Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, Good or bad a thousand-fold! How widely its agencies vary To save to ruin - to curse As even its minted coins express, Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary. A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS. THOU happy, happy elf! (But stop, - 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 !) Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire !) In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, There goes my ink!) Thou cherub - but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) Thy father's pride and hope! (He 'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint (Where did he learn that squint ? ) Thou young domestic dove! (He 'll have that jug off, with another shove!) Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest! (Are those torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life (He's got a knife!) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, My elfin John! Toss the light ball - bestride the stick (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose ! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) - Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star I cannot write, unless he's sent above!) MORNING MEDITATIONS. LET Taylor preach upon a morning breezy, By half as lying. What if the lark does carol in the sky, Talk not to me of bees and such like hums, A bed of time. To me Dan Phoebus and his car are nought, Right beautiful the dewy meads appear My stomach is not ruled by other men's, Why from a comfortable pillow start An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn, With charwomen such early hours agree, So here I'll lie, my morning calls deferring, 124 THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES. DREAM-PEDLARY. IF there were dreams to sell, Some cost a passing bell; Some a light sigh, That shakes from Life's fresh crown Only a rose leaf down. If there were dreams to sell, Merry and sad to tell, And the crier rung the bell, A cottage lone and still, Shadowy, my woes to still, Until I die. Such pearl from Life's fresh crown Fain would I shake me down. Were dreams to have at will, But there were dreams to sell Waking, to die. Dreaming a dream to prize, Which one would I? |