Verses and Translations | Page 5

of fruit;
I'd written lines to her as Venus;
I'd sworn unflinchingly to shoot
The man who dared to come between us:
And it was you, my Thomas, you,
The friend in whom my soul confided,
Who dared to gaze on her--to
do,
I may say, much the same as I did.
One night I SAW him squeeze her hand;
There was no doubt about the matter;
I said he must resign, or stand
My vengeance--and he chose the latter.
We met, we 'planted' blows on blows:
We fought as long as we were able:
My rival had a bottle-nose,
And both my speaking eyes were sable.
When the school-bell cut short our strife,
Miss P. gave both of us a plaster;
And in a week became the wife
Of Horace Nibbs, the writing-master.
0. * *
I loved her then--I'd love her still,

Only one must not love Another's:
But thou and I, my Tommy, will,
When we again meet, meet as brothers.
It may be that in age one seeks
Peace only: that the blood is brisker
In boy's veins, than in theirs
whose cheeks
Are partially obscured by whisker;
Or that the growing ages steal
The memories of past wrongs from us.
But this is certain--that I feel
Most friendly unto thee, oh Thomas!
And wheresoe'er we meet again,
On this or that side the equator,
If I've not turned teetotaller then,
And have wherewith to pay the waiter,
To thee I'll drain the modest cup,
Ignite with thee the mild Havannah;
And we will waft, while
liquoring up,
Forgiveness to the heartless ANNA.
"THERE STANDS A CITY."
INGOLDSBY.
Year by year do Beauty's daughters,
In the sweetest gloves and shawls,
Troop to taste the Chattenham
waters,
And adorn the Chattenham balls.

'Nulla non donanda lauru'
Is that city: you could not,
Placing England's map before you,
Light on a more favoured spot.
If no clear translucent river
Winds 'neath willow-shaded paths,
"Children and adults" may shiver
All day in "Chalybeate baths:"
If "the inimitable Fechter"
Never brings the gallery down,
Constantly "the Great Protector"
There "rejects the British crown:"
And on every side the painter
Looks on wooded vale and plain
And on fair hills, faint and fainter
Outlined as they near the main.
There I met with him, my chosen
Friend--the 'long' but not 'stern swell,' {15a}
Faultless in his hats and
hosen,
Whom the Johnian lawns know well:-
Oh my comrade, ever valued!
Still I see your festive face;
Hear you humming of "the gal you'd
Left behind" in massive bass:
See you sit with that composure

On the eeliest of hacks,
That the novice would suppose your
Manly limbs encased in wax:
Or anon,--when evening lent her
Tranquil light to hill and vale, -
Urge, towards the table's centre,
With unerring hand, the squail.
Ah delectablest of summers!
How my heart--that "muffled drum"
Which ignores the aid of
drummers -
Beats, as back thy memories come!
Oh, among the dancers peerless,
Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!
Need I say to you that cheerless
Must my days be till I die?
At my side she mashed the fragrant
Strawberry; lashes soft as silk
Drooped o'er saddened eyes, when
vagrant
Gnats sought watery graves in milk:
Then we danced, we walked together;
Talked--no doubt on trivial topics;
Such as Blondin, or the weather,
Which "recalled us to the tropics."
But--oh! in the deuxtemps peerless,
Fleet of foot, and soft of eye! -
Once more I repeat, that cheerless

Shall my days be till I die.
And the lean and hungry raven,
As he picks my bones, will start
To observe 'M. N.' engraven
Neatly on my blighted heart.
STRIKING.
It was a railway passenger,
And he lept out jauntilie.
"Now up and bear, thou stout porter,
My two chattels to me.
"Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red,
And portmanteau so brown:
(They lie in the van, for a trusty man
He labelled them London town:)
"And fetch me eke a cabman bold,
That I may be his fare, his fare;
And he shall have a good shilling,

If by two of the clock he do me bring
To the Terminus, Euston Square."
"Now,--so to thee the saints alway,
Good gentleman, give luck, -
As never a cab may I find this day,
For the cabman wights have struck:
And now, I wis, at the Red Post
Inn,
Or else at the Dog and Duck,
Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin,

The nut-brown ale and the fine old gin

Right pleasantly they do suck."
"Now rede me aright, thou stout porter,
What were it best that I should do:
For woe is me, an I reach not there
Or ever the clock strike two."
"I have a son, a lytel son;
Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's:
Give him a shilling, and eke a
brown,
And he shall carry thy chattels down,
To Euston, or half
over London town,
On one of the station trucks."
Then forth in a hurry did