THE POET'S PORTION.

WHAT is a mine-a treasury-a dower-
A magic talisman of mighty power?
A poet's wide possession of the earth.
He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth
Before its budding-ere the first red streaks,
And Winter cannot rob him of their cheeks.

Look-if his dawn be not as other men's!
Twenty bright flushes-ere another kens
The first of sunlight is abroad-he sees
Its golden 'lection of the topmost trees,
And opes the splendid fissures of the morn.

When do his fruits delay, when doth his corn
Linger for harvesting? Before the leaf
Is commonly abroad, in his pil'd sheaf
The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame.

No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name,
But he will sip it first-before the lees.
'Tis his to taste rich honey,-ere the bees
Are busy with the brooms. He may forestall
June's rosy advent for his coronal;

Before th' expectant buds upon the bough,

Twining his thoughts to bloom upon his brow.

Oh! blest to see the flower in its seed,
Before its leafy presence; for indeed

Leaves are but wings on which the summer flies
And each thing perishable fades and dies,
Escap'd in thought; but his rich thinkings be
Like overflows of immortality:

So that what there is steep'd shall perish never,

But live and bloom, and be a joy for ever.

ODE TO THE CAMELEOPARD.

WELCOME to Freedom's birth-place—and a den! Great Anti-climax, hail!

So very lofty in thy front-but then,

So dwindling at the tail!—

In truth, thou hast the most unequal legs!
Has one pair gallop'd, whilst the other trotted,
Along with other brethren, leopard-spotted,
O'er Afric sand, where ostriches lay eggs?
Sure thou wert caught in some hard uphill chase,
Those hinder heels still keeping thee in check!
And yet thou seem'st prepared in any case,
Tho' they had lost the race,

To win it by a neck!

That lengthy neck-how like a crane's it looks!
Art thou the overseer of all the brutes?

Or dost thou browze on tip-top leaves or fruits

Or go a bird-nesting amongst the rooks?
How kindly nature caters for all wants;
Thus giving unto thee a neck that stretches,
And high food fetches-

To some a long nose, like the elephant's!

Oh! had'st thou any organ to thy bellows,
To turn thy breath to speech in human style,
What secrets thou might'st tell us,
Where now our scientific guesses fail;
For instance of the Nile,

Whether those Seven Mouths have any tail—
Mayhap thy luck too,

From that high head, as from a lofty hill,

Has let thee see the marvellous Timbuctoo

Or drink of Niger at its infant rill;

What were the travels of our Major Denham,
Or Clapperton, to thine

In that same line,

If thou could'st only squat thee down and pen 'em!

Strange sights, indeed, thou must have overlook'd,
With eyes held ever in such vantage-stations!
Hast seen, perchance, unhappy white folks cook'd,
And then made free of negro corporations?

Poor wretches saved from cast away three-deckers-
By sooty wreckers-

From hungry waves to have a loss still drearier,
To far exceed the utmost aim of Park-

And find themselves, alas! beyond the mark,
In the insides of Africa's Interior!

Live on, Giraffe! genteelest of raff kind!
Admir'd by noble, and by royal tongues!
May no pernicious wind,

Or English fog, blight thy exotic lungs !
Live on in happy peace, altho' a rarity,
Nor envy thy poor cousin's more outrageous
Parisian popularity;

Whose very leopard-rash is grown contagious,
And worn on gloves and ribbons all about,
Alas! they'll wear him out!

So thou shalt take thy sweet diurnal feeds-
When he is stuff'd with undigested straw,
Sad food that never visited his jaw!
And staring round him with a brace of beads!

JOHN TROT.

A BALLAD

I.

JOHN TROT he was as tall a tad
As York did ever rear-

As his dear Granny used to say,
He'd make a grenadier.

II.

A serjeant soon came down to York,
With ribbons and a frill:

My lads, said he, let broadcast be,
And come away to drill.

111.

But when he wanted John to list,

In war he saw no fun,

Where what is call'd a raw recruit,

Gets often over-done.

IV.

Let others carry guns, said he,
And go to war's alarms,
But I have got a shoulder-knot
Impos'd upon my arms.

V.

For John he had a footman's place
To wait on Lady Wye-

She was a dumpy woman, tho'

Her family was high.

VI.

Now when two years had past away,
Her Lord took very ill,

And left her to her widowhood,
Of course more dumpy still.

VII.

Said John, I am a proper man,

Ard very tall to see;

Who knows, but now her Lord is low.

She may look up to me?

VIII.

A cunning woman told me once.

Such fortune would turn up; She was a kind of sorceress,

But studied in a cup!

IX.

So he walk'd up to Lady Wye,
And took her quite amazed,—

She thought, tho' John was tall enough,

He wanted to be raised.

X.

But John-for why? she was a dame

Of such a dwarfish sort

Had only come to bid her make

Her mourning very short.

XI.

Said he, your Lord is dead and cold,

You only cry in vain;

Not all the Cries of London now,
Could call him back again!

XII.

You'll soon have many a noble beau,

To dry your noble tears—

But just consider this, that I

Have follow'd you for years.

XIII.

And tho' you are above me far,
What matters high degree,
When you are only four foot nine

And I am six foot three?