ONCE on a time it happened as I was lounging in the Vatican I met an old friend of mine, a very leárned mán
"Now I could almost swear I know the very man you mean; A shilling to a penny, it has Cardinal Mai been."
Done! and you've lost your bet for these weighty reasons two: He's neither learned nor a friend of mine, that pippin-hearted Jew;
Unless you count it learning, to be perpetually men's ears boring
With his scouring of old book-shelves, and pálimpsest restoring, And unless you call it friendship that twice my hand he shook And kissed me on both cheeks, and took a present of my book; So much as this of his Eminence I learned three years ago, And more than this of his Eminence I don't desire to know. So to go back to where I was when you interrupted me: - "I'm heartily glad," said I, "my good old friend to see; And are you very well? and when did you come to Rome? And what is it brings you here? and how are all at home?” "I'm very well," said he, "and at home I left all well, And since yesterday I'm here, and now please to me tell How things are going on here, and what 's the newest news With the Pope or the Consulta or your own sweet Irish Muse." "As for my Muse," said I for I always put her first "Of all places in the wide world Rome is for her the worst, For she's always kept so busy here gazing round on every side With uplifted hands and open mouth and eyelids staring wide On painting, arch and statue, pillar, obelisk and dome And all the thousand wonders of ever wondrous Rome,
That I can't get one word out of her let me teaze her as I may Except "Please let me alone, Sir," and "I'll do no work today." And as for the Consulta, it doesn't consult with me,
And if it did I doubt me much 'twere long ere we 'd agree. And then as to his Holiness, I hope you don't suppose" And here I looked as wise as I could and clapped my finger on my nose
"Dear Sir, has anything happened or do you anything know?". "Not I indeed, my good friend, or I'd have told you long ago; But this much I can tell you and I doubt not but it 's true, And remember what I say now 's strictly between me and you: This building here's the Vatican, this city is called Rome And mum about his Holiness until we both get home." Walking from Worms to Kreuznach in Rhenish PRUSSIA, Oct. 27—–28, 1854.
I WISH I were that little mouse Thát no rent pays for his house, That neither sows nor reaps nor tills, Bút his plúmp, round belly fills With cheesepárings or a slice, Léft on my pláte, of bacon nice. Soón as spread night's raven shades Ánd to bed are boys and maids And silence thé whole house pervades, Moúsey póps nose, whiskers out,
Sniffs the air and looks about The coast is clear; right joyfully Oút on the carpet canters he To take his pleasure all the night And spórt aboút till morning light. He has not on lazy groom to wait, Coáchman and équipage of state;
He has not to shave, brush, tie cravat,
Look for gloves, cane, cárds and hat, This countermánd and order that,
But always ready dressed and trim,
And sleek and smooth, sound wind and limb, Springs out light-heárt upon the floor, Cápers from window to the door, From door to window, many a race
Takes round the washboard and surbáse, Nibbles the crúst I 've purposely
Dropped on the crumbcloth while at tea, Climbs up the wainscot, and a swing Véntures upon the béllpull ring; Or scales the leg of the escritoire, Squeezes intó th' half open drawer, Among the papers plays about
A mínute or two, then scampers out, And past the inkstand as he goes With such a curl turns up his nose As thorough-bred gentility shows And that your moúsey 's too well born Not to hold literature in scorn.
So happy moúsey sports away The livelong night till dáwning day, And only then of slúmber thinks
When through the window-shutter chinks Long streaks of light fall on the floor
And milk-pail clink at the hall door
Announces man's return to toil,
Fresh cáre and sórrow, cark and coil,
Ánd that anón into the room
Will burst with sweeping-brush and broom
Dówdy Lisetta, half awake,
Her fússy morning round to take,
Dust táble, sófa, sideboard, chair;
Throw up the sash to let in air, Pólish the irons, light the fire Moúsey, it's time you should retire And leave your hápless neighbour, man, To enjoy his daylight as he can While you lie napping snug, till night Invites you out to new delight
Ah! moúsey, if you 'd change with me
How happy in your place I'd be!
Walking from BRUCHSAL to HEIDELBERG, and at HEIDELBERG; Octob. 17 and 24, 1854.
To the key of my strong box.
THREE HREE things thou testifiest, careful key: First that there is on earth something material Vile therefore and corrupt and perishable Which yét my fine, imperishable soul Prízes, esteéms and cares for; secondly That I'm the happy owner of such treasure; And thirdly that I've found a talisman Wherewith to guárd it from the covetous eye And often thiévish, sometimes burglar, hands Óf the innumerable hordes whose fine,
Ethérial, heáven-sprung, heáven-returning spirits Pursue with appetite keéner even than mine And more unscrúpulous, the chase of Earth's
Despised, reviled, repúdiated riches.
Walking from HEIDELBERG to FRANKENTHAL in the PALATINATE, Octob. 26, 1854.
Says my cát, looking blué: "Sir, I don't purr at you,
And I mean you no hárm;
"Twere a pity that wé
Should just thén least agreé
When we 're móst snug and warm."
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