Verses and Translations | Page 7

eternal clock strike seven:-?Now the waggoner is driving
Towards the fields his clattering wain;?Now the bluebottle, reviving,
Buzzes down his native pane.
But to me the morn is hateful:
Wearily I stretch my legs,?Dress, and settle to my plateful
Of (perhaps inferior) eggs.?Yesterday Miss Crump, by message,
Mentioned "rent," which "p'raps I'd pay;"?And I have a dismal presage
That she'll call, herself, to-day.
Once, I breakfasted off rosewood,
Smoked through silver-mounted pipes -?Then how my patrician nose would
Turn up at the thought of "swipes!"?Ale,--occasionally claret, -
Graced my luncheon then:- and now?I drink porter in a garret,
To be paid for heaven knows how.
When the evening shades are deepened,
And I doff my hat and gloves,?No sweet bird is there to "cheep and
Twitter twenty million loves:"?No dark-ringleted canaries
Sing to me of "hungry foam;"?No imaginary "Marys"
Call fictitious "cattle home."
Araminta, sweetest, fairest!
Solace once of every ill!?How I wonder if thou bearest
Mivins in remembrance still!?If that Friday night is banished
Yet from that retentive mind,?When the others somehow vanished,
And we two were left behind:-
When in accents low, yet thrilling,
I did all my love declare;?Mentioned that I'd not a shilling -
Hinted that we need not care:?And complacently you listened
To my somewhat long address -?(Listening, at the same time, isn't
Quite the same as saying Yes).
Once, a happy child, I carolled
O'er green lawns the whole day through,?Not unpleasingly apparelled
In a tightish suit of blue:-?What a change has now passed o'er me!
Now with what dismay I see?Every rising morn before me!
Goodness gracious, patience me!
And I'll prowl, a moodier Lara,
Through the world, as prowls the bat,?And habitually wear a
Cypress wreath around my hat:?And when Death snuffs out the taper
Of my Life, (as soon he must),?I'll send up to every paper,
"Died, T. Mivins; of disgust."
ISABEL.
Now o'er the landscape crowd the deepening shades,?And the shut lily cradles not the bee;?The red deer couches in the forest glades,
And faint the echoes of the slumberous sea:?And ere I rest, one prayer I'll breathe for thee,?The sweet Egeria of my lonely dreams:
Lady, forgive, that ever upon me?Thoughts of thee linger, as the soft starbeams?Linger on Merlin's rock, or dark Sabrina's streams.
On gray Pilatus once we loved to stray,?And watch far off the glimmering roselight break?O'er the dim mountain-peaks, ere yet one ray
Pierced the deep bosom of the mist-clad lake.?Oh! who felt not new life within him wake,?And his pulse quicken, and his spirit burn -
(Save one we wot of, whom the cold DID make?Feel "shooting pains in every joint in turn,")?When first he saw the sun gild thy green shores, Lucerne?
And years have past, and I have gazed once more?On blue lakes glistening beneath mountains blue;?And all seemed sadder, lovelier than before -
For all awakened memories of you.?Oh! had I had you by my side, in lieu?Of that red matron, whom the flies would worry,
(Flies in those parts unfortunately do,)?Who walked so slowly, talked in such a hurry,?And with such wild contempt for stops and Lindley Murray!
O Isabel, the brightest, heavenliest theme
That ere drew dreamer on to poesy,?Since "Peggy's locks" made Burns neglect his team,
And Stella's smile lured Johnson from his tea -?I may not tell thee what thou art to me!?But ever dwells the soft voice in my ear,
Whispering of what Time is, what Man might be,?Would he but "do the duty that lies near,"?And cut clubs, cards, champagne, balls, billiard-rooms, and beer.
DIRGE.
"Dr. Birch's young friends will reassemble to-day, Feb. 1st."
White is the wold, and ghostly
The dank and leafless trees;?And 'M's and 'N's are mostly
Pronounced like 'B's and 'D's:?'Neath bleak sheds, ice-encrusted,
The sheep stands, mute and stolid:?And ducks find out, disgusted,
That all the ponds are solid.
Many a stout steer's work is
(At least in this world) finished;?The gross amount of turkies
Is sensibly diminished:?The holly-boughs are faded,
The painted crackers gone;?Would I could write, as Gray did,
An Elegy thereon!
For Christmas-time is ended:
Now is "our youth" regaining?Those sweet spots where are "blended
Home-comforts and school-training."?Now they're, I dare say, venting
Their grief in transient sobs,?And I am "left lamenting"
At home, with Mrs. Dobbs.
O Posthumus! "Fugaces
Labuntur anni" still;?Time robs us of our graces,
Evade him as we will.?We were the twins of Siam:
Now SHE thinks ME a bore,?And I admit that _I_ am
Inclined at times to snore.
I was her own Nathaniel;
With her I took sweet counsel,?Brought seed-cake for her spaniel,
And kept her bird in groundsel:?We've murmured, "How delightful?A landscape, seen by night, is," -
And woke next day in frightful?Pain from acute bronchitis.
? * *
But ah! for them, whose laughter
We heard last New Year's Day, -?(They reeked not of Hereafter,
Or what the Doctor'd say,) -?For those small forms that fluttered
Moth-like around the plate,?When Sally brought the buttered
Buns in at half-past eight!
Ah for the altered visage
Of her, our tiny Belle,?Whom my boy Gus (at his age!)
Said was a "deuced swell!"?P'raps now Miss Tickler's tocsin
Has caged that pert young linnet;?Old Birch perhaps is boxing
My Gus's ears this minute.
Yet, though your young ears be as
Red as mamma's geraniums,?Yet grieve not! Thus ideas
Pass into infant craniums.?Use not complaints unseemly;
Tho'