Tickler, Or, Monthly Compendium of Good Things, in Prose and Verse: Blending ...

Unconscious yet of pleasure's latent sting,
Hope toys with grief, and transport smiles at care;
We bask beneath the genial warmth of spring;
Our minds serene, and all our prospects fair.
Fair as thou art, how transient is thy bloom!
Soon hope shall wanton in thy train no more;
Soon disappointment shed its sullen gloom,
Fade every sweet, and wither every flower.

Then first attentive to the voice of truth,

We learn how fast thy tempting charms decay;
And find, with late regret, that flattering youth
Charms to deceive, and smiles but to betray.

Ah! could ye still be guiltless as ye seem,
As free from sorrow, as estranged from care;
What wish would shorten your enchanting dream,
Or cloud your pleasures with the gloom of fear!

But longer travell'd in this changing state,
Experience shudders at the latent guile;
And pity, trembling for your future fate,
Sighs at your bliss, and weeps to see you smile!

Of op'ning sense few traces yet appear,
Yours is the careless smile, the vacant thought;
The sigh that breathes no real woe; the tear,
Shed without sorrow, and when shed forgot.

Of vanished scenes and sweet enjoyments past,
No fond remembrance wakes the pensive sigh;
No gloomy presages your joys o'ercast,
What unfelt pains the future may supply.

Life, of its treasures prodigal, imparts
To you the fairest hours it has to spare,
And in gay eddies circles round your hearts,
Frolic, as infant sports, and light as air.

Ah! little heed ye, triflers, as ye are,
That life's gay morning borne on sportive wing,
Which breathes such vernal sweets, and blooms
so fair;

Soon chilled by winter, finds no second spring.

Then prize the present hour, for who can say,
Ye smiling sons of innocence and ease,
What dreary scenes may mark your future way,
Corrupt your virtue, or destroy your peace.

To you the mazy labyrinth of life,
Perhaps, a weary pilgrimage may prove;
Strew'd with the thorns of hate, revenge, or strife,
Friendship betrayed, or disappointed love.

Perhaps adversity may mark your course,
Or guilt, more dreaded, your companion be;
A prey in disappointment or remorse,
Children of sorrow, or of infamy.

Oh, melancholy prospect! happier they,
By pitying heaven, snatched early to the sky;
Just shown on earth, the phantoms of a day,
Born in this moment; in the next to die!

UNPUBLISHED POEM OF LORD BYRON.

Faithless, from my heart I wring thee;
Worthless, to the winds I fling thee;
Hopeless of my wish'd endeavour—
Thus we part-and part for ever!

Faithless be the hearts that mind thee;
Worthless be the chains that bind thee;
Hopeless be thy bright to-morrow-
Thus we part-be thine the sorrow!
Faithless as thy fading beauty;
Worthless of a lover's duty;
Hopeless be of ought endearing;
Ever changing, cheating, veering!

My waking day-dreams thought they found thee,
With truth's bright halo wreath'd around thee;
But, foul deceit-I saw the token-
The vision fled-the dream was broken!!

CUPID'S PLUMES.

As I cheerfully stray'd by the Cam's winding side
With Hebe, the maid of my heart;

In a tuft of green sedges we Cupid espy'd,
Culling feathers to furnish a dart.

Undiscern'd by the urchin we silent remain'd,

His labours attentively view'd;

While the arch little wag, by his song thus explain'd.

The mystical work he pursu'd!

"So various in temper the females are found,

'My art to a science I've brought: ""Tis by practical knowledge I now fix the wound, "To rule o'er the sex as I ought.

"For the talkative Miss, pert, loquacious, and loud,

"From the Parrot's green wing I provide: "And the Jay's gaudy plumage shall reach in the crowd

"The Minx that is fashion'd by pride.

"From the sorrowful warbler that sings in the grove,

"Sad Philomel, plaintively sweet, "Some feathers I've stol'n for despondents in love, To soften their woes in retreat:

For the painted Coquet, most affectedly vain,

The Peacock has granted supply;

And to those who at midnight support Folly's train,

"Owl-wing'd my keen arrows shall fly."

Then, perceiv'd by his Godship, he gaz'd with surprise;

And seeing us move to depart,

"Here's Modesty's portion," exulting, he cries, And lodg'd it in Hebe's pure heart.

To my arms the chaste maiden then instantly flew, And bade me the anguish remove;

From her bosom with rapture the arrow I drew, Fledg'd with down from the breast of a Dove.

THE THIEF.

I tell with equal truth and grief
That Chloe is an arrant thief;
Before the urchin well could go

She stole the whiteness of the snow.
And more that whiteness to adorn,
She stole the blushes of the morn.
Stole all the softness ether pours
On primrose buds in vernal showers.
There's no repeating all her wiles;
She stole the Graces winning smiles:
'Twas quickly seen she robb'd the sky,
To plant a star in either eye;
She pilfered orient pearl for teeth,
And stole the cow's ambrosial breath;
The cherry, steep'd in morning dew,
Gave moisture to her lips, and hue.
These were her infant spoils-a store
To which in time she added more:
At twelve she stole from Cyprus' Queen
Her air, and love-commanding mein.
Stole Juno's dignity, and stole
From Pallas, sense to charm the soul:
She sung-Amazed the Sirens heard,
And to assert their voice appear'd.
She play'd-the Muses from their hill
Wonder'd who thus had stole their skill.
Apollo's wit was next her prey,
And then the beams that light the day.
While Jove, her pilfering thefts to crown,
Pronounc'd these beauties all her own;
Pardon'd her crimes, and praised her art,
And t'other day she stole my heart.—
Cupid, if lovers are thy care,
Revenge thy votary on the fair;
Do justice on her stolen charms,
And let her prison be my arins.

THE STAGE COACH.

Resolv'd to visit a far distant friend, A porter to the Bull and Gate I send, And bid the slave at all events engage Some place or other, in the Chester stage. The slave returns, 'tis done as soon as said"Your honour's sure, when once the money's paid."

Thy brother whip, impatient of delay,

Puts to at three, and swears he cannot stay.Four dismal hours to come ere break of day. Rouzed from sound sleep, thrice call'd, at length I rise,

Yawning with outstretch'd arms, and half-clos
eyes.

By steps and lantern enter the machine,
And take my place, how cordially! between
Two aged matrons of excessive bulk,
To mend the matter, too, of meaner folk;
Whilst in like mode, jamm'd in, on t'other side,
A bullying captain and a fair one ride;
Foolish as fair, and in her lap a toy,
Our plague eternal, but her only joy.
At last, the glorious number to complete,
Steps in my landlord, for the bodkin-seat;
When soon by every hillock, rut, and stone,
Into each other's face by turns we're thrown.
This Gran'am scolds, that coughs, the captain

A person had been telling many incredible stories. In order to repress this impertinence, Professor Engle, who happened to be present, said, "But, Gentlemen, all this amounts to very little, when I can assure you the celebrated organist, Abbe Vogler, once imitated a thunder-storm so well, that for miles round all the milk turned sour!"

RUBBISH. In a cause respecting a will, at Derby assizes, evidence was given to prove the testatrix, (an apothecary's wife) a lunatic; and, amongst other things, it was deposed that she had swept a quantity of pots, lotions, potions, &c. into the street, as rubbish. "I doubt," said the Learned Judge, "whether sweeping physic into the street be any proof of insanity. "True, my Lord," replied the Counsel, “but sweeping the pots away certainly was,”

And yet, perhaps, ere one short moon glides by,
They'll pass thy grave unconscious of a sigh.
Unhappy man, whose sorrow thus and joy
With different ills, alternately annoy-
Who follows friendship, weeping to the grave,
And ne'er takes warning how himself to save.

THE ADDRESS OF A SEXTON TO A BRIDE
JUST MARRIED.

Poets I have heard with all their rhymes and riddling,

Have but one god for physic, and for fiddling; So I, poor Bard, these dogged rhymes perplex'd on,

Forc'd to compare Hyperion to a Sexton!
Preside like him, two different walks adorning,
O'er rites of matrimony and of mourning:
Devoted daily different guests to greet,
Deck'd for their wedding or their winding sheets
Mark, then, O Lady! mark the moral Sexton,
Who might this case quote many a clerkly text on:
As how to-day the rye-grass fresh that's growing,
Betimes to-morrow, Good-man Death is mowing.
May you, sweet Bride, bloom red and fair in
clover,

And wag your blossoms many a summer over;
For soon or late must you, and many another,
Like this same grass, be cut, and cock'd for
fother!

ON A WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. Launch'd on this changeful sea of life With thee, joint pilot, help-mate, wife! Our Union bark, with vent'rous prow, Set sail just twenty years ago. Love was our load-star, Hope our chart, Our richest cargo-truth of heart. Prudence, and Industry, in turn, Directed at the head and stern. These made our vessel safely sail, 'Mid many a rough and trying gale; These made us steer, o'er rock and sand, To calm contentment's peaceful strand: And still, with "Providence our guide," May aid us smoothly on to glide, Till, every shoal and quicksand past, The havon of Heaven be our's at last.

WOODEN WALLS.

Our "Wooden Walls" were long the Patriot toast,
Soon wooden Cavalry shall be our boast;
And when some Wellington to conquest leads
Our new-built squadron of-Velocipedes,
What foe will dare our prowess to withstand,
Borne on our native oak o'er sea and land?

(From "Hero and Leander, and Bacchus and
Ariadne; two original Poems.”)
By LEIGH HUNT.

At last, with twinkle o'er a distant tower,
. A star appeared that was to shew the hour.
The virgin saw; and going to a room
Which held an altar burning with perfume,
Cut off a lock of her dark solid hair,
And laid it, with a little whispered prayer,
Before a statue, that of marble bright
Sat smiling downwards o'er the rosy light.
Then at the flame the torch of gold she lit,
And o'er her head anxiously holding it,
Ascended to the roof; and leaning there,
Lifted its light into the darksome air.

The boy beheld,--beheld it from the sea, And parted his wet locks, and breathed with gice, And rose, in swimming, more triumphantly.

He had not long left home; but at the shore He made no stay; his eye but just ran o'er The hills behind; and stripping him, he laid His clothes within a nook some holm-trees made, And o'er the pebbles, in his naked pride, Trampling the surf rushed down into the tide.

Smooth was the sea that night, the lover strong,
And in the springy waves he danced along.
He rose, he dipped his breast, he aimed, he cut
With his clear arms and from before him put
The parting waves, and in and out the air

His shoulders felt, and trailed his washing hair;
But when he saw the torch, oh, how he sprung,
And thrust his feet against the waves, and flung
The foam behind, as though he scorned the sea,
And parted his wet locks, and breathed with glee,
And rose, and panted, most triumphantly!

Arrived at last on shallow ground, he saw
The flaring light, as if in haste, withdraw.
Again it issued just above the door

With a white hand, and vanished as before.
Then rising, with a sudden-ceasing sound
Of wateriness, he stood on the firm ground,
And treading up a little slippery bank,
With jutting myrtles mixed, and verdure dank,
Came to a door ajar,—all hushed, all blind
With darkness; yet he guessed who stood behind;
And entering with a turn, the breathless youth
Slid round a gentle cheek, and kissed a warm
kind mouth.

THE DEATH OF LEANDER,

BY THE SAME.

Meantime the sun had sunk; the hilly mark
Across the straits mixed with the mightier dark,
And night came on. All noises by degrees
Were hush'd, the fisher's call, the birds, the
trees,

All but the washing of the eternal seas,

Hero looked out, and trembling augured ill, The darkness held its breath so very still. But yet she hoped he might arrive before The storm began, or not be far from shore; And crying, as she stretched forth in the air, "Bless him!" she turned, and said a tearful prayer,

But what? the torch gone out! So long too! See,
He thinks it comes! Ah, yes!-'tis she! 'tis she!
Again he springs; and though the winds arise
Fiercer and fiercer, swims with ardent eyes;
And always, though with ruffian waves dashed
hard,

Turns thither with glad groan his stout regard;
And always, though his sense seems washed away,
Emerges, fighting tow'rds the cordial ray,

But driven about at last, and drench'd the while,
The noble boy loses that inward smile.
For now, from one black atmosphere, the rain
Sweeps into stubborn mixture with the main;
And the brute wind, unmuffling all its roar,
Storms; and the light, gone out, is seen no

more.

Then dreadful thoughts of death, of waves heaped on him,

And friends, and parting daylight rush upon him, He thinks of prayers to Neptune and his daugh ters,

And Venus, Hero's queen, sprung from the waters;

And then of Hero only,-how she fares,

And what she'll feel, when the blank morn ap.

pears;

And at that thought he stiffens once again
His limbs, and pants, and strains, and climbs→→→
in vain.

Fierce draughts he swallows of the wilful wave,
His tossing hands are lax, his blind look grave,
Till the poor youth (and yet no coward he)
Spoke once her name, and yielding wearily,
Wept in the middle of the scornful sea,

YOUTH.

By a young Lady, now dead,

Gay happy state, when life begins to bloom,
Breathes forth its sweets, and opens all its flowers;
When sanguine hope, in fancy's flexile loom,
Weaves the gay prospect of our future hours,

And mounted to the tower, and shook the torch's Sweet morn of life! untinctured with its pain,

flare.

But he, Leander, almost half across,
Threw his blithe looks behind him with a toss,
And hailed the light victoriously, secure
Of clasping his kind love, so sweet and sure;
When suddenly a blast, as if in wrath,
Sheer from the hills, came headlong on his path;
Then started off; and driving round the sea,
Dashed up the panting waters roaringly.
The youth at once was thrust beneath the main
With blinded eyes, but quickly rose again,
And with a smile at heart, and stouter pride,
Surmounted, like a god, the roaring tide.

Glowing with ardour, and with transport warni
"Love, hope, and joy, fair pleasure's smiling
train,"

Sport in gay circles round thy smiling form,
On thee we gaze, with fascinated eyes,
Nor heed the moments as they glide away;
For thou art fair as fancy can devise,
Sprightly as health, and as contentment gay,

Oh! ye, just entered on her tempting sphere,
Who join with beating hearts her jocund throng,
Hemm'dround with gilded snares, and soon to hear
Folly's gay call, and pleasure's syren song,

my black silk breeches were not stout enough to save me from the painful effects of this sudden fomentation, and for some minutes my legs and thighs seemed stewing in a boiling caudron; but recollecting how Sir Thomas had disguised his torture, when I trod upon his toe, I firmly bore my pain in silence, and sat with my lower extremities parboiled, amidst the stifled giggling of the ladies and the servants. I will not relate the several blunders which I made during the first course, or the distress occasioned by my being desired to carve a fowl, or help to various dishes that stood near me, spilling a sauce-boat, and knocking down a salt-seller; rather let me hasten to the second course, where fresh disasters overwhelmed me quite."

3-one

gave

I had a piece of rich sweet pudding on my fork, when Miss Louisa Friendly begged to trouble me for a pigeon that stood near me; in my haste, scarce knowing what I did, I whipped the pudding into my mouth, hot as a burning coal; it was impossible to conceal my agony, my eyes were starting from their sockets. At last, in spite of shame and resolution, I was obliged to drop the cause of torment on my plate. Sir Thomas and the Ladies all compassionated my misfortune, and each advised a different application;recommended oil, another water, but all agreed that wine was best for drawing out the fire; and a glass of sherry was brought me from the sideboard, which I snatched up with eagerness:-but, oh! how shall I tell the sequel?Whether the butler by accident mistook, or purposely designed to drive me mad, he me the strongest brandy, with which I filled my mouth, already flea'd and blistered; totally unused to every kind of ardent spirits, with my tongue, throat, and palate, as raw as beef, what could I do? I could not swallow, and, clapping my hands upon my mouth, the cursed liquor squirted through my nose and fingers like a fountain, over all the dishes; and I crushed by bursts of laughter from all quarters. In vain did Sir Thomas reprimand the servants, and Lady Friendly chide her daughters; for the measure of my shame and their diversion was not yet complete. relieve me from the intolerable state of perspi ration, which this accident had caused, without considering what I did, I wiped my face with that ill-fated handkerchief, which was still wet from the consequences of the fall of Xenophon, and covered all my features with streaks of ink in every direction. The Baronet himself could not support this shock, but joined his Lady in the general laugh; while I sprung from the table in despair, rushed out of the house, and ran home in an agony of confusion and disgrace, which the most poignant sense of guilt could have excited.

Thus, without having deviated from the path of moral rectitude, I am suffering torments like a "goblin damn'd." The lower

DR. TUDWAY.-The celebrated Dr. Tudwa having been dangerously ill of a quinsy, an unable for some time to swallow either food a medicine, the Physician who attended him a length said to Mrs. Tudway, "Courage. Madam, the Doctor will get up May-hill yst he has swallowed some nourishment.' Tudwa, immediately rejoined─"Don't believe him. my dear; one swallow makes no summer."

An active groom advertizing for a place. represents himself a resident of Cripple-gate.

Naval Officer, why sailors generally take of NAVAL PUN.-A Gentleman enquiring of a their shirts on going into action, was answered that "they were unwilling to have any chec to fighting."

CHARLES BANNISTER. That inveterat punster, coming into a coffee-room one storing night, said, "He never saw such a wind in his heard of such a thing as seeing a wind; pray life.' "Saw a wind," says a friend, "I never

what was it like?" 'Like," answered Charles "like to have blown my hat off."

Satire.

A DESCRIPTION OF LONDON.

Houses, churches mixt together,
Streets unpleasant in all weather,
Prisons, palaces contiguous,
Gates, a bridge, the Thames irriguous.

Gaudy things enough to tempt ye, Showy outsides, inside empty; Bubbles, trades, mechanic arts, Coaches, wheelbarrows, and carts.

Warrants, bailiffs, bills unpaid,
Lords of laundresses afraid :
Rogues that nightly rob and shoot men.
Aldermen, hangmen, and footmen.

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Tickler, Or, Monthly Compendium of Good Things, in Prose and ..., Volúmenes1-3