LOVE LANE. IF I should love a maiden more, One even, by a mossy bank, To Ellen on my knees I sank, – A bashful fear my soul unnerved, At length my offer I preferred, I vowed to give her all my heart, But when I ventured to abide Nay, when beginning to beseech The answer was as strange a speech- I spoke of fortune house, and lands, "Tis vain to talk of hopes and fears, "Tis vain to call the dearest names What checked me in my fond address, To list to Philomel is sweet Sweet is the eventide, and kind At last, emboldened by my bliss, For when I strove to snatch a kiss She screamed — by proxy, through an owl! Then, lovers, doomed to life or death, DOMESTIC POEMS. 'It's hame, hame, hame."-A. CUNNINGHAM. I. HYMENEAL RETROSPECTIONS. O KATE! my dear partner, through joy and through strife! When I look back at Hymen's dear day, Not a lovelier bride ever changed to a wife, Though you're now so old, wizened, and gray! 'Those eyes, then, were stars, shining rulers of fate! But as liquid as stars in a pool; Though now they're so dim, they appear, my dear Kate, That brow was like marble, so smooth and so fair; As if Time, when those furrows were made by the share, Your nose, it was such as the sculptors all chose, Though now it can hardly be reckoned a nose, Your mouth, it was then quite a bait for the bees, Your chin, it was one of Love favorite haunts, How rich were those locks, so abundant and full, That neck, not a swan could excel it in grace, Your figure was tall, then, and perfectly straight, II. THE sun was slumbering in the west, my daily labors past; On Anna's soft and gentle breast my head reclined at last! The darkness closed around, so dear to fond congenial souls; And thus she murmured at my ear, "My love, we're out of coals! "That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent; And all the Todds are coming up to see us, out of Kent; "Miss Bell has bought the sweetest silk, and I have bought the rest Of course, if we go out of town, Southend will be the best. I really think the Jones's house would be the thing for us; I think I told you Mrs. Pope had parted with her nus. "Cook, by the way, came up to-day, to bid me suit myself And what d'ye think? the rats have gnawed the victuals on the shelf. And, Lord! there's such a letter come, inviting you to fight! Of course you don't intend to go - God bless you, dear, good-night!" III. A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS. THOU happy, happy elf! - first let me kiss away that tear) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear! ) Thou merry, laughing sprite! With spirits feather-light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin (Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!) |