mi PR 4028.A73B7T87T"' '""'"^ Boudoir ballads. 3 1924 013 207 836 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3207836 BOUDOIR BALLADS PRINTED BY BALLANTVNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON \ . BOUDOIR BALLADS. J. ASHBY-STERRY, AUTHOR OF TINY TRAVELS, SHUTTLECOCK PAPERS, ETC, SECOND EDITION. Eanton CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY. i877. {The Author reserves all rights of Translation and Reproduction.l cfi CONTENTS. PAGE THE KEY-NOTE . ... I MY lady's boudoir 2 pet's punishment 22 IN A BALCONY AT BARNES . 24 REGRETS .... 27 TWO AND TWO 29 WEARY ...... 34 NUMBER ONE ..... 37 FALSE OR TRUE ?' . 42 THE TWO MOTHERS^ FIRST PICTURE .... 43 SECOND PICTURE 45 daisy's DIMPLES ..... 47 IN STRAWBERRY TIME .... 49 A lover's LULLABY .... S3 TOO TRUE ...... 55 LITTLE CHINCHILLA .... 58 fiLANKTON WEIR ...... 62 CONTENTS. PAGE THE SEVEN AGES OF GIRLHOOD . 73 ZOOLOGICAL MEMORIES . 76 A traveller's tarantella 80 MAIDS OF THE MALLET . 83 NINA'S NECKLACE 86 SAINT MAY 88 MAIDEN MOUNTAINEERS . 94 PRINCESS POPPY . 96 A COMEDY 98 ADIEU TO MADEL 102 CLOVER 104 A BUTTERFLY BALLAD 108 PETS OF THE ' PETREL ' . no LUCY'S LIPS "5 MY VALENTINE . 1x6 •AN APRIL SERMON 121 OFF AND AWAY ! . 126 LITTLE UNDINE . 131 — LONDON-BY-THE-SEA 134 —A RIVER RHYME . 140 SNOWFLAKE 144 A COVENT GARDEN CANTICLE 146 THE IMPARTIAL . 151 TEN AND TWENTY 153 GEORGIE's GIRDLE 158 IN THE FOAM • 159 COULEUR DE ROSE . 162 AMANTIUM IRiE . . 167 A BREEZY BALLAD . 170 -TANGLE LOCK • 173 CONTENTS. LOVE-LOCKS THE KING OF THE CRADLE A LITTLE LOVE-LETTER . TWO CHRISTMAS EVES MOTHER O' PEARL HER NEST IN THE GRAPERY A NUTSHELL NOVEL A GALLERY OF GIRLS — MISS LIZZIE LESLIE . MISS PEPITA PHILLIP MISS GERTIE GAINSBOROUGH MISS MINNIE MILLAIS MISS ROSIE LEECH MISS CECIL SANDYS . DEDICATION PAGE 179 i8s 190 192 197 200 202 204 208 210 212 214 216 2l8 220 THE KEY-NOTE. I take the dainty quill of dove, A baby harp of joy : I pen the lightest phase oflcrve, I sing the fragile toy. I rave about a damsel's dress And versify on lace ; I burnish gold on tiny tress. And praise a pretty face, rd pen a fancy for aflii-t. And rhyme on Beauty s bills ; Or write a sonnet on her shirt, A Laureate of Frills ! MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. )ER Boudoir is a cliarming oasis, 'Mid dull arid deserts of life ; 'Tis the elegant haunt of the Graces Set free from society's strife ; 'Tis a haven of rest amid trouble — When the prism of fashion haS flown — O'er the wreck of the froth of the bubble My Lady can ponder alone MV LADY'S BOUDOIR. II. She can tell to her love-birds her sorrow, When no interloper is nigh ; She may hope for the joy of to morrow, Or hopelessly have ' a good cry ! ' Ah, what dreams she can dream in the twilight! — ' When no longer acting a part — In that exquisite mystical shy light, Wh^t truth she may tell to her heart ! in. Far away from all prying beholders, Their praise or their blarrie she may flout ; She may shake her bewitching white shoulders, Or sulkily grumble and pout j She may take crumpled notes from her pocket. And study them oft by the hour ; She may muse o'er a face in her locket — Sigh over a poor faded flow'r. MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. IV. In her moments of grief or dejection, (Her life without these may not pass), She'll reflect on the tearful reflection — A pretty sad face in the glass ! Or when dimpled bright Joy may have kist her As Love comes his darling to claim — She will smile on her pretty twin sister, Who smiles upon her from the frame ! V. 'Tis an elegant chamber and cosy, In taste it is simple and true. And its rich window-curtains are rosy, Its walls are of dladon hue : They are hung with Du Maurier's sketchings Of satire of salon or street, And with Rajon and Whistler's etchings And favourite cartes de visite. MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. VI. Just a touch of the craze chinacratic Is shown in those StafTordshire mugs ; In the plates, with their dragons erratic, And curious Japanese jugs. In the quaint old Majolica fishes, The hideous Indian elves. And the rare Dresden figures and dishes, That stand on, the Chippendale shelves. VII. See the chairs, like to couches of heather; The carpet, like moss to the tread ; And the screen of choice Cordovan leather. The sofa as soft as a bed ; The quaint mirrors that came from Murano, The skins of the chamois and sheep. With the daintiest little piano. And lounges that lull you to sleep. MY LAD Y'S BOUDOIR. VIII. There's a clock with bright blossoms for numbers, And minutes enamelled in blue, With old Time, scarce awake from his slumbers. Reposing on rich ormolu ; Golden pointers are silently chasing — Quite deaf to the argentine ring — They loiter not once in their racing, Tho' Beauty ma,y sorrow or sing ! IX. Can she stay that old scythe with her treasure ? Can flowers hide fugitive Time ? Is the knell of each fast-fading pleasure Tolled sweeter by silvery chime ? She may cheat herself, if she is able. And play with the enemy tricks — ' Rose past lily ' is only a fable, , It means but a quarter past six ! MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. X Would you look at the varied selection Of books, in this snug little spot ? See the authors who gain her affection, With Thackeray, Dickens, and Scott ? Tho' Minerva she fancies a bore is, She loves those who laugh when they teach — See the volumes of verses and stories, The scrap-book of sketches by Leech. XI. See her desk with its elegant litter Of letters half penned and half read; With the Genoese inkstand a-glitter, Where petals of roses are shed : See her half-opened purse and her papers, A glove and some charms on a chain, And the seals and the rose-coloured tapers. Her keys and a steel chatelaine. MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. XII. See the basket of work half completed, The braiding that's hardly begun, And the pictures so girlfuUy treated, The sketches all brimming with fun : See the Cupids that clamour for kisses — Well drawn by a dear little maid — And the work of Old Masters, young misses Have thrown for a time in the shade ! XIII. 'Tis the pleasantest place in the Spring-time To lounge thro' the bright sunny hours. When we hope longer days may soon bring time All gay with new bonnets and flow'rs ; When the chesnuts at Bushey are snowy, And Hope brighter destiny weaves, When the hyacinth-glasses are showy. And Nature turns over new leaves. MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. XIV. Ah ! a chat in this chamber so nice is, When girls twine their tresses with blue, And make bets on the Cam and the Isis, And worship their favourite crew ; When Spring, with her touch talismanic. Leaves Winter to desolate doom ; And the tent at the breezy Botanic Is rich in a revel of bloom ! XV. When sweet May, with a bountiful measure, Rains down her bright blossoms in showers ; And when duty seems almost a pleasure, And life nought but sunshine and flowers ! When the dawn of the Season's unclouded — As London is once more alive — With the Opera daintily crowded. And thronged are the Row and the Drive. MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. XVI. How they dote on each merry May Meeting- I don't mean at Exeter Hall — But the gossip, the chatter and greeting Pervading each concert and ball ; The words that are whispejred in waltz-time, To butterfly flutter of flirts ; When fairy feet falter in false time, To frou-frou of feminine skirts ! XVII. Ah ! the days down at Ascot delicious, The skies of forget-me-jiot blue; And those meetings, of course adventitious^ ' On Sunday, so oft, at the Zoo. O the ceaseless flirtation and chatter ! What tales one could tell, if he durst, Of the loves that are lost at the latter, The gloves that are won at the first ! Aiy LADY'S BOUDOIR. XVIII. Then the mornings of picture reviewing Within the Academy walls ; And the terrible headaches ensuing, The worry of callers and calls ! Ah ! the scent of the violet blending, With ballad some beauty may sing — Chords of sound and of perfume transcending. The magical music of Spring ! XIX. 'Tis a bower of bliss in the Summer, When swallows sing low in the eaves. And the advent of any fresh comer Is hymned by the music of leaves ; Whpn the air with sweet perfume is laden, And quiver the gay stripen blinds ; When the bright blushing cheek of each maiden Is kissed by the soft summer winds ! MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. How they reckon each joyous occasion, Where bright sunny hours shall be spent, And make plans for a girlish invasion To lunch in some Wimbledon tent ; If their frills should be wide worn or narrow. If skirts should be lengthy or short ; Of the chances of Eton and Harrow, Or being presented at Court. XXI. Then their partners they praise and disparage. Or fling back their soft scented hair, And talk over the latest good marriage And dresses at Hanover Square. How they prattle without rhyme or reason ! Or, hushed in some dainty day-dream, They will hum the last waltz of the season. Or banquet off strawberry-cream ! MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. XXII. Then how gladly each overdanced martyr Will give up her ' afternoon Park,' Just to dine at the dear ' Star and Garter,' And snugly drive home in the dark ! How the light in bright eyes brighter kindles, As darlings will joyfully vote, To run down to luncheon at Skindle's, And moon up to Marlow by boat ! XXIII. O the boredom at old Lady Quince's ! Whose dinners are terribly slow, O the rapture of rinking at Prince's ! Tho' ■ffheel is a prelude to woe. O the joy of a crisp early canter ! The lounge in the Park 'neath the trees : And the gossip, the scandal, andsbanter, And fun at the Hurlingham teas ! 14 MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. XXIV. When my Lady is dreamily playing, What fancies she'll oft improvise ! As her dimpled white fingers are straiying In ecstacy over the keys ! And the eyes of your innamorata Remind you slich moments are fleet — As she plays you the ' Moonlight Sonata,' Or sings to you ' Summer is Sweet ! ' XXV. 'Tis a glorious lounge in the Autumn, When girls show a longing to roam, And declare that the swallows have taught 'em 'Tis time to be flitting from home ! When the pink on the peach almost matches The bloom on the cheek of ray fair, And the gleam on the corn nearly catches The hue of the gold in her hair ! MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. 15 XXVI. When the sun of the Season is setting — As London her legion disbands — When each beauty quits ball-room coquetting, For flirting on Scarborough sands ! When Terpsichore's own picaninny — As Fashion unshackles her slaves — Leaves the music of Coote and of Tinney, For singing of surf sighing waves ! XXVII. They are full then of bustle and hurry, And long to be off on their flight ; For they read nought but Bradshaw and Murray And guide-books from morning till night. They pant for the worry and clatter Of diligence, railway and boat, And they long for the polyglot chatter Endured at each gay table d'h&tef i6 MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. XXVI 11. They are ripe for the roughest exertion, And talk about doing Mont Blanc, As they dream of the Alpine excursion, The mule and the slow char-A-banc ; Or of rising, when daylight is dawning, In Italy's climate divine ; And of dinner on deck, 'neath the awning, By vine-clustered hills of the Rhine ! XXIX. O the vision of girlish distresses, The pitiful pouting of pets ! As they chat over ' knock-about ' dresses. And talk over thick ulsterettes ! Ah ! the chorus of maidens ecstatic. Who long for the Chamouni pines ; For a glimpse of the blue Adriatic, Or siffht of the rich ADennines ! MY LAD Y 'S BOUDOIR. 1 7 XXX. O the picture of packing and pleasure, The flutter that reigns in the nest ! And the mixtiu'e of labour and leisure — The days full of bustle and rest As the Queen of the flitting unravels Xew plans for the pluming of wings ; Or perchance slumbers o'er ' Tiny Travels,' Or sweetly ' The Vagabond ' sings. XXXI. 'Tis the snuggest retreat in the Winter, AMien dreary and short are the days ; ■\\Tien the beech-bUlets crackle and spUnter, ^^■hen ruddy and bright is the blaze ; When the room is deliciously mellow — Weird shadows come fast as they go — And the ceiling is chequered and yellow, And gloom gives a glory to glow. MV LADY'S BOUDOIR. XXXII. When the lamp, with its shade opalescent, To chestnut turns bonny brown curls, And the laughter of maids effervescent Wells up from the prattle of girls ! Then their wisdom seems nothing but folly. But folly seems almost divine, When lips laugh at the red of the holly, And mistletoe hangs as a sign ! XXXIII. In the midst of this weather hibernal Will beauty indulge in a pique ? Will she find an enjoyment supernal, In patience, in chess, or Mzique ? Or perchance with sheer laziness smitten She has nothing then left to desire — If she curls like her own Persian kitten, And basks in her fur by the fire ! MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. 19 XXXIV. She may sit with her feet on the fender, And gaze upon dainty kid shoes ; She may grow sentimental and tender, Or sing off a fit of the ' blues.' She may muse there in dreamy quiescence — A Gheber you see at a glance — And read in the logs' incandescence, A world of the wildest romance. XXXV. Ah ! what plans for the passing of slow time Some fur-coated beauty imparts. As she sighs for the sleighing in snow-time. And laughs at the slaying of hearts ! For this sweet little siren in sable — Who looks so bewitchtngly nice — Is as willing, as ready and able, To tempt us on dangerous ice ! My LADY'S BOUDOIR. XXXVI. How she longs for the hyaline ice-time And musical ring of the skate I As she plays with sweet feeling and nice time ' Les Patineurs,' from Ze PropMte. Or with Dickens's grand Christmas stories She dreams in the close-curtained bay, And forgets in their magical glories, The dull Christmas-tide of to-day. XXXVII. You may listen to plots histrionic For whiling long evenings away, With charades or aproverie laconic, Some tableaux, a concert or play : And you'll hear how mere novices hanker — With faith in their untested pow'rs — To attempt to play Lady Gay Spanker, Or e'en Mary Netley in Ours ! MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. XXXVIII. There's something omitted. I know it, And own it at once when I say, If I had but the pen of a poet. And magical brush of Millais, I should feel I'd neglected no duty — As sadly I say Au revoir — Forced to leave undescribed the chief beauty That reigns in My Lady's Boudoir. FET'S PUNISHMENT. IF my love offended me, And we had words together, To show her I would master be, I'd whip her with a feather ! II. If then she, like a naughty girl, Would tyranny declare it, I'd give my pet a cross of pearl. And make her always bear it. FEZ'S PUNISHMENT. If Still she tried to sulk and sigh, And threw away my posies, I'd catch my darling on the sly, And smother her with roses ! IV. But should she clench her dimpled fists, Or cdntradict her betters, I'd manacle her tiny wrists With dainty golden fetters. And if she dared her lips to pout- Like many pert young misses — I'd wind my arm her waist about, And punish her— with kisses ! IN A BALCONY AT BARNES. Uh April 1876. ^O prudish professors from Girton, Altho' they're a couple of ' blues,' Who, know more of rowing 'tis certain Than strong-minded Beckerite ' views.' Such beauties seem made to be petted — So smiling, bewitching, and bright, So daintily gloved and resetted, Such Queens of the Dark and the Light !' IN A BALCONY AT BARNES. 25 II. They prattle of 'smartness of feather,' And talk about ' winning the toss ; ' They chatter of ' keeping together,' Of errors in ' steering across.' Each feel^ that her own crew is winning, And speaks of a ' glorious spurt ; ' They know that to ' catch the beginning,' Is good for a rower — or flirt ! III. When blue blades flash past on the river, Then anxious are blue-bedight girls : In bosoms forget-me-nots shiver, And violets nestle in curls ! They breathlessly wait for the crisis — As boats hurry fast to the mark — Will Cam throw a pallor on Isis ? Or tears turn light ribbons to dark ? 26 IN A BALCONY A T ^ARNES. IV. Then pull for the pride of the river — For tiny cerulean glove, For droplets of turquoise that quiver In ears of the girl whom you love ; For the lazuli bracelet that presses The wrist of your own little pet, For glory of azure-twined tresses — Pull hard for the blonde and brunette ! V. When oarsmen have ceased their appliance, When finished the muscular fight. Will pluck and Oxonian science Be conquered by ' sweetness and light ? ' Though Fortune you fancy capricious, 'Twill scarcely be cause for surprise, If violet's perfume delicious Be vanquished by bright watchet eyes REGRETS. FOR the look of those pure grey eyes — Seeming to plead and speak — The parted lips and the deep-drawn sighs, The blush on the kissen cheek ! ■ O for the tangle of soft brown hair, Lazily blown by the breeze ; The fleeting hours unshadowed by care, Shaded by tremulous trees ! REGRETS. O for the dream of those sunny days, With their bright unbroken spell, And the thrilling sweet untutored, praise- From the lips once loved too well ! IV. O for the feeling of days agone. The simple faith and the truth, The spring of time and life's rosy dawn— O for the love and the youth ! TWO AJVD TWO: a Song of Stfjool (Etrls. )OME the little ones in frocks, With their broidered knickerbocks, And their tangled sunny locks — Laughing crew ! Come the dimpled darhng pets. With their tresses all in nets, And their snow-white pantalettes Just in view : 30 TIVO AND TWO. Come the gay and graceful girls, With their chignons and their curls- Sweetest string of Beauty's pearls, Two and two ! II. What delicious laughter trills. When rude Boreas half wills, Just to flutter fairy frills All askew ! And as petticoats are short. Frequent glimpses may be caught— Though p'r'aps this may be naught Unto you — Of small, deftly booted feet, Of slim legs and ankles neat, Passing by you much too fleet Two and two ! TWO AND TWO. 31 III. On the Book of Beauty's page Fairer girls of ev'ry age, Skilful artist, I'll engage, Never drew. Tender Ten may dote on toys. While for Twelve jam tarts have joys, Feat Fourteen's in love with boys — ■ Not a few ; And sweet, bonny, bright Sixteen Wears an arch coquettish mien. As they walk upon the Green Two and two ! Here the coming flirt appears, With the belle of after-years, And the beauty even peers May pursue ; 32 TWO AND TWO. Each Lilliputian fair Gallant Guardsmen may ensnare, Or enthral a millionaire, And subdue ! Who would think such mischief lies In the future of their sighs^ Or such pretty childlike eyes — Two and two ? V. There are eyes of peerless brown, That in time may take the town ; There are others drooping down — Black or blue — Whose bright flashes you may find Will be-dazzle — nay, may blind — E'en the wisest of mankind. False and true. TWO AND TWO. 33 Pouting lips we cannot miss, Sweet foreshadowings of bliss — Which, in truth, seem made to kiss Two and two ! VI. When school studies are all done, And life's lessons have begun, And rich lovers, one by one, Gladly sue : When each bright-eyed little pet. Leaves De Porquet for Debrett ; Or perchance a coronet Comes to woo — They have learnt, for after-life. That the husband and the wife Should together face its strife Two and two ! WEARY. 5"P'M sick of the world and its trouble, v}q I'm weary of pleasures that cloy, I see through the bright-coloured bubble. And find no enjoyment in joy. II. Is all that we earn worth the earning ? Is all that we gain worth the prize ? Is all that we learn worth the learning ? Is pleasure but pain in disguise ? WEARY. III. Is sorrow e'er worth our dejection ? Is fame but a flatterer's spell ? Is love ever worth our affection ? Lejeu vaut-il, done, la chandelle I IV. O where are the eyes that enthralled us, And where are the lips that we kissed ? Where the siren-like voices that called us, And where all the chances we missed ? V. We know not what mortals call pleasure — For clouded are skies that were blue ; To dross now has melted our treasure, And false are the hearts that were true. 36 W£AJiY. VI. The flowers we gathered are faded, The leaves of our laurels are shed ; Our spirit is broken and jaded, The hopes of our youth are all dead. We feel life is hopeless and dreary, Now night has o'ershadowed our day ; Bright fruits of this earth only weary, They ripen — to fall and decay ! VIII. I'm sick of the- world and its trouble, . For rest and seclusion I thirst ; I'm tired of the gay tinted bubble. That brighteneth only to burst ! NUMBER ONE. Portrait of a Young Lady, ' No. I,' in a collection of one thousand five hundred and eighty-three works of art, at the Exhibition of the Royal Academy. •^Y favourite, you must know, In the Piccadilly Show, Is the portrait of a lass Bravely done. 'Mid the fifteen eighty-three Works of art that you may see, There is nothing can surpass — ' Number One ! ' NUMBER ONE. II. Very far above the line Is this favourite of mine ; You may see her smiling there O'er the crowds. If you bring a good lorgnette. You may see my dainty pet ; Like the Jungfrau, pink and fair, 'Mid the clouds. III. My enchanting little star, How I wonder what you are, With your rosy laughing lips Full of fun. Have you many satellites, Do you shine so bright o' nights. That there's nothing can eclipse ' Number One ? ' NUMBER ONE. 39 IV. Are you constant in your loves ? Do you change them with your gloves ? Pray does Worth pervade your train — Or your heart ? Are you fickle, are you leal, Are your sunny tresses real. Or your roses only vain Works of art ? V. I sincerely envy him Who the fortune had to limn Your bewitching hazel eyes With his brush : Who could study ev'ry grace In your winsome little face. And the subtle charm that lies In your blush. 4° NUMBER. ONE. VI. I am sure it is a shame That your pretty face and frame, Ruthless hangers out of view Seek to hide : But no doubt Sir Francis G — And his myrmidons agree, Peerless angels such as you — Should be ' skyed ! ' vn. Ah ! were I but twenty-two, I would hinge the knee to you, And most humbly kiss your glove At your throne : Thrice happy he whose sighs Draw this sweet Heart Union prize In the lottery of Love For his own ! NUMBER ONE. 41 VIII. If I knew but your papa, Could I only ' ask mama,' It is clear enough to me As the sun. That all through this weary life, 'Mid its pleasure, pain, and strife, All my care and love should be ' Number One/ FALSE OR TRUE? JRUTH frequently lies, I've oft heard tell,. In deepest depths of a deep, deep well: Can you imagine it always lies In fathomless depths of sweet brown eyes ? THE TWO MOTHERS. JFitst picture. /^ HE loves the gandhis vapid stare, ^_> And praise from all beholders — Adopts the latest tint in hair, And whitens thick her shoulders ! Her smiles are perfect works of art, And Worth makes all her dresses ; Her love comes from a hollow heart — From Brittany her tresses. 44 THE TWO MOTHERS. II. Her sallies and \itr jeux d'esj>rlt Throughout the town are quoted, For trenchant speech and repartee, Madame is vastly noted. She cares not for the love of girls — Nor minds if they deride her — Her ponies equal Cora Pearl's, Her pearls out-Schneider Schneider ! III. She sees her children now and then With tolerant compassion ; Perchance she'll learn to love 'them when Maternity's the fashion. A childlike kiss her bloom might spoil, The dimpled hand of Mignon In baby-play might chance uncoil The fabric of her chignon. By the Seine, 1868. THE TWO MOTHERS. 4^ I. In sunny girlhood's vernal life She caused no small sensation ; But now the modest English wife To others leaves flirtation. She's young still, lovely, debonair, Although sometimes her features Are clouded by a thought of care For those two tiny creatures. II. Each tiny, toddling, mottled mite Asserts with voice emphatic. In lisping accents, ' Mite is right.' Their rule is autocratic : 46 THE TWO MOTHERS. The song becomes, that charmed mankind, Their musical narcotic, And baby lips, than Love, she'll find, Are even more despotic ! III. Soft lullaby, when singing there. And castles ever building — Their destiny she'll carve in air. Bright with maternal gilding : Young Guy's a clever advocate — So eloquent and able — A powdered wig upon his pate, A coronet for Mabel ! By the Thames, 1874. DAISY'S DIMPLES. I. ITTLE dimples so sweet and soft, Love the cheek of my love : The mark of Cupid's dainty hand, Before he wore a glove. II. Laughing dimples of tender love Smile on my darling's cheek ; Sweet hallowed spots where kisses lurk, And play at hide and seek. 48 DAISY'S DIMPLES. Fain would I hide my kisses there At morning's rosy hght, To come and seek them back again In silver hush of night. IN STRAWBERRY TIME. \ OT, hot glows the sunshine in laughing July, Scarce flutter the leaves in the soft summer sigh: The rooks scarcely swing on the tops of the trees, While river-reeds nod to the odorous breeze : A rose-leaf, a-bask in the sunshiny gleam, Half sleeps in the dimples that chequer the stream ; The dragon-fly hushes his day-dreamy lay, The silver trout sulks in his sedge-shaded bay — While our thoughts sweetly run in a soft singing rhyme. As we lazily loiter in strawberry time ! so IN STRA WBERR Y TIME. II. Sweet, sweet is the scent of the newly-mown hay, Light borne by the breeze on a bright summer's day; And cool is the sound of the musical plash. As bright bubbles fall in the fountain and flash. 'Tis joy then to wander in gay golden hours, And dream 'mid the hues of the bright-tinted flow'rs ; When the velvety lawn is most soft to the tread. And ruddy fruit hangs in the leaf-covered bed- Then the roundest, the sweetest, the best of the prime, Will we gather together in strawberry time ! IN S TRA WBERR Y TIME. 5 1 III. Joy, joy 'tis to whisper and laugh in the shade, And pluck the ripe fruit for my hazel-eyed maid; To watch her delight as she eagerly clips A pink British Queen with her soft pouting lips ! While lovingly gazing I'm apt to compare The warm blushing berries with lips of my fair; I'm doubtful, indeed, if the fruit of the South Could equal the charm of her ripe little mouth — 'Tis so round and so soft, 'twould be scarcely a crime All my doubts to dispel in sweet strawberry time ! 52 IN STRAWBERRY TIME. IV. Light, light is the laughter that carelessly rings, And sweet is the carol she tenderly sings ! I murmur a story we all of us know — Her soft dainty dimples, they come and they go; Her eyelids droop down o'er those sweet little eyes, Her laughter is hushed in a tumult of sighs : Those pretty, plump fingers, red-stained to the tips, All tremble, while pouting are rosy-red lips. Then the bard whispers low, 'neath the tremulous lime, " Lips sweeter than fruit are in strawberry time ! " A LOVER'S LULLABY. IRROR your sweet eyes in mine, love, See how they gHtter and shine ! Quick fly such moments divine, love, Link your lithe fingers in mine ! II. Lay your soft cheek against mine, love, Pillow your head on my breast ; While your brown locks I entwine, love. Pout your red lips when they're prest ! 54 A LOVER'S LULLABY. Mirror your fate, then, in mine, love ; Sorrow and sighing resign : Life is too short to repine, love, Link your fair future in mine ! TOO TR UE. ■IS over ! It is done at last ! The fetters Cupid forges Were riveted quite hard and fast, ■ Last Monday, at St. George's. A shoddycrat with ample means, A priest intoning neatly, A bishop and two rural deans, Have tied the knot completely. 56 TOO TRUE. II. And so you're on your honeymoon, And wear a golden fetter ; You speculate — 'tis rather soon — " Is it for worse or better ? " You're thinking of a year ago — 'Twas just such sunny weather — But somehow time went not so slow When we two were together. III. A year ago, those pretty eyes A world of truth reflected ; A year ago, your deepest sighs I never half suspected : A year ,ago, my tale I told, And you were glad to listen ; You were as pure, as good as gold. Or any maid fresh kissen. TOO TRUE. 57 IV. In life's brief play you chose your part, Poor little foolish vendor ! You sold your trustful loving heart For shoddy and for splendour. The sky so blue, the sea so glad, Brings joyous recollections ; And yet you seem a world too sad For honeymoon reflections ! LITTLE CHINCHILLA. % SsmpfjDna in JFur. fHE wears the shortest skirts, I ■ • y And shows the whitest friUing; She looks — as Queen of Flirts — Miraculously killing !- She'll skim the thinnest ice, As light as Queen Camilla, She looks supremely nice — My little pet Chinchilla ! LITTLE chinchilla: 59 II. The sleekest otter cuffs — The rosiest of real skin — The sable-est of muffs — The softest gloves of sealskin. The quaintest hose with clocks, A cloud like a mantilla, The velvetest of frocks — Wears little sweet Chinchilla ! III. should the gracious fates But deign to be propitious ; 1 strap her fairy skates, On furry boots delicious. Her willing hand I take — In spite of Aunt Priscilla — Then speed I o'er the lake. With little love Chinchilla ! 6o LITTLE CHINCHILLA. IV. The warmth of her regard - I take as sort of token — Although it's freezing hard — Our social ice is broken ! Coquettish in her furs — She minds not my Manila— Ah ! what a glance is hers. My little dear Chinchilla ! V. She'll figure, glide and twirl. And worry the officials ; She'll cut out ev'ry girl, As easy as initials ! O I could skate for miles — Or dance a seguidilla — Cheered by the sunny smiles Of little smart Chinchilla ! LITTLE CHINCHILLA. 6r IV. Had I enough a year, To find my sweet in sable,- To wrap my dainty dear In ermine were I able, — Had I a longer purse, A neat suburban villa, — For better or for worse I'd take my pet Chinchilla. BLANKTON WEIR. a ajaato^siSe ILgtic. '^^^IS a queer old pile of timbers, all gnarled and (>-r^ rough and green. Both moss-o'ergrown and weed-covered, and jagged too, I ween ! 'Tis battered and 'tis spattered, all worn and knocked about, Beclamped with rusty rivets, and bepatched with timbers stout ; A tottering, trembling structure, enshrining memories dear, This weather-beaten barrier, this quaint old Blankton Weir. BLANKTON WEIR. II. While leaning on those withered rails, what feelings oft come back, As I watch the white foam sparkling and note the current's track ; What crowds of fleeting fancies come dancing through my brain ! And the good old days of Blankton, I live them o'er again ; What hopes and fears, gay smiles, sad tears, seem mirrored in the mere, While looking on its glassy face by tell-tale Blankton Weir ! 64 BLANKTON WEIR. III. I've seen it basking 'neath the rays of summer's golden glow, ^nd when sweetly by the moonlight, silver ripples ebb and flow ; When Nature starts in spring-time, awakening into life; When autumn leaves are falling, and the yellow corn is rife ; 'Mid the rime and sleet of winter, all through the live-long year, I've watched the water rushing through this tide-worn Blankton Weir. BLANKTON WEIR. 6^ IV. And I mind me of one even, so calm and clear and bright. What songs we sang — whose voices rang — that lovely summer night. Where are the hearty voices now who trolled those good old lays ? And where the silvery laughter that rang in bygone days? Come back, that night of long ago ! Come back, the moonlight clear ! When hearts beat light, and eyes were bright, about old Blankton Weir. 66 BLANKTON WEIR. V. Was ever indolence so sweet, were ever days so fine, As when we lounged in that old punt and played with rod and line ? 'Tis true few fish we caught there, but the good old ale we quaffed. As we chatted, too, and smoked there, and idled, dreamed, and laughed : Then thought we only of to-day, of morrow had no fear. For sorrow scarce had tinged the stream that flowed through Blankton Weir. BLANKTON WEIR. 67 VI. Those dreamy August afternoons, when in our skiff we lay, To hear the current murmuring as slow it swirled away J The plaintive hum of dragon-fly, the old weir's plash and roar, While Some-on^s gentle voice, too, seems whispering there once more ; Come back, those days of love and trust, those times of hope and fear, \Vhen girls were girls, and hearts were hearts, about old Blankton Weir ! 68 BLANKTON weir. VII. Those brilliant sunny mornings when we tumbled out of bed, And hurried on a few rough clothes, and to the river sped ! What laughing joyaunce hung about those merry days agone, We clove the rushing current at the early flush of dawn! ' Tremendous headers ' took we in the waters bright and clear, And splashed and dashed, and dived and swam, just off old Blankton Weir. BLANKTON WEIR. 69 Then that pleasant picnic-party, when all the girls were there, . In pretty morning dresses and with freshly-braided hair; Fair Annie, with the deep-blue eyes, and rosy, laugh- ing Nell, Dark Helen, sunny Amy, and the Howard girls as well; Ah ! Lizzie, 'twas but yesterday — at least 'twould so appear — We plighted vows of constancy, not far from Blankton Weir. 70 BLANKTON WEIR. IX. Those flasliing eyes, those brave true hearts, are gone, and few remain To mourn the loss of sunny hours that ne'er come back again : Some married are — ah ! me, how changed — for they will think no more Of how they joined our chorus there, or helped to pull the oar : One gentle voice is hushed for aye — we miss a voice so dear — Who cheered along with evensong our path by Blankton Weir. BLANKTON WEIR. 71 Amid the whirl of weary life, its worry and its bore, Comes back that well-loved lullaby — the old weir's distant roar : It gilds the cloud of daily toil with sunshine's fitful gleams, It breaks upon my slumber, and I hear it in my dreams : Like music of the good old times, .it strikes upon mine ear — If there's an air can banish care, 'tis that of Blankton Weir! J^J.^^•/:7\\v irs//!. xi. I know the river's rushing, but it rushes not for me. 1 feel the morning bhishing, though 1 am not there to see ; For younger hearts now live and kive where once we used to dwell. And others laugh, and dream, and sing, in spots we loved so well ; Their motto ' Cn/',' if/fin ' — 'twas ours for many a year — As show these rhymes of sunny times about old Blankton Weir. THE SEVEN AGES OF GIRLHOOD. 3T Two, she is a tiny lass, A^ V And joy she scarcely knows from sorrow ; She scarce consults her looking-glass ; She has no thought of sad to-morrow ! At Four she is a merry maid. And looks on aught but play as folly ; She can't believe bright flowers fade — That only sawdust is her dolly. 74 THE SEVEN AGES OF GIRLHOOD. III. At Eight, her troubles come in scores, For oft she is perverse and haughty ; A pouting puss in pinafores — ■ Who's sometimes whipped when she is naughty ! IV. At Twelve, she is a saucy teaze. Who knows full well her glances rankle ; Her petticoats scarce veil her knees, And fairy frills scarce kiss her ankle. At Fifteen, she's the pearl of pets, And feels assured her pow'r is strengthened ; Her snowy school-girl trouserettes Are hidden when her skirt is lengthened. THE SEVEN AGES OF GIRLHOOD. 75 VI. At Sixteen, she's the sweetest sweet, And dresses in the height of fashion ; She feels her heart 'neath bodice beat. In earnest for the tender passion. VII. At Eighteen, pVaps she may be sold Her lot to share, for worse or better ; She'll either sell her heart for gold — Or give it foi; a golden fetter ! ZOOLOGICAL MEMORIES. H, Dora, my darling, can your recollection Revert to a Sunday once early in June ? When leaving your Aunt's ever-watchful protection, You saucily said you'd ' come back again soon. But must see the seal and the spotted hyena, And doted on zoophytes scarlet and blue,' — Poor Aunt left at three, and at six we'd not seen her- That bright summer Sunday we met at the Zoo. ;You wore, I remember, the nicest of dresses. So simple and fresh, though it would not compare ZOOLOGICAL MEMORIES. 77 With Miss Buhl's splendid train, while your sunny bright tresses Could never out-rival her ' Brittany ' hair : Her parasol shaded the costliest bonnet — 'Twas gorgeous and showy, 'twas heavy and new ; While yours was of lace, with blush roses upon it, That gay summer Sunday we lounged in the Zoo. HI. You recollect loitering down by the water — I mean by the porid where the pelicans dwell — A small glove was pressed, it was six and a quarter, A hand rather smaller was p'raps pressed as well ; You said it was nonsense, and would not beheve me — I vowed, on my honour, 'twas perfectly true — Those lashes down-drooping could never deceive me. That sweet summer Sunday we passed at the Zoo. 78 ZOOLOGICAL MEMORIES. While strolling around that green pond edged with , rushes — I wished we could wander for miles and for miles — Your eyes brightly shone, whilst the loveliest blushes Flushed cheeks dimpled o'er by the sweetest of smiles. Then archly you said, with the, sweetest of glances, ' Who flirted at Prince's with Lily and Loo? What makes you so churlish at dinners and dances, When you can be so nice when we meet at the Zoo?' How swift flew the hours as we wandered together, Forgetful of Aunt as she' sat in the shade ! 'Twas really too .bad in that broiling hot weather ; And when we returned what excuses you made ! ZOOLOGICAL MEMORIES. 79 'Past six, Aunt? It can't ' be ! You surely are joking — We've not seen the zebra nor red kangaroo ! ' Then prettily pouting, you looked so provoking. That fine summer Sunday we roamed at the Zoo. VI. While bright autumn leaves in the country are falling. And London is empty, the butterflies flown ; That sunshiny Sunday I can't help recalling, As I, sit in dull chambers and ponder alone. And now you are down at ' The Larches,' my treasure, To find short days long, for there's nothing to do. Does ever come o'er you with exquisite pleasure The thought of that Sunday we loved at the Zoo ? A TEA VELLER'S TARANTELLA. IVritii H in * Murray's Handbook' while the band in the Piazza San Marco was playing the Tarantella from Masanielio, LL that the tourist can dream of or hear about, Crowds on your sight as you carelessly peer about, Quaint water streets you so carefully steer about, See the Rialto, and Square of St. Mark ! Floating in gondolas, laughing and jollity, Cyprian wine of the very best quality. At Florian's caff^ — mid fun and frivolity — Venice delightful from daylight to dark ! Musicians in plenty. Play 'Ecco ridente,' A TRAVELLER'S TARANTELLA. 8i Or ' Com'egentil,' in the still summer night; If you're in a hurry, Pray look in your Murray — You'll find his description is perfectly right ! II. Albergo Reale and English society, Bric-h-hrac shops in their endless variety, Plenty of pigeons not fearful of pie-ety. Flutter and peck 'neath the bluest of skies. Dreaming in Venice ? Ah, wildest of fallacies — Bronzes and sculpture, mosaics and chalices, Convents and churches and prisons and palaces, See as you stand on the grim Bridge of Sighs ! The ballads of Byron, You'll find will environ The Doges and dodges and Brides of the Sea. Don't get in a flurry. But read it in Murray — If you don't care about it, then listen to me ! F 82^ A TRAVELLER'S TARANTELLA. III. Thousands of thirsty mosquitoes are biting one, Silvery raoonhght is ever delighting one, Music and mirth every moment inviting one — Dreary old London we quickly forget ! Shylock and Portia — in short, the whole kit of 'em, Readers of Shakespeare recall ev'ry bit of 'em ; Troublesome guides, you can never get quit of 'em — Pictures by Titian and old Tintoret ! The sock and the buskin, With Rogers and Ruskin, Are mixed in a muddle with palace and sight ! It may be a worry. But don't forget Murray, He'll throw on your darkness some excellent light ! Caff£ Florian, Venezia. V5^1 MAIDS OF THE MALLET. )F courtly old Watteau now wielded the palette, qUt) How dainty the pictures his brush would have drawn ! Could he but have seen the sweet Maids of the Mallet Who flutter and flirt on our velvety lawn ! 'Tis down by the Thames where the summer wind bloweth, Just serving to shiver the tremulous trees, Where sleepy reeds bend to the ripple that floweth, Scarce deigning to nod to the somnolent breeze. 84 MAIDS OF THE MALLET. For croquet, the game, I have no admiration, But who, in his senses, could ever refuse To hammer his toes in a quiet flirtation With one of these daintily-booted croqueuses ? IV. The bright eye of Beatie send shafts that will rankle, The smile of sweet Camille it comforts and kills ; You never, I'm sure, saw a neater-turned ankle Than peeps from 'neath Jennie's white fanciful frills. V. A part of our game I will give you a hint on — If you're thirsty, and hanker for something and ice — A bountiful beaker of boraged Badminton You will find, in the shade, is uncommonly nice ! MAIDS OF THE MALLET. 85 VI. Deep draughts from the two-handed, dew-clouded chalice, While musing alone, is most sweet, 'tis confessed ; But sweeter than all to drink after sweet Alice, And kiss the same silver her pouting lips pressed ! VII. 'Tis rapture to lounge in such exquisite clover, To bask in the sunshine of Gwendolen's eyes ! With light-hearted Milly to be a gay ' rover,' Or ' spoon ' to the music of Rosalie's sighs ! VIII. These Maids of the Mallet, they shake out their tresses — While men gather round at their siren-like call — And artfully loop-up diaphanous dresses. To break stalwart hearts as they'd croquet a ball ! NINA'S NECKLACE. HAVE brought the string of pearls qUq For my prettiest of girls : Let your merry laughter ring ! Do not reck The wild ripple of your hair, On your dimpled shoulders bare — As I clasp the sheeny string Round your neck ! NINA'S NECKLACE. 87 Here are sixteen snowy pearls, Glad to nestle in your curls, Round your neck they closely cling With delight- Fitting emblem of your years, Free from sorrow, care and tears : Sixteen summers softly sing. Pure and bright ! III. Though your sweetest sunny smiles, And your winsome girlish wiles. Right and left you gaily fling — Merry miss ! From, your lips I claim reward — If you'll graciously accord ? — I will clasp the snowy string With a kiss ! SAINT MAY: a ffiitg ILgtic. fT. ALOYS the Great is both mouldy and grim, The Decalogue's dusty, the windows are dim ; Not knowing the road there, you'll long have to search Before you discover this old City church ; Yet often on fine Sunday mornings I stray, To see a new saint, whom I've christened St. May. SAINT MA y. II. The one bell is cracked in its crazy old tower, Tlie sermon oft lasts rather more than an hour ; The parson is prosy, the clerk eighty-three, The organ drones out in a sad minor key ; Yet quickly the moments I find fly away, I pass every week at the shrine of St. May. III. Of saints I've seen plenty in churches before — In Florence or Venice they're there by the score ; Agnese, Maria — the rest I forget — By Titian, Bassano, and brave Tintoret : They none can compare, though they're well in their way, In maidenly grace with my dainty St. May. 9° SAIN7 MAY. IV. She sits in a high, ancient, black oaken pew. Which almost conceals her fair face from my view ; The sweetest of pictures it can't be denied. With two tiny sisters who sit by her side. Who lisp the responses, or kneel down to pray, With little hands locked in the palm of St. May. V. She's young for a, saint, for she's scarcely eighteen, And ne'er could wear peas in those dainty bottines ; Her locks are not shaven, and 'twould be a sin To wear a hair-shirt next that delicate skin ; Save diagonal stripes on a dress of light gray. Stripes ne'er have been borne by bewitching St. May. SAINT MAY. 91 VI. She's almost too plump and too round for a saint, With sweet little dimples that Millais might paint ; Without mediaeval nor mortified mien, Or wimple of yellow, or background of green — A nimbus of hair throws its sunshiny ray Of glory around the fair face of St. May. VII. What surquayne or partlet could look better than My saint's curly jacket of black Astracan? What coif than her bonnet — a triumph of skill — Or alb than her petticoat edged with a frill ? So sober, yet smiling — so grave, yet so gay, O where is a saint like my charming St. May ? 92 SAINT MA Y. The sermon is finished, the blessing is o'er, The sparse congregation drift out at the door ; I pause, as I stroll down the gloomy old aisle. To see my saint pass, and perchance get a smile : I'd almost change faith, like the Vicar of Bray, To pass all my life in adoring St. May. IX. , I wend my way home to my chambers alone, And sunshine is gone and the summer seems flown ; put then does a vision of brightness arise. Of pureness and truth in those eloquent eyes ; For not a mere picture nor image of clay. To worship by rubric, is gentle St. May. SAINT MA Y. 93 X. Through the weary, dull week, as it rolls on apace, I'm haunted by thoughts of that tender young face ; I dream of her spirit, so yielding and kind, Her goodness of heart, and her pureness of mind ; And I long for the hour, and count on the day, To sit at a distance and gaze on St. May. XI. No doubt you'll be vastly surprised when you're told Her name in the Calendar is not enrolled — They prattled of ' May,' the sweet sisterly pair, I added the ' Saint,' — she was canonized there. If saints might wed sinners, I'd yield to her sway. And straightway would fall on my knees to St. May ! MAIDEN MOUNTAINEERS. a Sftetc]^ at fiC^stnouni. p OOK at the strong little smart Alpine climbers, Sated with scrambles o'er rivers and rocks (Whose titles would puzzle the craftiest rhymers), Proud of their crampons and red knickerbocks ! Brown are their hands and right ruddy their faces. Hear them discourse on the mountains they've ' done ' ! Watch the delight of their muscular graces, Voting the glissade most exquisite fun ! MAIDEN MOUNTAINEERS. 95 II. Edelweiss laughingly lurks in their tresses — Though pretty, they're plucky as Balmat the Bold — Daintily decked in the darlingest dresses, They smile at the danger and laugh at the cold ! Hear them dilate upon ^/artVrj and passes, Peaks they have scaled, the expert little dears ! Snowstorms are naught to these limber young lasses, Chamois are shamed by these fair mountaineers ! FHINCESS POPPY. 2C SletpB S0itg. \EATH the spreading trees in the garden glade, Where the poppies nod in the chequered shade, In a silken hammock she pouts and lies. And smiles as she lazily droops her eyes ; As the rook, the brook, and the dragon-fly Combine in an exquisite lullaby — In calm July. PRINCESS POPPY. 97 n. The daintiest dryad who softly sings To the sweet leaf-music, and slowly swings ; A delicate form and a sweet young face, Lips parted in exquisite girlish grace. A more perfect picture you'd ne'er descry, 'Neath the rustling leaves and the summer sky In fair July ! in. She smiles as the zephyr her cradle rocks, With poppies atwine in her golden locks ; She sighs and slumbers to song of the stream, And slumbers and sighs through a languid dream ; Ah ! pray who can tell me the reason why This beauteous maiden in dreams should sigh. In sweet July ? A COMEDY. I'WAS all over between us, you thought, when we parted, 'Twas good-bye to me and to trouble or care ; A sigh and a tear, a poor boy broken-hearted, Was naught, for what feelings had you then to spare ? 'Twas nothing to you that my best hopes were shattered, You knew all the time that you meant we should part; With fair words did you think I e'er could feel flattered, From lips feigning truth with such falseness at heart ? A COMEDY. 99 Act I. Ah, lovely and lost one, I muse in the gloaming, And think of one midsummer twilight last year. But one little year past, when we two were roaming With hand locked in hand by the still solemn mere. Have jfJK, love, forgotten that night and those pledges, Half-whispered, half-sobbed, 'neath that calm sum- mer sky? In fancy I hear the faint shiver of sedges. And still the low plash of the water seems nigh. Act II. You've made, what the world calls, a capital marriage Your dinners are perfect, your dances the rage ; They talk, at the clubs, of your new pony-carriage. And sneer at your husband, who's double your age : Ah ! fairest of false ones, I'd have you remember. Though blooming and bright be the freshness of May, 'Twill tremble before the cool breath of December, 'Twill silently droop and then wither away A COMEDY. Act III. They tell me you're happy j and yet, on reflection, I find they talk more of your wealth than of you ; And if you, have moments of thought and dejection, It may be those moments are known but to few, You've rubies and pearls and a brilliant tiara ; You breakfast off Sevres of the real bleu du Rot; 'Tis better no doubt than a heart, mia cava, And a poor posey ring, with its ' Pensez d, moil' Act IV. Nay, blame not your husband, nor think you're used badly, 'Twas simply a matter of money and trade ; You named him your ' figure,' he paid it too gladly. Your heart was no part of the bargain he made. He purchased a wife to embellish his table, To humour his whims and obey his behests, One lovely and clever, one willing and able — To prove his good taste and to talk to his guests. A COMEDY. ■ Act V. At times, when 'mid riches and splendour you languish, To still your poor conscience you fruitlessly try ; As tears are fast falling in bitterest anguish. You'll own there is something that money can't buy. Yes, love, there are mera'ries e'en gold cannot stifle, The ghost of a dead love that will not be laid ; And while in the bright world of pleasure you trifle, Do you never meet the sad eyes of the shade ? ADIEU TO MABEL. a gounfl ILeBb %eS STtit. I. OOD-BYE, little shock-headed rosy-cheeked Ma}', Farewell to your tales and your teaching : Good-bye to your songs and your fairy-like play, Adieu to your prattle and preaching ! Those eloquent sermons we heard with surprise, From lips so enthrallingly simple : You blinded our reason with light from your eyes, And vanquished our hearts with a dimple ! ADIEU TO MABEL. Why can't you remain a sweet ruddy-lipped child, With bright tangled tresses free-flowing ? To carelessly carol bewitchingly wild, For pray what's the use, pet, of growing? .IV. Your laughter has never been saddened by sighs, You wot not of care or of sorrow, And tears have ne'er flooded your honest grey eyes For grief that may come on the morrow. V. Good-bye, then, to sweet little sunny-haired pet. She goes with our best 'wishes laden : The light-hearted child we can never forget. Will live in the lovable maiden ! CLOVER. OWN by quiet river-reaches, 'Neath the spreading oaks and beeches, 'Mid the stately woods of Clieveden, hard by Maiden- head to rest : When sweet summer winds are blowing O'eir the grand old Thames swift flowing — Then a picnic of all parties is undoubtedly the best. CLOVER. 105 You may possibly ride over, And you'll find yourself in clover, With the dearest little dryades beneath the shady trees : Who can mix a lobster salad Or troll out the latest ballad, Who can flirt or pull a pair of sculls, all equally with ease ! III. You can stroll down by the river. Where the nodding sedges shiver. Or make yourself quite useful carving fowls and pigeon pies : You can uncork endless bottles, Just to moisten parched throttles — Look unutterable language into winsome watchet eyes ! io6 CLOVER. IV. When you're weary of the riot, And may like to have some quiet, Or to watch the |)easants binding up the newly-reapen sheaves ; You can hear the oak-trees rustle. Far away from noise and bustle, And can whisper silly nothings to the music of the leaves ! V. Some-o?ie's glance perhaps grows brighter. And perchance her heart beats lighter (I've good reason for supposing that you wander not alone) — There's a charm in morning dresses. And in loosely-braided tresses. And I hear that magic power lurks in Clicquot and ozone ! CLOI^ER. 107 VI. In a sweet day-dream you wander, 'Neath the chequered shade, and ponder Beyond the sight and hearing of the old folks and the rest; All your earnest conversation Is for Some-onis delectation — And I should not be astonished if a little hand were prest ! VII. Then, when pales the sunset splendid As the day is almost ended. When shadows soft of eventide come stealing up the glade ; Her sweet undefined expression Gives a half-concealed confession, You've made some small impression on a dainty little maid ! A BUTTERFLY BALLAD. _ MILE, dainty little beauty, And sing your sweetest song ; Think pleasure but a duty, And carol all day long ! The garden's gr^en and shady. And gay are golden hours ; Come then, my gentle lady. To gather fairest flow'rs ! A BUTTERFLY BALLAD. 109 II. Away fling care and sorrow, Be ever bright and gay ; Lose sight of dull to-morrow, In sunshine of to-day ! Though brightest blossoms shatter, And lovely girls must fade — To you what does it matter. My merry little maid? w%*/at®^ "Sv, PV^^ PETS OF THE 'PETREL: SOUNGING at ease in the laziest attitude, Fresh briny breezes are blowing so free ; Never once thinking of longi — or lati — tude, Whilst our swift schooner skims over the sea. Smart little sailor-girls, laughing deliciously. Soften the skipper with maidenly wiles ; Climb where they oughtn't to, pouting capriciously. Vanquish the boatswain with sunniest smiles. PETS OF THE 'PETREL.' III. If a squall blows-;— as it will most unluckily — Dear little damsels, the best of A. B.'s, Face the salt spray, reef their petticoats pluckily, Laugh at wet jackets and sing in the breeze ! IV. Note them, ye maidens so silly and finical, See the brown hands of each nautical dear ; Hear them discourse on a bobstay or binnacle. Watch their delight when permitted to steer ! y. E'en at the pumps they would take their turn steadily, Though they are maidens be-dimpled and soft ; Sweet little ' salts ' do their duty so readily, Reef, ' bear a hand,' or would go up aloft. PETS OF THE 'PETREL.' Dinners on deck are divinely delectable — Under the awning, well screened from the sun — Some folks would dine d. la Russe and respectable ; Give us the laughing, the quaffing, and fun ! VII. Dreaming when heats of the noontide so hazily Shimmer around our becalmed little craft ; Smoking and mooning, so languidly lazily, Whilst some one reads 'neath the awning abaft. VIII. Popping at seagulls the girls say is villany, ' Cruel and brutal ' they're heard to declare — Though if by chance you are lucky and kill any, Proudly the feathers they'll hasten to wear. PETS OP THE 'petrel: 113 IX. Dreaming in soft summer night so mysterious, Watching the waves as they dash from the bows ; Prattle becoming first sober, then serious. Laughter soon softened to tremulous vows. X. Drifting from chaff into ' something particular,' Though you intended but simply to ' spoon : ' Starlight is good for confession auricular, Lunatics thrive in the light of the moon ! XI. Down in the cabin at night, you most willingly Cluster to hear, round the small pianette, Sweet voices warble low, tender and thrillingly, Siren-like songs that you fain would forget. H 114 J'-ETS OF THE 'PETREL: XII. Far from the boredom of vapid society, Leaving all care and all worry at home, Swift speed the days in an endless variety, While the trim ' Petrel ' flies over the foam ! "^^^r LUCY'S LIPS. YOUR rosy little mouth- Red as coral from the South — Though meant not, Love, for missing Quirk or quip : Was expressly formed, I guess, For some other lips to press, What mortals call, Love, kissing Lip to lip ! MY VALENTINE. I. LOVE not the sweetest of love protestations Emblazoned by artists on paper of snow ; The amorous glances and forced suspirations, You purchase for money from Cupid & Co. Those pink chubby boys, with their impudent faces, Their hearts and their darts and their old stock-in- trade, Bedizened with tinsel, embowered in laces. Shan't bear my love-song to my tender-eyed maid. MY VALENTINE. 117 III. Shall hireling muses e'er sing of her splendour, Or trumpery poet at twopence a line ? Shall e'er be a bookseller's shopman the vendor Of paean of praise to my sweet Valentine ? IV. I strike my own harp when I sing to my treasure, I'll sing my own song or for ever be still ; And watch her eyes sparkle with exquisite pleasure At soft-spoken words which so easily thrill ! V. I won't bring a harp, and I won't speak in num- bers; We'll sit as of yore in the snug-curtained room ; When old folks are taking post-prandial slumbers. We'll dream by the fire 'twixt the glow and the gloom ! nS MY VALENTINE. VI. When sunny-brown tresses, in firelight, gleam golden, And ripple down soft o'er a bosom of snow ; When a dear, little waist is more closely enfolden — There's sweetness in silence we both of us know ! VII. Carissima mia, I don't mind confessing, While soft silken love-locks I fondle and twine, Though you tremble and blush, I can scarcely help pressing, That white little hand warmly nestled in nline ! VIII. There's thrilling expression in tightly-locked fingers. And music in whispers half broken by sighs. In soft dainty dimples a kiss-print still lingers. While love gladly lurks in those violet eyes. MV VALENTINE. 119 IX. Away with all tears, not a vestige of sorrow Shall chequer these moments so sweetly divine ! In sunny to-day I'll not dream of to-morrow, But whisper my love to my own Valentine. X. Then O for the rapture to whisper through tresses, Soft scented, atwine round those shell-tinted ears ; Away with all doubts and away with distresses, And perish the fancy of sorrow and tears. XI. Now, darling, pray tell me if this is not better Than commonplace verses one can't understand ? Than parcel, or picture, or overgrown letter. Duly stamped and despatched through St. Martin's- le-Grand ? MY VALENTINE. XII. Then leave such devices to boarding-school misses, Who' love through the post at a distance of miles ; / like to make love 'midst a shower of kisses, And press pouting lips till they're softened to smiles ! AN APRIL' SERMON. jAIR Florence is a butterfly Who loves the brightest flow'rs, But she will pout and fret and sigh E'en during passing show'rs ; When sunbeams gild each golden curl, She'll carol light and gay, But O ! I fear she's not the girl For any rainy day ! AN APRIL SERMON. II. There's Isabel, the sweetest pet, And fairest of the fair ; She'll trifle with a coronet, Or jilt a millionaire : A brown-eyed, bonny, cool coquette- Brave hearts she will betray — Their owners she will quite forget On any rainy day ! Sweet Geraldine in summer days. Is just the girl for me ; Her smiles are then beyond all praise, Her heart is full of glee : But had she not her Arab steed. Her Lady's Mile in May, I fear she would look dull indeed On any rainy day ! AN APRIL SERMON. 123 I failcy Rene might be true, She's such a little dear ; If .1 had an estate or two, And thousands ten a year ! A Dresden china little dear. But not the sort of clay To form the idol I'd revere On any rainy day. V. Majestic Maud would fix her throne In lordly hall or park ; She could not love for love alone A Foreign Office clerk : A little house in Camden Town, Her lover's little pay, I fear would make my lady frown On any rainy day ! 124 AN APRIL SERMON. VI. Proud Ethel is the sort of queen At Opera to reign ; To show her jewels flashing sheen, And rich brocaded train : She ne'er could wear a muslin dress, Nor ' cab it ' to the play ; She's not the girl, I must confess. For any rainy day ! VII. I know a pet of eighteen years, Who, true in joy and pain. Will sweetly smile through falling tears, Like April sun through rain : Whose sky-blue eyes most brightly shine When clouds are coldest grey — I'd like to call that beauty mine On any rainy day ! AM APRIL SERMON. VIII. I would that she were close to me, I'd read her eyes, and then, PVaps to this simple homily — She'd sigh a sweet ' Amen : ' How sunny life's sad monotone, Illumined by this ray ! With such a darling for my own On any rainy day ! OFF AND AWAY! an august iSearct. fO the gay London season is over ! ^ I wished it would come o'er again, When the night that you started for Dover, I bade you good-bye at the train. I am doomed by the lateness of session In London all autumn to stay, Through its heat, and ennui, and oppression, Whilst you, love, are off and away. OFF AND AWAY I 127 II. How your pretty eyes drooped just at starting ! You promised to send me your carie, And I gave you ' Two Kisses ' at parting — I, mean the new novel by Smart. Not a moment for quiet flirtation — The guard his white ensign unfurled — As the train was just leaving the station, I gave you my heart and the 'World.' III. You are off amid vineyards and mountains, Where myrtle is mingled with maize ; Where the olive o'ershadows bright fountains You'll dream through the fine autumn days ; Where the roseate sunset is flushing Its gleam o'er the amethyst lake, Whilst the blue ripples seem to be hushing To slumber the shore where they break. 1 28 OFF AND AWAY I IV. You remember the day at Chiavenna We mounted the rugged inclines ? And the sail that we took to Varenna ? The luncheon we had 'neath the vines ? Vino d'Asti spumante, agoni — With bright eyes to flash o'er the cheer. At the inn of Signora Marcionni, The sunniest day of last year. V. Then that night at Baveno, whilst smoking, When Some-one lit my cigarette, To be found by mama 'twas provoking — Your eyes flashed a tearful regret : How she bore you away in a hurry, Despite all excuse I could make ! And said, quoting from odious Murray, ' Night air was so bad by the lake.' OFF AND A WA Yl 129 VI. Will you dream 'neath a snowy umbrella, With Tauchnitz each hot afternoon ? Will you go to the Isola Bella, Or row by the light of the moon ? Will you lounge 'neath the pink oleander, Comparing this year with the last ? Will you e'er in the garden meander, And think with regret of the past ? VII. When the fragrance of flowers is lightly Awaft on the soft evening breeze, Whilst the pale moon is sliining so brightly And sweet is the music of trees, — Will you muse, in that clear autumn weather, With feelings of pleasure and pain ? Will you stroll where we wandered together. To wish but last year back again ? 130 OFF AND A WA Yl VHI. Perhaps memory's clearest reflection Will mirror your future ; but yet You may dwell on with tender affection That night I can never forget ; When I would have said something, but wavered- How quickly such chances slip by ! — Ah ! my darling, had I been so favoured, Pray what would have been your reply ? LITTLE UNDINE. APRIL is sunshine and sadness ; 'Tis like a fair girl when she cries ! A tinge of sweet sorrow in gladness, A brightness in tear-bedewed eyes ! The rain, in a pattering cadence, Falls fast upon pathway and street ; It fearfully soaks pretty maidens. And ruthlessly splashes their feet. Behold her, my beauty, la bella, Of aqueous fairies the queen With smart little silken umbrella, My darling, my little Undine ,! 132 LITTLE UNDINE. II. Just watch her step over a puddle, Regardless of milliners' bills, When all is confusion and muddle And spattered are snowiest frills. When darlings in otter and sable, So sopped are their jackets and curls. To class them you're clearly unable As pretty drowned kittens or girls ! Behold her, my darling so dapper, A sweetie of supple sixteen. In neat little waterproof wrapper, My darling, my little Undine ! LITTLE UNDINE. 133 Behold the bright spherules prismatic, That saucily spangle her hair ! She scoffs at all terrors rheumatic ; She's shod with most exquisite care. She laughs and will carol and chatter — Through clouds seeing patches of blue — Not heeding the soft April patter, Not caring for getting wet through ! Behold her, my lady of showers, My fay in a splashed crinoline ; My goddess of rainbows and flowers. My darling, my little Undine ! LONDON-B Y-THE-SEA. BRIGHTON in November Is what otie should remember, When from town so dull and foggy we all of us would flee ; Where air is pure and bracing, The breezes we are facing. Away the blues there chasing — At our London-by-the-Sea. LONDON-BY-THE-SEA. 135 II. The morning's plunge at Brill's there, It scares away all ills there, How dull or sad or sober you may ever chance to be ; The sunshine bright is flashing. While in the water splashing, Away dull care you're dashing — At bright London-by-the-Sea. III. You're sure to find collected On pier a crowd protected From weather as they listen to a symphony in B : 'Neath crystal screen's flirtation, Scarce screened from observation, You'll find with consternation — At gay London-by-the-Sea. 136 LONDON-BY-THE-SEA. IV. Grave judges there and jokers, With actors and stock-brokers, With every sort of person of high and low degree ; Professor of art fistic, And preacher ritualistic,. With poet wild and mystic — At brave London-by-the-Sea. V. O'er downs to madly scamper. Without a care to hamper — 'Tis just the thing to do you good I think you'll quite agree : All worry you are crushing, Your blood is gaily flushing. As off you're swiftly rushing — At light London-by-the-Sea. LONDON-BY-THE-SEA. 137 VI. With Amazons fast going, Such tangled tresses flowing, Such skirts and dainty ribbons in breezes blowing free: What joy to canter faster With beauties of the castor, ■ As humble riding master, At smart London-by-the-Sea. VII. Then frequently there passes An army of school lasses, So full of buoyant spirits and of gladsome girhsh glee That when they softly patter The pavt o'er and chatter, I'm as mad as any hatter — At fair London-by-the-Sea. 138 LONDON-BY-THE-SEA. VIII. Some take a modest tiffin, On bun or Norfolk biffin, At Streeter's or at Mainwaring's, but tliat will not suit me, Though folks may call me glutton I do not care a button, But love a lunch with Mutton — At this London-by-the-Sea. IX. The flys are slow and mouldy, As ev'ry one has told ye. Its shrimps by far the finest you could ever wish for tea; Its shops are rare and splendid, Where ev'rything is vended Till money's all expended — At dear London-by-the-Sea. L0ND0N-BY-THE-SE4- 139 X. If spirits you would lighten Consult good Doctor Brighton, And swallow his prescription and abide by his decree : , If nerves be weak or shaken Just try a month with Bacon, His physic soon is taken — At our London-by-the-Sea. A RIVER RHYME. )AR, far from the town, I spied drifting down, Cheeks ruddy and brown — Eyes so blue — A sweet sailor-girl. With hair all a-curl — In canoe. A RIVER RHYME. 141 II. She dreams in her boat, And sweet is the note That white little throat Carols through : She languidly glides, And skilfully guides — Her canoe. III. 'Neath tremulous trees. She loiters at ease. And I, if you please Wonder who May be the sweet maid, Who moons in the shade — Inconnue. 142 A RIVER RHYME. IV. O pray who can tell, Is she Nina or Nell? Or Beatie or Bell ? Is she Loo ? The laziest pet, You ever saw yet — In canoe. The river's like glass — As slowly I pass. This sweet little lass, Raises two Forget-me-not eyes. In laughing surprise — From canoe. A RIVER RHYME. 143 VI. And as I float by, Said I ' Miss, O why ? O why may not I Drift with you ? ' Said she, with a start, ' I've no room in my heart — Or canoe ! ' SNO W FLAKE. , NE Christmas down at Beaumont Hall — 'Twas vastly pleasant, I remember — The happy moments I recall Of that cold, bitter, bleak December ; Though winter's sky was overcast, Though dull and dismal was the weather, Snowflake and I — those times are past — Danced, sang, and whispered oft together ! SNOWFLAKE. 14S 11. I called her Snowflake ; she looked bright As snow fresh fallen in the morning, Just flushed by kiss of rosy light, Of sunny rays when day is dawning : Her bosom mocked the snowdrops white That decked the tresses of my goddess ; A truer heart or one more light Ne'er beat beneath a maiden's bodice. III. Ah, me ! I recollect those hours — Since then I've grown a trifle older — I found just now some faded flow'rs. Reminding me of all I told her. And Snowflake ? AVell, 'tis rather hard For hearts with one another smitten — But, let me see, I think some bard Says " Lovers' vows in snow are written ! " K A COVENT GARDEN CANTICLE. yiNK blossoms fall and shatter JJ^ Before the balmy breeze ; The rain has ceased to patter On newly-leafen trees ; The squares are green and shady, The parks are bright and gay — Comes like a dainty lady, Sweet-scented, rosy May ! A CO VENT GARDEN CANTICLE. I47 II. Her home in Covent Garden Its glories I would vaunt — I'm sure I beg her pardon, I mean her London haunt — The brightest of all bowers, With dainty perfumes faint, Decked out with sweetest flowers. Miss Mutrie loves to paint. III. Of crisp and cooling salads A Sybarite might sing ; Or write enchanting ballads Of dishes for a king : Amidst the banquet floral, He lazily might dream ; And chant a paean choral. On strawberries-and-cfeam 148 A COVENT GARDEN CANTICLE. IV. Sweet ruddy-cheeked Pomona Here, out of season, trips — Of course we all have known her, .With strawb'ry-stained lips. Her freshness filched from peaches, Her tawny hair from pines. Her voice which sweetly teaches Sweet lessons from the vines. v. In this town-house of Flora Where maids love time to kill ; Comes dainty, dimpled Dora, And laughter-loving Lil ! > Come pets for bouquets longing. From Johnston's or from Buck's, Round early green peas thronging — Dehcious little ducks ! A CO VENT GARDEN- CANTICLE. 149 VI. Sweet girls with eyes outvying The peerless gentian blue ; Whose blushing cheeks are trying To rival peachen hue. Each way a damsel goes is A sunbeam 'midst the gloom ; And maidens mock the roses In rhapsody of bloom ! VII. A bouquet for Ophelia When she appears to-night ; The snowiest camelia For bridal bosom white. A blushing blossom, paling 'Fore cheeks of maidens gay — Its charm is unavailing Near sweetest flowers of May ! ISO A COVENT GARDEN CANTICLE. VIII. As pinkest petals perish, As brightest blossoms fade, So droops the pet we cherish, So wanes each merry maid. But glory sempiternal. Of sunshine loves to play, When, lulled by breezes vernal, Bloom bonny flowers of May ! THE IMPARTIAL. % iSnat^iaacE Sfetcfj. I. ^^N sorrow and joy she has seen the beginning — qUj) Her Hghtness of spirit half dashed by the ' blues ' — With cheers in her heart for the crew who are winning, While tears fill her eyes for those fated to lose. If you'll narrowly watch, 'mid the noise and conten- tion. You'll note, as her Arab paws proudly the dust, A deftly-twined bouquet of speedwell and gentian Beneath her white collar half carelessly thrust ! 152 THE IMPARTIAL. III. The tint of a night in the still summer weather Her tight-fitting habit just serves to unfold, While delicate cuffs are scarce fastened together By dainty- wrought fetters of turqiioise and gold. IV. Ah, climax of sweet girlish neutral devices ! What smiles for the winners, for losers what sighs! — She has twined her fair hair with the colours of Isis, While those of the Cam glitter bright in her eyes. TEN AND TWEN2Y. (AN ten long years have passed away ' Since with that baby Clarry Fay My boyish heart was smitten ? She was a charming little tease, Who tore her clothes and grazed her knees, Who sometimes clomb up apple-trees As agile as a kitten ! 154 TEN AND TWENTY. The merriest of romping girls Was Clarry, with her tangled curls ; All day her voice was trilling ! As, dancing madly to and fro, Her full short skirt just served to show Tucked trousers, white as driven snow — A miracle of frilling. in. Whole mornings then were passed, I ween. In paying homage to this queen Of bread-and-butter misses ; Sometimes, when no one else was by, I used to kiss her on the sly ; And Clarry was by no means shy. But paid my kiss with kisses ! TEN AND TWENTY. 155 IV. The livelong day we played and walked, Or in the orchard swung and talked — 'Twas thus our liking strengthened : At last one gloomy, tearful day My playfellow was sent away To schpol, and there she had to stay — Until her frocks were lengthened. V. At Eton then in classic lore I plunged, tut liked the plunging more At ' Athens ' with a shiver : Both love and learning met their fate When puUing in the College Eight ; I quite forgot my little mate, When scuUins on the river ! IS6 TEN AND TWENTY. VI. And now I met once more to-day Not saucy Clare, but fair Miss Fay — The sweetest ' sweet and twenty ! ' Who rules the season, for I know At Prince's, Park, or flower-show, In Opera-box, or ia the Row, Her lovers throng in plenty. Ah ! since that rosy, laughing child, Would jump upon her pony wild And round the paddock canter ; Or madly with black Hector race, Or climb for nests in Lyndith Chase, For which she got in sad disgrace, O tempora mutantur ! TEN AND TWENTY. 157 VIII. Miss Fay will never know me now, But with a studied, solemn bow * She'll mask sweet dimpled Clarry— Not know me? How her eyes flash bright ! She shakes my hand and grasps it tight ! And laughingly exclaims, "I'm right, 'Tis my old playmate Harry ! " GEORGIE'S GIRDLE.^ H ! your supple slender waist Should be never tightly laced, So leave each Nature's charm, sweet — As you found it : If you want a tighter zone, Some day, darling, when alone, I'll wind a loving arm, sweet — Around it ! IN THE FOAM. COME wherebrightbeautyunlooseslier tresses, And emerald ripples scarce ruffle the sand ! Where mermaidens dance in the loveHest dresses, And white little feet gaily sport on the strand ! Just watch the fair girls in their gambols capricious — No surf in the sunshine more fully at home — See dimpled young darlings divinely delicious Bound over the breaker and flirt with the foam ! l6o IN THE FOAM. In turquoise-hued trousers a fair Aphrodite — The rarest of rosy-cheeked plump little pets — Hand in hand with a sweet little kissable Clytie, Distractingly dripping in pink pantalettes. How dainty white limbs gaily flash in the billow ! How musical voices sing over the sea ! While gracefully floating, with wave for a pillow, They gladden the shore with their resonant glee ! III. O say then, stern cynic, with manner monastic, Wilt wander unmoved by our surf-beaten sands ? When sweet summer sirens hold revel fantastic, And weave coloured weeds round their white little hands? IN THE FOAM. i6i They shake the salt spray in a torrent prismatic, They pout o'er the pebbles and swim o'er the shells ; As light-hearted laughter grows yet more ecstatic, They dive where the queen of the mermaiden dwells ! IV. Then fling back your hair from your sweet sunny faces, And ripple your locks to your delicate knees ; While free from the fetters of latchets and laces, While sporting in sunshine and breasting the bireeze ! Serene as the seagull so sleepily swaying, They fitfully flutter and restlessly roam : These winsome young witches so prettily playing As brave'as the breaker, as free as the foam. COULEUR DE ROSE. ER soft sables, you must know, Kept off winter's frost and snow, And the cruel wind did blow • When we met : The demurest little nun, Though she'd sometimes change in fun. Like a snowflake in the sun, — Little pet ! COULEUR DE ROSE. 163 II. Pray what meant those frequent sighs, When those fathomless brown eyes Sometimes gazed with glad surprise Into mine ? It was joy to be alone, With my arm around her zone, And to claim her for my own Valentine ! III. 'For the romping wind of March Was she bending like a larch. As her glance seemed yet more arch Through her curls : Came in view the ankles neat. Were revealed the dainty feet, And the chaussure of my sweet Girl of girls ! i64 COULEUK DE ROSE. IV. Ah ! my brightest fay of fays ' Was most fickle in her ways, 'In chameleon April days — Sun and rain ! She would sometimes be put out, She would laugh or cry and pout ; Smiling through her tears in doubt, Joy and pain ! V. But in May so freshly fair She would cull its blossoms rare. Just to twine them in her hair — Gay and wild ; A sweet pasan of perfume, A gay sunny song of bloom. She would chase away all gloom — Laughing child ! COULEVR DE ROSE. 165 VI. In the balmy summer time, With gay roses in their prime, No one deems it is a crime Then to ' spoon ' ! So sub rosd 'neath bright bow'rs. Over-heard by blushing flow'rs, Did I whisper through sweet hours Once in June ! VII. Ah ! her cheek willr shame the rose. With the tint that comes and goes, And more radiantly glows, When it's prest ! Whilst her loving eyes flash bright, With a sweet and sparkling light. And white roses scarce look white In her breast ! i66 COULEUR DE ROSE. VIII. As the bee booms round the bed, Where the petals pink are shed, Sweetest honey from the red Softly sips : So in moments half divine, In sweet rapture I entwine A slim waist whilst stealing mine — From her lips ! IX. O ! when summer skies were blue, And we fancied hearts were true, While the long day loving through — Who'd suppose ? Our grand castles built in Spain, Or that love could ever wane, And its fragrance but remain. Like the rose ? AMANTIUM IR^. M I forgiven ? You smile through your tears, love; May I return to your favour again ? Tell me, O quickly, and quiet my fears, love — Yours be the task, dear, to lighten my pain ; No more wet lashes, nor sobbing and pouting, Feelings of anger can't dwell in your breast — Banish all sadness, all sorrow and doubting, Try to forget, when my fault is confest. Grieved beyond measure, d say that I'm shriven. Tell me, my treasure, now — Am I forgiven ? 1 68 AMANTIUM IRM. II. Am I forgiven? Now dry your eyes, dearest, You'd ne'er be hurt by Kate Calloner's wiles, Look in my face now, your kindest and clearest, Dimples look better, love, brimming with smiles ; Where was the harm in that least bit of flirting ? Chatting with Kate as she sat-on the stair — Could you imagine I meant to be hurting, Trifling, or trying to cause you a care ? Man is but mortal, and hard have I striven, Tell me, my pretty one — Am I forgiven ? III. Am I forgiven ? A sin one confesses. Surely, my darling, is almost atoned — Pitying glances and tender caresses, Show me already my fault is condoned ; AMANTIUM IK^. 169 Sunshine at last, and of tears no more traces, Sweet smiles are striving to drive away sighs. Pleasure o'erflushes the fairest of faces, Love is aglow in the brightest of eyes ! Faith nursed by charity ever has thriven — What do you say, darhng ? — Am I forgiven ? A BREEZY BALLAB. LD March flings golden tresses Over faces soft and sweet, And romps with skirts and dresses, Showing pretty legs and feet : Each dimpled darling flushes, Looking coyly arch and fair, With wealth of blooming blushes, Seen through tangled mass of hair ! A BREEZY BALLAD. 171 II. He comes down in a bustle From the mountains and the hills — Makes sheeny skirts to rustle When revealing snowy frills. He'll ruffle each gay feather, On these dainty little ducks — Show boots of untanned leather 'Neath their petticoats in tucks ! HI. Your nerves he may be shocking, When, some breezy afternoon, He shows a silken stocking ' Or some silver-buckled shoon : And p'r'aps you may be able, 'Mid the surging broidered clothes, To see boots edged with sable, With some quaintly-stripen hose. 172 A BREEZY BALLAD. IV. O'er sealskin smooth he passes, And will make its surface rough ; He'll chap red lips of lasses, And he'll knot a monkey muff : But bright eyes still beam brighter — While each beauty looks more arch — Light spirits yet grow lighter, 'JSTeath the bracing breeze of March ! TANGLE LOCK. a Sftctcfjct's Snng. 5 H ! a rare old I^ock was Tangle ; you could sketch there or could angle, You could dream or moon or meditate all through the summer hours ; With its lime-trees all a-quiver, by the swiftly-flowing river, With its vines and grateful greenery, its beehives and its bowers. 174 TANGLE LOCK. II. 'Twas a miniature collection of rare pictures in per- fection, 'Twas the rarest combination of bright flowers, fruit, and trees ; There were honeysuckles tender, there were roses in their splendour, ' And hollyhocks of every tint scarce nodding in the breeze. III. That quaint sunny porch rose-laden, and the soft- eyed trustful maiden, With the tangled briar dipping in the tuneful brawling brook ; And the elms grand shadows flinging, with the grave old rooks there swinging, Were, I thought, the sort of pictures to be painted in my book. TANGLE LOCK. 175 IV. 'Neath the limes so cool and shady, came a gentle little lady, Very often in the morning to our pleasant sketch- ing-place ; In the daintiest of dresses, and sweet freshly-braided tresses, With a rosebud in her bosom and a smile upon her face ! V. She was young and fair and simple, and on either cheek a dimple Seemed to ask for lover's kisses, and her Christian name was Kate j Her grey eyes were soft and tender, and her figure lithe and slender, And her lips were round and ruddy, while her years scarce doubled eight ! 176 TANGLE LOCK. VI. While the solemn rooks were cawing, she would slyly watch me drawing, And I'd try to read the meaning of those eloquent grey eyes \ In their undefined expression, did I find a mute con- fession, Which half justified their drooping, and accounted for her sighs. VII. 'Twas thus I saw and drew her, and I thus began to woo her. To the humming of the dragon-fly and murmur of the stream ; Might I really then caress her? Could I venture then to press her Little hand, or was I sleeping through a lovely summer dream ? TANGLE LOCK. 177 VIII. If you'd listen to my story, I would tell you of the glory, Of the laziness and languor of those sleepy summer days: I could tell of woodland roaming and soft whispers in the gloaming. Of the laughter and the love-making and lotos- eating laze ! I could tell of ballad-singing, and a sweet voice clearly ringing, To the queer old square piano in the quaint old- fashioned room ; Of those silent moments golden, of a dainty waist enfolden, While the sweet grey eyes of Katie gladly glittered in the gloom ! 178 TANGLE LOCK. X. P'r'aps my taste for art diminished, for my picture ne'er was finished — Though I made of Kate a study long before I did depart, Which I gave unto her father, for myself reserving rather The sweet study of a trustful and a loving little heart ! LOVE-LOCKS.