Wreathing sea-weeds in her hair!-
Saw you e'er a thing so fair?
Marian! some are rich in gold,—
Heaped-up treasure,-hoards untold;
Some are rich in thoughts refined,
And the glorious wealth of mind :
Thou, sweet child! life's rose unblown,
Hast a treasure of thine own :-
Youth's most unalloyed delights,
Happy days and tranquil nights;
And a brain with thought unvexed,
And a light heart, unperplexed!
Go, thou sweet one! all day long,
Like a glad bird, pour thy song,
And let thy young graceful head
Be with sea-flowers garlanded;
For all outward signs of glee
Well become thee, MARIAN LEE!

THE BELLE OF THE BALL-ROOM.

AN EVERY-DAY CHARACTER.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "LILLIAN."

Il faut juger des femmes depuis la chaussure jusqu'a la coiffure exclu sivement, à peu près comme on mesure le poisson entre queue et tête.

I.

YEARS, years ago,-ere yet my dreams
Had been of being wise or witty ;-
Ere I had done with writing themes,

Or yawned o'er this infernal Chitty;
Years, years ago,-while all my joy
Was in my fowling-piece and filly;—
In short, while I was yet a boy,

I fell in love with Laura Lily.

II.

I saw her at the Country-Ball:

La Bruyere.

There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle

Gave signal sweet in that old hall,

Of hands across and down the middle,

Hers was the subtlest spell by far

Of all that set young hearts romancing;

She was our queen, our rose, our star;

And then she danced,-Oh heaven, her dancing!

III.

Dark was her hair; her hand was white;
Her voice was exquisitely tender;
Her eyes were full of liquid light;
I never saw a waist so slender!

Her every look, her every smile,

Shot right and left a score of arrows;

I thought 't was Venus from her isle,

And wondered where she'd left her sparrows.

IV.

She talked-of politics, or prayers;

Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets;

Of danglers, or of dancing bears,

Of battles, or the last new bonnets:

By candlelight, at twelve o'clock,

To me it mattered not a tittle;

If those bright lips had quoted Locke,

I might have thought they murmured Little.

V.

Through sunny May, through sultry June,
I loved her with a love eternal;
I spoke her praises to the moon,

I wrote them to the Sunday Journal:
My mother laughed ;-I soon found out
That ancient ladies have no feeling :
My father frowned;-but how should gout
See any happiness in kneeling?

VI.

She was the daughter of a Dean,

Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic;
She had one brother, just thirteen,
Whose colour 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.

VII.

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 honours, Cupid chuses;
He cares as little for the Stocks,

As Baron Rothschild for the Muses.

VIII.

She sketched ;-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 warbled Handel; it was grand;
She made the Catalini jealous :

She touched the organ; -I could stand

For hours and hours to blow the bellows.

I

IX.

She kept an Album too at home,

Well filled with all an Album's glories; Paintings of butterflies, and Rome,

Patterns for trimmings, Persian stories; Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo,

Fierce odes to Famine and to Slaughter; And autographs of Prince Leboo,

And recipes for elder-water.

X.

And she was flattered, worshipped, bored ;

Her steps were watched, her dress was noted;

Her poodle dog was quite adored,

Her sayings were extremely quoted.
She laughed, and every heart was glad,
As if the taxes were abolished;
She frowned, and every look was sad,
As if the Opera were demolished.

XI.

She smiled on many just for fun,—
I knew that there was nothing in it;

I was the first,-the only one,

Her heart had thought of for a minute.

I knew it; for she told me so,

In phrase which was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand,—and oh! How sweetly all her notes were folded!