Fix not on my first, fair lady,
Eyes that but for me should shine;
Let those fingers cease their labours,
Best engaged when linked in mine.
I remember those, the fingers
Which my silken second wove,
In a braid of quaintest texture,—
Gave it as a gage of love.
Oh, believe me, if that fond heart,
E'er from mine estranged should be,
I would take my whole, and sighing,
Bid farewell to life and thee!
Uncouth was I of face and form,
But strong to blast and blight,
By pestilence or thunder-storm,
By famine or by fight.
Not a warrior went to the battle plain,
Not a pilot steered the ship,
That did not look in doubt and pain
For an omen of havoc or hurricane
To my dripping brow or lip.
Within my second's dark recess
In silent pomp I dwelt,
Before the mouth in lowliness
My rude adorers knelt :
And ever the shriek rang loud within,
And ever the red blood ran;
And amid the sin, and smoke, and din
I sat with a changeless, endless grin,
Forging my first for man.
My priests are resting in their grave,
My shrine is silent now;
There is no victim in my cave,
No crown upon my brow:
Nothing is left but dust and clay
Of all they thought divine;
My name and memory pass away,
And yet one bright and glorious day
Is called by mortals, mine!
My first in Lombard's wealthy street
Follows many an honoured name;
My next, in sacred lone retreat,
Dwells all unknown to fame;
My third, when murky war-clouds lower,
Hath oft been beaten in the fray:
My whole, in evening's social hour,
May while dull time away.
15. My jovial first, from crabbed care
And dolorous moping free,
Finds cheery welcome everywhere,
From signor grave and damsel fair,
As the best of company.
My whole was the scene of a desperate fray,
Where blood was poured like rain,
Where now my second fights in play,
With his brethren all the summer's day,
Upon the peaceful plain.
16. O truth! deign to visit that isle of the west, Which, by aid of my first, braggart charlatans
Till firm as my second, thy throne, ever blest,
Shall be fixed in the light of a glorious day.
Then from deepest despair shall a nation arise,
Renewed in her youth and regenerate in soul,
And freed from false friends, disabused of their
lies,
Shall triumphantly garland her brows with my
17. My first was dark o'er earth and air,
As dark as she could be,
The stars that gemmed her ebon chair
Were only two or three;
King Cole saw twice as many there
As you or I could see.
'Away, King Cole," mine hostess said,
Flagon and flask are dry;
Your nag is neighing in the shed,
For he knows a storm is nigh."
She set my second on his head,
And she set it all awry!
He stood upright upon his legs;
Long life to good King Cole!
With wine and cinnamon, ale and eggs,
He filled a silver bowl;
He drained the draught to the very dregs,
And he called that draught my whole!
PRAED.
18. My first is the terror of timid and young,
My second disgraces the head and the tongue,
But when joined together, the grave and the wise
Are gained by my charms and allow me a prize.
MRS. DELANY.
19. My first is a liar, a cheat, a deceiver,
Yet by mortals will ever be courted;
For those are most blest who most fondly believe
her,
And the wretched by her are supported.
My second is neither so large nor so much.
My whole is a heart-piercing word;
For if we are that, its sad nature is such,
That no other can comfort afford.
20. What a good boy will do, when he chooses, at school,
To remember his lesson and not play the fool;
My second, great travellers often have seen,
Now pitched on the sands, and now spread on
the green;
Some transient view of the whole you secure,
While honour, and riches, and health you pro-
But 'tis virtue alone that will make it endure.
MRS. DELANY.
21. My first (bar accidents) you'll find
The property of all mankind;
Yet many who have more than one
With truth may say that they have none:
My second's often but a toy,
Sometimes a gift received with joy;
And those who give and take it know
The height of happiness or woe.
My whole's an ornament, the fair
In various shapes and sizes wear.
From "LETTERS OF MRS. DELANY."
22. Across my first, with flash and roar,
The stately vessel glides alone,
And mournful on the crowded shore
There stands an aged crone,
Watching my second's parting smile
As he bids farewell to his native isle.
My whole comes back to other eyes
With beauteous charge of fruit and flowers,
But dim to her as those bright skies,
And sad those joyous hours;
For alas, my first is dark and deep,
And my second cannot hear her weep!
23. Inscribed on many a learned page,
In mystic characters and sage,
Long time my first hast stood;
And though its golden age be past,
In wooden walls it yet may last
Till clothed in flesh and blood.
My second is a glorious prize
For all who love their wandering eyes
With curious sights to pamper;
But 'tis a sight-which should they meet,
All improviso, in the street,
Ye gods! how they would scamper!
My tout's a sort of wandering throne,
To women limited alone,
The salique law reversing;
But while th' imaginary queen
Prepares to act this novel scene,
Her royal part rehearsing,
O'erturning her presumptuous plan,
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