The Home Book of Verse, vol 4 | Page 9

true, What a lucky dog were you, Grandpapa!
Her lips are sweet as love; They are parting! Do they move? Are they dumb? Her eyes are blue, and beam Beseechingly, and seem To say, "Come!"
What funny fancy slips From atween these cherry lips? Whisper me, Fair Sorceress in paint, What canon says I mayn't Marry thee?
That good-for-nothing Time Has a confidence sublime! When I first Saw this Lady, in my youth, Her winters had, forsooth, Done their worst.
Her locks, as white as snow, Once shamed the swarthy crow; By-and-by That fowl's avenging sprite Set his cruel foot for spite Near her eye.
Her rounded form was lean, And her silk was bombazine: Well I wot With her needles would she sit, And for hours would she knit. - Would she not?
Ah perishable clay! Her charms had dropped away One by one: But if she heaved a sigh With a burden, it was, "Thy Will be done."
In travail, as in tears, With the fardel of her years Overpressed, In mercy she was borne Where the weary and the worn Are at rest.
Oh, if you now are there, And sweet as once you were, Grandmamma, This nether world agrees You'll all the better please Grandpapa.
Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895]
MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS
She has dancing eyes and ruby lips, Delightful boots - and away she skips
They nearly strike me dumb, - I tremble when they come Pit-a-pat: This palpitation means These Boots are Geraldine's - Think of that!
O, where did hunter win So delicate a skin For her feet? You lucky little kid, You perished, so you did, For my Sweet.
The fairy stitching gleams On the sides, and in the seams, And reveals That the Pixies were the wags Who tipped these funny tags, And these heels.
What soles to charm an elf! - Had Crusoe, sick of self, Chanced to view One printed near the tide, O, how hard he would have tried For the two!
For Gerry's debonair, And innocent and fair As a rose; She's an Angel in a frock, - She's an Angel with a clock To her hose!
The simpletons who squeeze Their pretty toes to please Mandarins, Would positively flinch From venturing to pinch Geraldine's.
Cinderella's lefts and rights To Geraldine's were frights: And I trow The Damsel, deftly shod, Has dutifully trod Until now.
Come, Gerry, since it suits Such a pretty Puss (in Boots) These to don, Set your dainty hand awhile On my shoulder, Dear, and I'll Put them on.
Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895]
A GARDEN LYRIC Geraldine And I
Dite, Damasippe, deaeque Verum ob consilium donent tonsore.
We have loitered and laughed in the flowery croft, We have met under wintry skies; Her voice is the dearest voice, and soft Is the light in her wistful eyes; It is bliss in the silent woods, among Gay crowds, or in any place, To mould her mind, to gaze in her young Confiding face.
For ever may roses divinely blow, And wine-dark pansies charm By that prim box path where I felt the glow Of her dimpled, trusting arm, And the sweep of her silk as she turned and smiled A smile as pure as her pearls; The breeze was in love with the darling Child, And coaxed her curls.
She showed me her ferns and woodbine sprays, Foxglove and jasmine stars, A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze Of red in the celadon jars: And velvety bees in convolvulus bells, And roses of bountiful Spring. But I said - "Though roses and bees have spells, They have thorn, and sting."
She showed me ripe peaches behind a net As fine as her veil, and fat Goldfish a-gape, who lazily met For her crumbs - I grudged them that! A squirrel, some rabbits with long lop ears, And guinea-pigs, tortoise-shell - wee; And I told her that eloquent truth inheres In all we see.
I lifted her doe by its lops, quoth I, "Even here deep meaning lies, - Why have squirrels these ample tails, and why Have rabbits these prominent eyes?" She smiled and said, as she twirled her veil, "For some nice little cause, no doubt - If you lift a guinea-pig up by the tail His eyes drop out!"
Frederick Locker Lampson [1821-1895]
MRS. SMITH
Heigh-ho! they're wed. The cards are dealt, Our frolic games are o'er; I've laughed, and fooled, and loved. I've felt - As I shall feel no more! Yon little thatch is where she lives, Yon spire is where she met me; - I think that if she quite forgives, She cannot quite forget me.
Last year I trod these fields with Di, - Fields fresh with clover and with rye; They now seem arid: Then Di was fair and single; how Unfair it seems on me, for now Di's fair, - and married!
A blissful swain, - I scorned the song Which tells us though young Love is strong,