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My mother laughed; I soon found out
That ancient ladies have no feeling;
Find any happiness in kneeling?
She was the daughter of a dean,
Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic; She had one brother just thirteen,
Whose color was extremely hectic; Her grandmother, for many a year,
Had fed the parish with her bounty; Her second cousin was a peer,
And lord-lieutenant of the county.
But titles and the three per cents,
And mortgages, and great relations, And India bonds, and tithes and rents,
Oh! what are they to love's sensations ? Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks,
Such wealth, such honors, Cupid chooses; He cares as little for the stocks,
As Baron Rothschild for the muses.
She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach,
Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading; She botanized; I envied each
Young blossom in her boudoir fading;
She made the Catalina jealous;
For hours and hours and blow the bellows.
She kept an album, too, at home,
Well fill’d with all an album's glories; Paintings of butterflies and Rome,
Patterns for trimming, Persian stories; Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo,
Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter;
And recipes of elder water.
Her steps were watch'd, her dress was noted,
Her poodle dog was quite adored,
Her sayings were extremely quoted.
As if the taxes were abolish'd;
As if the opera were demolishd.
She smild on many just for fun
I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first the only one
Her heart thought of for a minute; I knew it, for she told me so,
In phrase which was divinely molded; She wrote a charming hand, and oh!
How sweetly all her notes were folded ! Our love was like most other loves
A little glow, a little shiver; A rosebud and a pair of gloves,
And “Fly Not Yet," upon the river; Some jealousy of some one's heir,
Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair,
The usual vows—and then we parted. We parted—months and years roll’d by;
We met again for summers after; Our parting was all sob and sigh
Our meeting was all mirth and laughter; For in my heart's most secret cell,
There had been many other lodgers; And she was not the ball-room belle,
But only Mrs.--Something-Rogers.
SORROWS OF WERTHER.
W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
Such as words could never utter;
know how first he met her? She was cutting bread and butter.
So he sighed and pined and ogled,
And his passion boiled and bubbled,
And no more was by it troubled.
Charlotte, having seen his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Went on cutting bread and butter.
THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS.
W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
["A surgeon of the United States army says, that on inquiring of the Captain of his company, he found that nine tenths of the men had enlisted on account of some female difficulty.")-Morning Paper.
Ye Yankee volunteers !
Though oft 'tis told one.
As in the Old one!
What-in this company
With fife and horn,
This Hope Folorn?
Deserters from the realm Where tyrant Venus reigns, You slipped her wicked chains,
Fled and out-ran her. And now, with sword and elm Together banded are Beneath the Stripe and Star
And so it is with all
And swords gold-hilted-
Has each been jilted ?
Come, each man of this line,
The fifer nimble-
The clanging cymbal
O cymbal-beating black,
Who caused thy ruin ?
With thy rat-tattooing.
Confess, ye volunteers,
As bold as Roman
Confess, ye grenadiers,
Is Woman, Woman!
No corselet is so proof,
Will pierce and rankle.
By her slim ankle.
Thus, always it has ruled,
The sage a noodle.
Poor Yankee Doodle!
COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY.
A POEM, IN TWO CANTOS.
CANTO THE FIRST.
FAIREST of earth! if thou wilt hear my vow,
Lo! at thy feet I swear to love thee ever; And by this kiss upon thy radiant brow,
Promise affection which no time shall sever; And love which e'er shall burn as bright as now,
To be extinguished-never, dearest, never ! Wilt thou that naughty, fluttering heart resign? CATHERINE! my own sweet Kate! wilt thou be mine?