SWEET bud of life! thy future doom
Is present to my eyes,
And joyously I see thee bloom
In Fortune's fairest skies.
One day that breast, scarce conscious now,
Shall burn with patriot flame;
And, fraught with love, that little brow
Shall wear the wreath of Fame.
When I am dead, dear boy! thou 'It take
These lines to thy regard-
Imprint them on thy heart, and make
A Prophet of the Bard!
WHIRLED by the steam's impetuous breath, I marked yon engine's mighty wheel; How fast it forged the arms of death,
And moulded adamantine steel !
that life-like scene to stop,
The steam's impetuous breath to chill,
It needed but one single drop
Of water cold- - and all was still!
Even so, one tear by ** shed,
It kills the bliss that once was mine; And rapture from my heart is fled,
Who caused a tear to heart like thine.
FORLORN DITTY ON RED-RIDING-HOOD.
FORLORN DITTY ON RED-RIDING-HOOD.
BRIGHTER than gem ever polished by jeweller,
Fairer than flower that in garden e'er grew !
Yet I'm sorry to say that to me you've been crueller
Than the wolf in the fable to granny and you!
I once was a fat man the merriest of jokers;
But my phiz now 's as lank as an old Jewish broker's,
And I toddle about on two legs thin as pokers,
Lamenting the lovely Red-Riding-Hood's scorn!
I cannot eat food, and I cannot recover sleep:
Madden can cure all his patients but me!
And I verily think, when I've taken the Lover's leap,
That my heart, like a cinder, will hiss in the sea!
Little Red-Riding-Hood! why won't you speak to me?
Your cause of offence is all Hebrew and Greek to me !
I conjure a compassionate smile on your cheek to me,
By all the salt tears that have scalded my nose!
When I drown myself, punsters will pun in each coterie,
Saying, "Strangely his actions and words were at strife!
For the fellow determined his bier should be watery-
Though he vowed that he hated small beer all his life!"
Yes, cruel maiden! when least o''t thou thinkest,
I'll hie to the sea-beach ere yonder sun sink west;
And the verdict shall be, of the Coroner's Inquest
"He died by the lovely Red-Riding-Hood's scorn!"
JOSEPH MARRYAT, M.P.
MARRYAT, farewell! thy outward traits expressed
A manliness of nature, that combined
The thinking head and honorable breast.
In thee thy country lost a leading mind;
Yet they who saw not private life draw forth
Thy heart's affections knew but half thy worth -
A worth that soothes even Friendship's bitterest sigh,
To lose thee; for thy virtues sprung from Faith,
And that high trust in Immortality
Which reason hinteth, and religion saith
Shall best enable man, when he has trod
Life's path, to meet the mercy of his GOD!
My mind is my kingdom; but, if thou wilt deign
To sway there a queen without measure,
Then come, o'er my wishes and homage to reign,
And make it an empire of pleasure!
Then of thoughts and emotions, each mutinous crowd,
That rebelled at stern Reason and Duty,
Returning, shall yield all their loyalty proud
To the halcyon dominion of Beauty!
What arm that entwines thee need envy the fame
Of conquest, in War's bloody story?
Thy smiles are my triumphs-my motto thy name;
And thy picture, my 'scutcheon of Glory!
ALL mortal joys I could forsake,
Bid home and friends adieu !
Of life itself a parting take,
For sure, of all that know thy worth,
This bosom beats most true;
And where could I behold on earth
Another form like you, my love-
ON ACCIDENTALLY POSSESSING AND RETURNING MISS
B'S PICTURE.
I KNOW not, Lady, which commandment
In painting this the artist's hand meant
To make us chiefly break;
But sure the owner's bliss I covet,
And half would, for possession of it,
Turn thief and risk my neck.
Yet, as Prometheus rued the fetching
Of fire from Heaven to light his kitchen,
So, if I stole this treasure
To warm my fancy at the light
Of those young eyes, perhaps I might
Repent it at my leisure.
An old man for a young maid dying,
Grave forty-five for nineteen sighing,
Would merit Wisdom's stricture!
And so, to save myself from kindling,
As well as being sued for swindling,
I send you back the picture.
I GAVE my love a chain of gold
Around her neck to bind;
She keeps me in a faster hold,
And captivates my mind.
Methinks that mine's the harder part:
Whilst 'neath her lovely chin
She carries links outside her heart,
My fetters are within!
TO MARY SINCLAIR, WITH A VOLUME OF HIS
POEMS.
Go, simple Book of Ballads, go
From Eaton-street, in Pimlico;
It is a gift, my love to show
And, more its value to increase,
I swear, by all the gods of Greece,
It cost a seven-shilling piece
But what is gold, so bright that looks,
Or all the coins of miser's nooks,
Compared to be in thy good books—
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