Leaf of the Pencarrow Album . . .12 
 
 To Lady E. Carving ...... 13 
 
 A Farewell . . . . . . -13 
 
 Impromptu ....... 14 
 
 To J. E., with a Bouquet ..... 15 
 
 On being asked who was Singing at an Evening Party . 16 
 On a Sash-Ribbon dropping twice during a Walk . . 17 
 
 On Verses to Eugenie M . . . . .18 
 
 To the Painter of an Unfinished Portrait at Strawberry Hill 19 
 To C. . . . . . . . .20 
 
 To the Same ....... 21 
 
 Reflection ....... 22 
 
 ToC 23 
 
 To the Same ....... 25 
 
 To the Same ....... 26 
 
 From the German ...... 28 
 
 To a Lady who desired a Sonnet to be Written on Three 
 
 Ugly Women . . . . . .31 
 
 '^.Qi
 
 IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 To a Fly perched on the shoulder of a Celebrated Beauty 
 
 Attempted in rreiich . 
 
 To the Hon. M. M., on her appearing as the Angel in the 
 
 Tableau of "The Novice " 
 From a sober Country House, to the Chatelaine of a gay 
 
 and very jdeasant one 
 To Lady D. B. . 
 To the Same 
 To the Same 
 
 "With an Embroidered Belt 
 To a Lady who proposed putting up her Honey to Auction 
 The Judgment of Paris reversed 
 To Mrs. C. W. . 
 To the Same (by Count Beust) 
 To Erin ...... 
 
 To Grace, Duchess of , with a Bouquet . 
 
 To a Bouquet ..... 
 To the Kejiresentative of Erin 
 To the Same ..... 
 The Reply of Love .... 
 
 To L. — '- 
 
 On being Asked to write more Verses 
 
 Ou a Pliotograph .... 
 
 To the Same . . . • ■ 
 
 Apology for the Last .... 
 
 On the Photograph of a Lady holding a Bouquet 
 
 With a Dropped Bracelet 
 
 On hearing a Lady called ' A llubens' 
 
 With a Bouquet for a Ball 
 
 After talking with Nellie 
 
 A Correspondence .... 
 
 The Reply ..... 
 
 To Helene ..... 
 
 To H. Wearing a Green Shade 
 
 ToH 
 
 To L., with Pink Camelias 
 
 To , playing Blindman's Buff 
 
 To , ou her Handwriting . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 32 
 33
 
 ( ' ) 
 
 TO AN UNKNOWN LADY SINGING IN THE NEXT 
 ROOM AT AN HOTEL. 
 
 SiXG on, sing on, your voice is filling 
 
 The air with music — every tone 
 Instinct with life and thought — and thrillincr 
 
 With power, with passion, all your own. 
 
 One time, a tale of sorrow telling, 
 
 It sinks and softens to a sigh ; 
 Then, trumpet-like and proudly swelling. 
 
 It sounds the conqueror's battle-cry, 
 
 o» 
 
 ig 
 
 We tliink we see the war-horse dashiu<: 
 With blood-stained rider o'er the plain — 
 
 The serried line — the death-shot flashing — 
 And listen for the shriek of pain. 
 
 But hardly have we dwelt, deploring 
 And saddened, on this scene of fear — 
 
 'Tis gone, and here's the lover pouring 
 His murm'ring vows in beauty's ear.
 
 ( 2 ) 
 
 Oli, oft I've heard, without believing, 
 That men have hung with bated breath, 
 
 Whilst tempters, whom they knew deceiving, 
 Were slowly singing them to death. 
 
 But well might they be lured to ruin : 
 Within the hour you've taught me how : 
 
 The Sirens did what you are doing ; 
 They sang as you are singing now.
 
 ( 3 ) 
 
 ■ //' 
 
 TO MRS. — . — . // (nu^ 
 
 You ask if still your beauty lingers, 
 
 If still you're fitted to betray, 
 If time has, with unhallowed fingers, 
 
 Swept any of your charms away. 
 
 And tremble lest we should discover 
 That lips and eyes are apt at fading, 
 
 Lest soon, too soon, th' enraptured lover 
 Should change his fondness for upbraiding 
 
 But calm such fears, be hushed that sighing, 
 Foreboding tone of causeless woe : 
 
 How can you doubt of my replying. 
 Your beauty faded ! — no, love, no. 
 
 Your eyes are bright as ever beaming. 
 Your lips are ripe and tempting still. 
 
 Love never murmurs at redeeming 
 
 Such charms from age, and never will.
 
 ( 4) 
 
 Whilst all else tells that time is fleet, 
 Expression, whicli can never feel it, 
 
 Has o'er you thrown a charm as sweet, 
 As if you'd flown to heaven to steal it. 
 
 Leave it to others to despair, 
 
 "When they've outlived their sunny weather, 
 Best sure that you'll be ever fair, 
 
 Because you've mind and form together. 
 
 TO C. . . 
 
 Dull folks who can't abide Kousseau 
 Have wonder'd much that he should go 
 A mile or two seven times a week 
 Only to kiss his Sophie's cheek. 
 But, for my part, I never wonder'd ; 
 For willingly I'd go a hundred, 
 By night or day, in rain or shine, 
 Only to press your cheek to mine.
 
 ( 5 ) 
 
 TO NINA LONGING FOR A ^^ BELLE AMITI^" 
 WITH A MALE FRIEND. 
 
 " Ce qui fait que la plupart des femmes soni pen fouchees de 
 I' ami tie, c'est qu'elle est fade quand on a senti de l' amour." 
 
 — Rochefoucauld. 
 
 Dream not of such a friend, 
 
 Whatever is intended ; 
 Trust me, the dream will end 
 
 As all such dreams have ended. 
 
 Do what you will to blind, 
 
 Your bright and glowing beauty 
 
 Soon makes the part assigned 
 Too hard, too cold a duty. 
 
 Mark well as, day by day, 
 Each look the truth revealing. 
 
 You struggle to delay 
 
 The treach'rous change of feeling.
 
 ( 6 ) 
 
 The common daily greeting 
 Is murmured with a bhish, 
 
 The proffered hand at meeting 
 Is taken with a flush. 
 
 The fitful flame will hover 
 Till, with a flash of light, 
 
 The friend becomes the lover 
 In his and your despite. 
 
 TO LADY E. P. ^- /-, A 
 
 WHO, AFTER COMPLAINING OF HEADACHE, FELL ASLEEP 
 OVER MY BOOK, 
 
 If that lovely cheek reposes 
 Only to renew its roses, 
 If those bright eyes brighter look 
 From gently closing o'er my book. 
 If any way it softens pain, 
 Lady, sleep on or sleep again.
 
 ( 7 ) 
 
 TO C , ON A REPORT THAT SHE HAD BEEN 
 
 FLIRTING WITH ANOTHER. 
 
 Thanks, dear, for your kind, ready promise, 
 
 That silly report to disprove ; 
 Act thus, and fate cannot take from us 
 
 The sweetest enjoyment in love. 
 
 The conviction, the faith, high and holy, 
 "With our first happy moments begun, 
 
 That, superior to weakness or folly. 
 Our spirits are blended in one. 
 
 That there's nothing for either to smother 
 With a sigh, or conceal with a smile. 
 
 That whenever one suffers, the other 
 Will hasten the pang to beguile. 
 
 How lovely you looked as you pouted, 
 And asked with your beautiful eyes, 
 
 If a being like you should be doubted. 
 Or bound down by commonplace ties.
 
 ( s ) 
 
 And indeed I'd ne'er dream of controlling 
 Your movements so graceful and free, 
 
 But the woman I treasure my soul in, 
 Is like a shrined idol to me. 
 
 The crowd from afar must adore her, 
 No step near the altar may tread, 
 
 Nothing light or profane must breathe o'er her, 
 Or the charm of the worship is dead. 
 
 TO A DISCARDED BOUQUET. 
 
 Though your mistress has flung you away, 
 And most of your freshness is flown, 
 
 I'll prolong your existence a day, 
 For your fate is a type of my own. 
 
 Yet Avhy make you live on ! mistaken 
 Such kindness, I own with a sigh. 
 
 The thing she has held and forsaken 
 Has nothing to do but to die.
 
 ( 9 ) 
 
 A COMMON FALLACY. 
 
 " Man's love is 0/ man's life a thing apart, 
 ''Tis woman's whole existence." — Byron. 
 
 ■ ' Que les hommes sont heureux d'aller a la guerre, b'c. Mais 
 il ii'y a rien au dehors qui soulage Icsfemmes." — CoRlNNE. 
 
 The saying's unfounded, though common, 
 Let sophists urge all that they can, 
 
 That love is existence to woman, 
 And only a pastime to man. 
 
 The victim, the slave, of one feeling. 
 
 For work or amusement unfit, 
 ]\Iy sole solace from memory stealing. 
 
 Which brings me her image, I sit. — 
 
 Whilst she on her hunter is springing, 
 
 With spirits so frolic and free, 
 And laughter so merrily ringing, 
 
 'Twere a sin to be thinking of me.
 
 i- 
 
 ( 1°) 
 
 Perhaps she'll come back to me smiling, 
 And pause just to rivet my chain ; 
 
 Or begin some new mode of beguiling, 
 If only to fret me again. 
 
 Her eyes may grow kinder to teach me 
 Some new beauty or charm to regret, 
 
 Though for one of her looks that will reach me, 
 Another a hundred may get. 
 
 But why should I murmur, the chances 
 Of love we must take as they go ; 
 
 That one will be worth all the glances 
 All the rest of the sex could bestow. 
 
 TO A PAIR OF GLOVES {No. sJ) WHICH LADY 
 
 yr-, H D WAS PUTTING ON. 
 
 Make much of the short-lived delight, 
 Too surely the prelude of sorrow : 
 
 The hands you are pressing to-night 
 
 "Will discard you for new ones to-morrow.
 
 ( " ) 
 
 LA DAME AUX VIOLETTES. 
 
 {On a crushed bouquet of violets [crushed by her having uncon- 
 sciously leaned on them) returned to the giver on leaving 
 the Opera.) 
 
 These flo'wers are dead — their bloom 
 All gone — yet sweet their death ; 
 
 Their best and last perfume 
 Was mingled with her breath. 
 
 Kissing them, with her smile 
 
 So coy, so gay, so bright, 
 She told me they'd beguile 
 
 The lone sad hours of night. 
 
 Alas ! no charm or spell 
 
 Whose object was confest. 
 E'er did its work so well 
 
 Of murdering sleep and rest.
 
 ( 12 ) 
 
 TliG visions they awoke, 
 
 Though sweeter far than sleep, 
 Left me, when morning broke, 
 
 No strength except to weep — 
 
 Weep o'er the feverish hours 
 I've wasted, and waste yet, 
 
 On hopes that, like my flowers, 
 She'll crush and then forget. 
 
 ON THE FIRST LEAF OF THE PENCARROW 
 ALBUM. 
 
 If beauty, courtesy, and grace. 
 
 The smile so bright, the heart so warm, 
 
 Could ever fling around a place 
 A glow, a halo, and a charm : 
 
 Pencarrow's guests should count and treasure 
 The hours that now unheeded fly. 
 
 Sunlit by mirth and winged by pleasure, 
 For all will leave it with a sigh. 
 
 Pencakrow, Sejit. 3, 1859.
 
 { 13 ) 
 
 TO LADY E. CARVING. 
 
 If you would save male guests from starving, 
 Fair Countess, you must leave off carving : 
 So eagerly fixes and lingers 
 Our gaze upon those lovely fingers, 
 That if by chance we wish to eat, 
 It is the hand and not the meat. 
 Cashiobury, 1856. 
 
 A FAREWELL.'- 
 
 One interview yet, and we're parted. 
 The dawn of our friendship is o'er — 
 
 Desponding, worn, wasted, lone-hearted, 
 I dare not look forward to more. 
 
 Yet I will not, I cannot forget you ; 
 
 Among the few hours I can call 
 Back to dream of, the hour when I met you 
 
 Will now be the sweetest of all. 
 
 I must not even whisper how often, 
 'Mid the passion, the folly, the strife 
 
 I mix in, your image will soften 
 The hardness and coldness of life. 
 
 /^■h '
 
 ( M ) 
 
 IIow looks, tones, and thoughts will come 
 thronging, 
 
 And, alas ! for the wish may be vain — 
 How deep and how heartfelt the longing 
 
 To see you and hear you again ! 
 
 Then, farewell — I ask for no promise ; 
 
 Who knows that a feeling will last ? 
 But there's one thing fate cannot take from us- 
 
 Tlie affection that feeds on the past. 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 ON A LADY SAYING THAT ALL WOMEN'S FACES HAD SOME- 
 THING DIVINE ABOUT THEM TO A MAN OF FEELING. 
 
 " All women's faces are divine " — 
 Granted : and let the man who mocks 
 
 At such a creed, once gaze on thine. 
 He'll soon adopt the paradox. 
 
 Because he'll very soon forget 
 
 There's any other face to see, 
 And linger, fluttering in the net, 
 
 Till 2coman is a word for thee. 
 
 /
 
 ( 15 ) 
 
 
 
 TO J. E. 
 
 I 
 Oh, fling away 
 
 That withered bouquet — 
 
 Take this instead ; 
 Those faded flowers 
 Remind me of hours 
 
 Wasted or fled. 
 
 To be emblems of you, 
 So sweet and true, 
 
 So fresh and bright, 
 They should keep their bloom, 
 And scatter perfume 
 
 From morn to night. 
 
 They've enjoyed the best. 
 And may bear the rest : 
 
 To be about you, 
 Is life's chief joy — 
 Its worst alloy 
 
 To be without you.
 
 ( i6 ) 
 
 ON BEING ASKED WHO WAS SINGING AT AN 
 EVENING PARTY. 
 
 Oh, ask me not about the song, 
 
 Or what was said or what was done, — 
 
 Amid this gay and glancing throng, 
 I see and hear and know but one. 
 
 The wit, the beauty, and the grace 
 That mingle here, I cannot see, — 
 
 Besides that darling form and face, 
 There's nothing in the room for me. 
 
 Her breath, her beauty fill the air, 
 
 The very atmosphere's refined ; 
 Some charm, some essence, rich and rare, 
 
 Flutters and steals away my mind. 
 
 I know 1 ought to play the part 
 Of cold indifference for her sake, 
 
 But when I try to school my heart, 
 It throbs as if about to break.
 
 ( 17 ) 
 
 And since I struggle hard to hide 
 The feelings that I can't suppress, 
 
 If she's compelled to frown or chide 
 A little, she'll not love me less. 
 
 ON A SASH-RIBBON DROPPING TWICE 
 DURING A WALK. 
 
 "Why do Augusta's ribbons wauder ? 
 
 Why ttvice to-day that bow untied ? 
 When every other thing grows fonder, 
 
 The more it lingers by her side. 
 
 Alas ! exclaims the truant bow, 
 
 I'm sure you'll see no cause to scold me, 
 Or think me fickle, when you know 
 
 How feeble are the bonds that hold me. 
 
 For what avails it to cling fast ? 
 
 "WTiy should I try to prove a true one ? 
 When the next hour may be my last. 
 
 Since every day she wears a new one.
 
 ( is ) 
 
 No sooner have I learn'd my part, 
 And with a flush of pride begin 
 
 To clasp her waist, and guard the heart 
 You'd die a hundred deaths to win, 
 
 Or, by an upward glance discover 
 Th' expressive beauties of her face. 
 
 Than all my new-found joys are over, 
 And there's another in my place. 
 
 ON VERSES TO EUGENIE M (LADY B.) BY 
 
 MRS. NORTON IN THE DRAWING-ROOM 
 SCRAP-BOOK FOR 1S49. 
 
 These verses show a pretty zeal, 
 
 A graceful wish to do a duty ; 
 But how could woman ever feel 
 
 Thy melting, bright, seducing beauty 1 
 
 To paint its rich warm glow, the Muse 
 Demands a pen by passion guided, 
 
 That of a man who sighs and sues, 
 As once — alas ! how vainly — I did.
 
 ( 19 ) 
 
 TO THE PAINTER OF AN UNFINISHED 
 PORTRAIT AT STRAWBERRY HILL. 
 
 Rash and idle the endeavour 
 
 Features and form like hers to trace ; 
 
 Try for ages, you will never 
 Fix the beauty of that face, 
 
 'Tis not in the glossy tresses, 
 
 The tempting lips, or beaming eyes, 
 
 Cut in something that expresses 
 The mind, the soul, and Art defies. 
 
 ig 
 
 Then pause betimes, for painters straying 
 Beyond their sphere, too oft have shown 
 
 The pencil pow'rless in portraying 
 A charm revealed to Love alone.
 
 ( 20 ) 
 
 TO C. 
 
 ' ' A ses moindrcs discours suspend re tout son ttre, 
 Ejnu d'utt doux espoir, 
 Et mourir tout le jour, Iielas ! a se promettre 
 Un sour ire le soir." 
 
 Give me one look to check the sense, 
 The aching sense, of coming ill ; 
 
 At least 'twill serve as a pretence, 
 A poor one, for remaining still. 
 
 Or am I kept to show your power, 
 A thing to gladden or make sad. 
 
 Just fit to Avhile away an hour 
 When nothing better's to be had. 
 
 You know I never ask for much 
 
 To turn my darkest thoughts to light ; 
 
 A word, a look, a tone, a touch, 
 Has made me happy for the night. 
 
 The fond, the cherished hope of meeting. 
 As once we met, I must resign ; 
 
 But let your eyes keep on repeating 
 " I dare not, or I would be thine ! "
 
 ( 21 ) 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 " £i lorsque ce regard que Ic regard mendie 
 On 71 a pii Vobtenir, 
 Sentir avec terreur h tame aniatiiie 
 Echapfer Vavenir." 
 
 One glance from her expressive eyes 
 Is all I ask, and she denies 
 
 So slight though sweet a boon. 
 I little thought a week ago, 
 So hard, so undeserved a blow 
 
 Would come, and come so soon. 
 
 She knows how wildly I adore 
 
 That form and face, — how more and more 
 
 Her loveliness gets twined. 
 So closely as to mock control, 
 "With every impulse of my soul 
 
 And movement of my mind ! 
 
 How, when the heart is worn with longing. 
 Doubts, fears, and jealousies come thronging 
 
 Like clouds in wintry weather ; 
 Yet twelve whole hours are nearly gone 
 Without a look to say, " Love on, 
 
 Love on, we feel together ! "
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 REFLECTION. 
 
 Is it not folly to remain 
 
 Expecting that which she denies, 
 Demanding promised joys in vain, 
 
 And growing what I most despise. 
 
 Her loveliness is fast undoing 
 
 The little strength of mind I had ; 
 
 A day of smiles would be my ruin, 
 
 An hour of frowns would drive me mad. 
 
 I gaze till I am drunk with heauty, 
 The helpless victim of her power ; 
 
 I languish till all sense of duty 
 Yields to the witchery of the hour. 
 
 J)ut slight indeed the hope of waking 
 From such a trance while she is nicrh. 
 
 O 
 
 The best, the only mode of breaking 
 Spells of her weaving, is — to fly !
 
 ( 23 ) 
 
 TO C. 
 
 Alas ! Avith fate 'tis vain to cope, 
 Your path is breaking off from mine ; 
 
 And every day some wish, or liope, 
 Or fond illusion, I resign. 
 
 You cannot blend me with your life ; 
 
 Perhaps you would not, if you could ; 
 And I'm not equal to the strife 
 
 I courted in my happier mood. 
 
 This agitation wears me out. 
 
 You've wavered once, and may again — 
 An hour, a minute, dashed with doubt 
 
 Condemns me to a night of pain. 
 
 And yet how soft that smile — how sweet 
 Those pouting lips, in times of old — 
 
 How exquisite it was to meet 
 
 Your eyes before your heart grew cold I
 
 ( 24) 
 
 And if that fickle wayward heart — 
 
 Dear, dear beyond expression still- 
 Would only try again the part 
 'Twas once its fondest joy to fill. 
 
 How quickly you would find a way 
 To calm these jealousies and fears, 
 
 Raise crushed affection, and repay 
 The wasting agony of years. 
 
 Then can I say, Farewell 1 — Oh no ! 
 
 Whene'er I try, before 'tis heard, 
 My senses reel, my heart beats slow, 
 
 And shudd'ring I recall the word. 
 
 o 
 
 If you require it, I'll adore, 
 
 Distant, and desolate, and lone— 
 
 But do not tell me to give o'er 
 Loving, because I must love on !
 
 ( 25 ) 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 How sweet it is to sit by thee, 
 
 To hear thee speak, to feel thee move, 
 
 And find thee gentle, kind, and free 
 To listen to the voice of love ! 
 
 How fondly I drink in the tones 
 
 Which seem to whisper thou art mine : 
 
 How wildly throbs the heart that owns 
 'No spell of power, no sway, but thine ! 
 
 A few weeks more, and they'll be past — 
 The only moments that I prize — 
 
 All gone — and I may look my last 
 Of thy loved form and speaking eyes. 
 
 Then, dearest, shall we throw away 
 Or spoil the moments that remain ? 
 
 01), look thy sweetest look, and say, 
 " I'll not be cross or cold ac:ain."
 
 ( 26 ) 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 " T/ie only thing that consoles me during absence is the reflection 
 that no 7nental or personal estrangctnc7it from ennui or disagreement 
 can take place." — Byron. 
 
 " Dans les a?n07irs les plus passionnes, il arrive rarement que les 
 deux amans restent pendant toute u7ie jourtice parfaitement contens 
 tun de r autre." — MADAME DU Deffand. 
 
 Is it an unkind thing to say % 
 
 But kind or unkind, it is true — 
 I'm better, happier when away 
 
 Than mingling in the throng with you. 
 
 There's now no coquetry to fret, 
 No fear to weigh my spirit down, 
 
 No daily cause for vain regret. 
 For me to sigh, or you to frown. 
 
 Unheeded I dream out my dream, 
 
 And call your image from afar ; 
 You then seem kind, and what you seem 
 
 To my weak trusting heart, you are.
 
 ( 27 ) 
 
 Alas ! 'tis only thus you're warm, 
 
 'Tis absence makes your smile so sweet ; 
 
 The faith, the hope, the joy, the charm, 
 All, all have vanished when we meet. 
 
 Your words are cold, your eyes no more 
 Talk faster, fonder than your tongue : 
 
 You've long ago unlearnt the lore 
 
 I taught you when our love was young. 
 
 AVhy treasure up the sign or token 
 
 We never wish to use again ? 
 AVhen all the mystic links are broken, 
 
 'Tis best to fling away the chain. 
 
 Then stay, and let me cherish still 
 The dream your coming woiild dispel ; 
 
 That tone so changed — that look so chill — 
 Oh, stay away, or — fare you well !
 
 ( 28 ) 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF THE COUNTESS 
 HAHN-HAHN. 
 
 Alls der Gesellschaft, p. 189. 
 
 If you'll be my own, 
 Then list to me now, 
 My lot shall be shown 
 Clear as such will allow. 
 True told you shall hear it- 
 Dark, light, as may be — 
 And if you can't bear it, 
 Vou do not love me. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thorn-tangled and wild, 
 And o'er rocks, is my path 
 Oh ! am I the child 
 Of God's favour or wrath %
 
 ( 29 ) 
 
 At times I feel riven — 
 So sliatter'd, so drear — 
 And then, as if heaven 
 Were opening to cheer. 
 
 III. 
 
 The lark trills its note 
 Unseen and on high : 
 The eade ■will float 
 Alone in the sky. 
 Just so is my being : 
 I pour out my lay 
 Unseen and unseeing, 
 And hover, as they. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Eight up tow'rds the sun 
 I soar, tempest-tost, 
 And bliss has been won 
 Where peace has been lost. 
 Yet I grow calm, and care 
 Dies away at its birth, 
 As I bathe in the air 
 That's untainted by earth.
 
 ( 30 ) 
 
 V. 
 
 Let the war-cries of life 
 Ring loud, as they will, 
 Through the thick of the strife 
 You must follow me still. 
 The shame you must bear, 
 Ay, make it your own ; 
 And the crown you must wear 
 As if born to a throne. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If your soul is thus steel'd, 
 Self-sustain'd, self-possess' J, 
 Unable to yield, 
 And yet able to rest ; 
 Come to me — no shrinking — 
 111 live on for you — 
 But if you stay thinking 
 One moment — Adieu.
 
 ( 31 ) 
 
 TO A LADY WHO DESIRED A SONNET TO BE 
 WRITTEN ON THREE UGLY WOMEN. 
 
 Do not insist upon my writing 
 A sonnet on such things as those ; 
 
 But be content with my inditing 
 A tribute to their charms in prose. 
 
 For verse with me's the test of feeHng ; 
 
 My lines, when they do come, are fraught 
 With earnest, heartfelt truth — revealing 
 
 My inmost mysteries of thought. 
 
 And fancy, when she puts her wings on, 
 Is off at once — free, unconfined — 
 
 Dashes from earth to heaven, and springs on 
 The loveliest image she can find. 
 
 'Twere idle then to talk of duty. 
 Or frown ; — to her vocation true, 
 
 She flies from ugliness to beauty. 
 And if I write, 'twill be of you.
 
 ( 32 ) 
 
 TO A FLY PERCHED ON THE SHOULDER OF A 
 CELEBRATED BEAUTY.* 
 
 J^ ''r ? 
 
 HAPPY, liapp}^, happy fly ! 
 
 If I were you, and you were I, 
 
 I'd slip beneath the robe and rest 
 
 A moment on that lovely breast, 
 
 Or mount a bit, and nestle in 
 
 The pretty dimple on the chin, 
 
 Or seek the lips, to taste the bliss, 
 
 The melting sweetness, of her kiss. 
 
 I'd carefully avoid the eyes. 
 
 Whatever comes too near them dies. 
 
 No matter whether men or flies. 
 
 As moths about a taper turning 
 
 Soon singe their wings, and perish burning. 
 
 * These verses were first circulated as the composition of a late dis- 
 tinguished and highly popular prelate ; who really did address the first 
 couplet to the fly. He tonk the mystification in good part, and I never 
 heard of his disclaiming any of the lines, although there was a copy in 
 which a still greater indiscretion was suggested to the fly.
 
 ( 33 ) 
 
 ATTEMPTED IN FRENCH. 
 
 Si j'etois toi, oh petite mouclie, 
 Je volerois vers cette bouclie 
 Pour en savourer le miel. 
 Peutetre oserois-je descendre 
 A cet endroit, ou, bel et tendre, 
 Le sein fait entrevoir le ciel. 
 
 TO THE HON. M. M., 
 
 ON HER APPEARING AS THE ANGEL IN A TABLEAU OK 
 "THE NOVICE." 
 
 'Tis lucky for sinners like us 
 
 There are not many angels like you, 
 Or if they appear to us thus, 
 
 That their visits are hasty and few. 
 That brow and that beautiful hair, 
 
 Those lips and those love-beaming eyes, 
 Only make us poor mortals despair 
 
 That we can't mount at once to the skies. 
 
 Sandoe, 1854. 
 
 /
 
 ( 34 ) 
 
 FROM A SOBER COUNTRY HOUSE, 
 
 TO THE CHATELAINE OF A GAY AND VERY PLEASANT ONE 
 (LAMINGTON), where ROSE WAS THE FAVOURITE 
 SCENT, AND ALL WORE A ROSEATE HUE. 
 
 Fit words would be wanting to utter 
 How well we've been treated, how fed 
 
 With the freshest and sweetest of butter, 
 On the lightest and whitest of bread. 
 
 But there's here no occasion for verses, 
 Every thought may be spoken in prose. 
 
 And what, to my fancy, still worse is, 
 There's nothing that tells of the rose. 
 
 'No rainbow illusion is blended 
 
 With the kindness, the comfort, the mirth : 
 The romance of existence seems ended, 
 
 And sentiment banish'd from earth. 
 
 Yet the moral may keep you from scorning : 
 
 " When life is prosaic and trite. 
 The head does not ache in the morning, 
 
 And the heart does not flutter at night."
 
 ( 35) 
 
 TO LADY D. B., ., , , . _. 
 
 ( ■ 
 
 (on being accused of saying the same things to 
 
 another, unnamed and unknown). 
 
 Pray help me, lady, to discover 
 
 Your second self, this fair unknown, 
 
 Round whom unwittingly, I hover, 
 Whose eyes attract me like your own. 
 
 Who laughing, pouting, riding, walking, 
 
 That lovely image can renew : 
 Nay, by a glance can set me talking 
 
 Precisely as I talk to you. 
 
 Yovi'll haply save us both some trouble. 
 
 And cannot possibly do harm, 
 By simply pointing out a double 
 
 Endowed with half your power to charm. 
 
 But if, unkind and deaf to reason. 
 
 To name this tell-tale friend you're loth, 
 
 You must do penance for her treason 
 By looking beautiful for both.
 
 ( 3^ ) 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 (a moral apologue.) 
 
 Full often has the tale been told, 
 And sound the moral that it yields, 
 
 From Midas turning all to gold, 
 To poor Tarpeia with her shields — 
 
 That when a wish is form'd, far better 
 Ne'er to have form'd that wish at all, 
 
 Than have it granted to the letter. 
 And granted, too, beyond recall. 
 
 She's to look beautiful for tivo — 
 I come, I gaze, and gaze again — 
 
 True to the word, and more than true, 
 She's looking beautiful for ten. 
 
 Her grace, the charm of her attire, 
 That lily in the clust'ring hair. 
 
 The eyes so soft, yet full of fire — 
 She is indeed divinely fair.
 
 ( 37 ) 
 
 But, ah ! the melancholy truth 
 
 Dispels the first faint sense of bliss : 
 
 'We forfeit with our vanished youth 
 The right to move in scenes like this. 
 
 'Tis for the hopeful, gay and young, 
 To seek that thing of love and light — 
 
 To them, and them alone, belong 
 Her beauty and her smiles to-night. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 O.N HER SAVING THAT SHE AND A FEMALE FRIEND TOLD 
 EACH OTHER EVERYTHING. 
 
 This is never the way to treat love, my fair lady : 
 All romance dies away and all sentiment ends, 
 
 If, the moment a feeling is whispered, you're ready 
 To repeat it to not the discreetest of friends. 
 
 Compare notes when addressed by the heartless and 
 vain : 
 Let conceit and presumption be checked at their 
 birth : 
 You've a right to do this — you've no right to profane, 
 Or tear from its shrine, what is sweetest on earth.
 
 ( 38 ) 
 
 When, murm'ring and trumblinc,', an earnest voice 
 presses, 
 
 And passion — true passion — its fervour imparts, 
 Lock it up, lock it up, in the inmost recesses 
 
 Of what then will be prized as the dearest of hearts. 
 
 WITH AN EMBROIDERED BELT FOR A LADY 
 LEAVING ENGLAND, 
 
 Go, envied thing, delight to taste, 
 Though I may ne'er again renew it ; 
 
 Though I no more may clasp that waist, 
 Something of mine at least shall do it. 
 
 Go, and by sedulously warding 
 
 The dangers that her charms invite, 
 
 Fondly from rash approaches guarding, 
 Be what I would be if I might.
 
 ( 39 ) 
 
 TO A LADY WHO PROPOSED PUTTING UP HER 
 HONEY TO AUCTION. 
 
 I'll give no money 
 For the best of honey 
 
 Tlie bee on Hybla sips, 
 But I'll bid with pleasure 
 For the honied treasure 
 
 That's gathered on rosy lips. 
 Lamington, Sept. 1S58. 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS REVERSED. 
 
 {hnproniptu mentally addressed to a Lady opposite at a 
 Dinner-table.) 
 
 ^YERB the apple again to be given — 
 Though the goddesses, prompt to renew 
 
 The contest, should come down from heaven — 
 The prize would be ceded to you. 
 
 For there's nothing Celestials could show 
 
 With your mere mundane charms to compare — 
 
 The blue veins on that bosom of snow 
 Would drive Venus herself to despair.
 
 (40 ) 
 TO MRS. C. W., 
 
 WHO, ON LEING ASKED WHETHER SHE WAS HIGH OR LOW 
 CHURCH, SAH) SHE WAS " NO CHURCH." 
 
 No church ! then I too will have none — 
 No altar, no priest, and no shrine : 
 
 All rites of religion I'll shun, 
 No/onw will I follow but thine. 
 
 When I kneel, it shall he at thy feet, 
 And I'll kneel till thou hid'st me to rise. 
 
 My sole heaven shall be when we meet, 
 And I'll gaze on no stars but thine eyes. 
 DuDBROOK, Sunday. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 PY THE AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN AMBASSADOR, COUNT BEUST. 
 (printed by his PERMISSION.) 
 
 Est ce High ou Loiv ? quelle est done son ^figlise 1 
 
 Les Hants, les Bas, je les ai bien connus. 
 Ici I'incertitude n'est pas permise 
 
 Decidement par elle le Haut doit etre cru. 
 Souvent au High Clmrch on a reproche 
 
 De vouloir etablir le culte des idoles, 
 Mais celle qui est elle-meme idolatree, 
 
 Ne pent, j'en suis certain, qu'y etre dans son role. 
 DuDBROOK, Sunday.
 
 ( 41 ) 
 TO ERIN* 
 
 Sure 'tis time now to give over sighing, 
 When the bards of two empires compete — 
 
 "\Ylien Albion and Austria are vying 
 What tribute to lay at thy feet — 
 
 When that lovely young rebel is singing, 
 Unfetter'd, the songs of her choice — 
 
 When the air all around her is ringing 
 With the musical swell of her voice — 
 
 Wlien the heart can scarce bear without aching 
 The wild rush of emotion she wakes, 
 
 And for chains — she can't move without making 
 A great many more than she breaks. 
 
 'Twill be some consolation to thee, 
 
 After ages of sorrow and slaughter, 
 If no longer the Land of the Free, 
 
 To know thou'rt avenged by thy daughter. 
 DuDBROOK, Monday. 
 
 " Her representative, as the lady of " No Church " was hailed by 
 common consent, had been singing the Irish melodies and national airs 
 with exquisite pathos and truth of expression ; giving a marked pre- 
 ference to those in which the hated rule of the Saxon invader was 
 denounced.
 
 ( 42 ) 
 
 TO GRACE, DUCHESS OF , WITH A BOUQUET 
 
 FOR THE BALL. 
 
 These flowers beg permission to say 
 
 That where beauty, Avit, figure and face — 
 
 At their brightest — combine to betray, 
 
 There's nothing more charming than Grace. 
 DuDBROOK, Tuesday. 
 
 TO A BOUQUET PRESENTED TO THE REPRE- 
 SENTATIVE OF ERIN. 
 
 Go, go, and be happy awhile. 
 Your fate is not hard to foretell : 
 
 You will bask a few hours in her smile. 
 And then sigh a lasting farewell. 
 
 If you've luck, you'll be press'd to her lip, 
 
 And, entranced by a glance from her eye, 
 Draw fresh sweets from the dew that you sip. 
 But the very next morn you will die. 
 DcDBROOK, Tuesday.
 
 ( 43 ) 
 
 TO THE REPRESENTATIVE OF ERIN. 
 
 Yes, tiiumpli securely, scarce one could come near 
 tliee, 
 
 Thou'rt Queen of tlie Ball by the gen'ral acclaim : 
 But it wanted not this to enshrine — to endear thee — 
 
 To blend all that's lovely and bright with thy name. 
 
 Farewell, and forgive these the last of my verses, 
 I'm sadder than even poor Erin could be : 
 
 Her blessing's not on me, but haply her curse is, 
 For daring to bring such poor offerings to thee. 
 
 DuDBKOOK, Wednesday Morning. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 SINGING "LESBIA HA' 
 
 You've Nora Creina's very eyes, 
 
 But 'tis like Lesbia that you use them, 
 
 You've all the gifts we praise or prize, 
 And cruelly do you abuse them. 
 
 Like the spoilt child, recklessly breaking 
 The toy for which it just had cried, 
 
 Your pride, your pleasure, is in making 
 Adorers, — to be flung aside !
 
 (44) 
 
 When, reft of hope, they think of flying, 
 You've more at hand and don't regret them ; 
 
 If the poor fools should talk of dying, 
 
 You'd laugh and murmur, " Let them, let 
 them." 
 
 Since (loth as we may be to task him) 
 
 Love lives in every other part, 
 Would it be indiscreet to ask him, 
 
 " Have you once nestled in her heart 1 " 
 
 THE REPLY OF LOVE. 
 
 No, but I stole a peep within it, 
 And saw there, at one hurried view, 
 
 All that would make you die to win it. 
 All that is gentle, kind, and true. 
 
 What she can't help, and sees no harm in, 
 
 Is luring triflers to her feet ; 
 And to blame her for being charming, 
 
 Is to blame flowers for being sweet.
 
 ( 45 ) 
 
 TO L. Y 
 
 Who, on being told that none of the painters had done or could 
 do justice to her beauty, asked the ivriter to try what could be done 
 
 I SCARCE dare to try verses again, 
 
 So rarely have verses availed ; 
 And I feel I should fail with the pen 
 
 Where, to ???// mind, the pencil has failed. 
 
 And Poetry bids me refrain 
 
 From attempting what Painting can't do. 
 Both the sisters are frowning — 'tis plain 
 
 They are both of them jealous of you. 
 
 /•
 
 ( 46 ) 
 
 TO L. 
 
 ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE MORE VERSES, AN'D WARMER. 
 
 Your lovely image, since tlie day 
 
 You asked for a more glowing lay, 
 
 Is ever flutt'ring in my mind ; 
 
 I5ut I'm too ill and low to find 
 
 The fitting words and rhymes to tell 
 
 The feelings you may guess so well. 
 
 Allow me but another week. 
 
 And let your eyes (for they can speak) 
 
 Say something kind to reassure 
 
 My Avav'ring hopes and aid my cure. 
 
 Then, if you wish, I'll write a book 
 
 Describing every tone and look : 
 
 I'll sketch you sitting, walking, riding, 
 
 Smiling, pouting, coaxing, chiding — 
 
 Painting, if my poor verse will reach 
 
 So high, your witchery in each. 
 
 A book that's sure to charm, -^no two 
 
 Pages alike, yet full of you.
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
 ON THE COLOURED PHOTOGRAPH OF A 
 CELEBRATED BEAUTY (THE SAME). 
 
 Yes, Art has for once done its duty 
 With feeling, refinement and grace : 
 
 It has fixed the fine lines of her beauty. 
 It has caught the true charm of her face — 
 
 The eyes 'tis entrancing to meet — 
 
 The lips 'twould be madd'ning to kiss — 
 
 All that's lovely, seducing and sweet. 
 Or tell-tale like suggestive of bliss.
 
 ( 48 ) 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 " I began to be afraid that I was not attractive etiough in yojir 
 eyes to inspire you, but those really beautiful verses (the last) have 
 reassured me.'" — LETTER, 
 
 Not attractive enough to inspire ! 
 
 You're attractive enough to destroy, 
 To make it a sin to admire, 
 
 And blend lasting remorse -with the joy. 
 
 With you, when I venture on rhyme, 
 All scruples of conscience I smother ; 
 
 For I break one Commandment each time. 
 And I long to be breaking another.
 
 ( 49 ) 
 
 APOLOGY FOR THE LAST. 
 
 All along I've been blending your name 
 
 With -o'hat's brightest, and fairest, and best ; 
 
 And your beauty alone is to blame 
 For the venial ofTence I've confest. 
 
 If haply deficient in Grace, 
 
 To one creed I shall ever be true : 
 
 That, an angel in form and in face. 
 You're an angel in purity too. 
 
 Eut not even to you is it given 
 
 To save love from aU tinge of its birth ; 
 
 "Whilst your eyes and your brow tell of heaven. 
 Your lips are sad tempters on earth. 
 
 The halo that Fancy throws o'er you 
 
 May make you seraphic, divine ; 
 But it is not in man to adore you. 
 
 And suppress profane wishes like mine. 
 
 D
 
 ( 50 ) 
 
 ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A LADY HOLDING 
 A BOUQUET AGAINST HER MOUTH. / 
 
 Most favoured of flowers, don't you feel 
 When you hide so much loveliness thus, 
 
 "When all you caress you conceal, — 
 That you're sadly forgetful of us. 
 
 You may hear the complaint with surprise, 
 Entranc'd by the sweets which you sip ; 
 
 But who could e'er gaze on those eyes, 
 And not long for the heaven of the lip 1
 
 (51 ) 
 
 WITH A DROPPED BRACELET. 
 
 Truant ! return to Olive's arm, 
 
 Nor madly murmur that I found you, 
 
 And tell her she should throw a charm, 
 Such as she throws o'er me, around you. 
 
 For then you'd never wish to Avander, 
 Make to escape no vain endeavour ; 
 
 But every hour grow happier, fonder, 
 And cling delightedly for ever.
 
 ( 52 ) 
 
 ON HEARING THE SAME LADY (WHO WORE A 
 RUBENS HAT) CALLED ''A RUBENS." 
 
 A Rubens ! She's far above that, 
 What he never could paint is her charm : 
 She has nothing of liim but the hat, 
 And the ripe rounded richness of form. 
 
 She has much more of Titian, whose brush, 
 Shunning coarseness in women, prefers 
 To pourtray the warm tints and full flush 
 Of bright glowing beauty like hers.
 
 ( 53 ) 
 
 TO THE REPRESENTATIVE OF ERIN. 
 (with a bouquet for a ball.) 
 
 Flowers and verses again ! But don't start 
 With a frown, or a pout, at the sight. 
 
 Let me humbly contribute my part 
 And aid in thy triumph to-night. 
 
 For, though envy itself should disarm, 
 And in praise of thy beauty agree, 
 
 On none will thy fulness of charm 
 Ever flash as it flashed upon me.
 
 ( 54 ) 
 
 AFTER TALKING ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON 
 WITH NELLIE. 
 
 ' ' JVesf ce pas que I'A mour a passe. par la." / 
 
 —Rousseau. 
 
 Though no effort is made to beguile, 
 
 Though unconscious the charm, mid the many 
 
 Fair things made to dream of, her smile 
 Grows hourly more winning than any. 
 
 AVhence comes that expression, so rare, 
 
 So poetical, pensive, refined? 
 Whence, indeed % unless Love has been there. 
 
 And has left all his sweetness behind.
 
 ( 55 ) 
 
 A CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 Thanks for the Verse of Other Days ; 
 But why so modest in your lays, 
 
 Dear Mr. Hayward. 1 
 Did all those beauties only vex, 
 And flirt and fib 1 "Was all the sex 
 
 So cold and wayward ? 
 
 Were all your idols so unkind, 
 Did all of them a pleasui'e find 
 
 In treating you ill 1 
 I'm sure, had you made love to me 
 As nicely as you did to " C," 
 
 I'd not been cruel. 
 
 Had you to me so deeply sighed 
 I know I could not have denied 
 
 The suit you pleaded, 
 Or doomed my poet to complain 
 Of hopeless days and nights of pain 
 
 As heartless " C." did.
 
 ( 56 ) 
 
 So, pray, why care we only told 
 
 Of hearts that proved untrue or cold 
 
 Instead of tender ? 
 Throughout your book, in verse or prose, 
 We never hear a word of those 
 
 Wlio (h'll surrender. 
 
 Indeed, so humble is your tone, 
 Your little volume might be known 
 
 As " Lost Addresses." 
 I only hope that you're about 
 To bring a second volume out 
 
 Called " My Successes." 
 
 Yours Sincerely, 
 Louise L n.
 
 ( 57 ) 
 
 THE REPLY. 
 
 Dear iSIrs. L r, you forget 
 
 Days in jny memory deeply set, 
 "When I presumed to love you : 
 'Tis true, I never was denied. 
 Because I only gazed and sighed. 
 And never dared to prove you. 
 
 For well I knew, that lovely breast. 
 
 With warmth approached, like all the rest, 
 
 Could don its mail of coldness. 
 
 'Tis only now, when all is past, 
 
 When I have loved and longed my last. 
 
 You hint my lack of boldness.
 
 ( 58 ) 
 
 TO HELENE. 
 
 (In reply to her letter announcitig her speedy return, after a loni^ 
 absence, to England). 
 
 One glance at your letter disperses 
 All illusion : the sight of your name 
 Seems to act like a spell on my verses, 
 For their ring is no longer the same. 
 
 Fleeting fancies are gone like a dream, 
 Giving place to the lasting and true ; 
 And never again will my theme 
 Lead astray, for that theme will be you.
 
 ( 59 ) 
 
 TO H. WEARING A GREEN SHADE. 
 
 Your eyes may rest shaded awhile, 
 They've f ulfiU'd their vocation so well, 
 So fixed in the mem'ry your smile. 
 So sure of your weaving the spell. 
 
 To lose e'en an hour of their light 
 
 Seems hard, but I will not complain ; 
 
 They would haunt me, love-beaming and bright, 
 
 Were I never to meet them again.
 
 ( 6o ) 
 
 TO II . 
 
 You laughed when I said I was shy, 
 
 And I am not with others, 'tis true — 
 But why do I tremble, and try 
 
 In vain, to be calm before you. 
 Because what you'd frown at, I feel — 
 
 Because I'm then acting a part — 
 Because what I dare not reveal 
 
 Is flutt'ring, though crushed, in my heart. 
 
 TO H- 
 
 Farewell, you have given me a feeling 
 
 Which will 7iot pass away like a dream- 
 It is one there's no need of concealing. 
 
 For 'tis based on the truest esteem. 
 It is one I have cherished by trying 
 
 To be all you could wish or approve — 
 It is one you'll forgive, although, sighing, 
 
 I must own that 'tis very like love.
 
 ( 6i ) 
 
 TO L., WITH PINK C AMELIAS. 
 
 For brightness, and freshness, and bloom, 
 These flowers might be emblems of you ; 
 
 But their coldness and want of perfume 
 Leave the typical likeness untrue. 
 
 The sweetest, the choicest of flowers 
 
 Has no charm that renews, that endures, 
 
 And the beauty which fades with the hours, 
 Can have little in common with yours.
 
 ( 62 ) 
 
 TO , PLAYING BLINDMAN'S BUFF. 
 
 (after the FRENCH.) 
 
 We see, though you don't, you can't move 
 Without charming one way or the other- 
 
 When blinded, you're taken for Love, 
 When the bandage is off, for his mother.
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
 TO , ON HER HANDWRITING. 
 
 Your writing's a type of your mind, 
 It tells the same tale as your face — 
 
 Expressive, clear, flowing, refined, 
 
 Fraught Avith sentiment, feeling, and grace. 
 
 The charm you fling round you, the spell 
 In which eyes, voice, and manner unite — 
 
 All, all are remembered too well — 
 
 "With a start and a flush — when you write.
 
 This book IS DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 
 
 lOM- 1 1-50(2555)470 
 
 REMINGTON RAND I N C . 20
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 370 078 8 
 
 PR 
 
 4769 
 H3247V 
 1882