قراءة كتاب A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 4
prior—
And Travers, the attorney's son,
Is member for the shire.
Dame Fortune, that inconstant jade,
Can smile when least expected,
And those who languish in the shade,
Need never be dejected.
Poor Pat, who once did nothing right,
Has proved a famous writer;
While Mat "shirked prayers" (with all his might!)
And wears, withal, his mitre.
Can smile when least expected,
And those who languish in the shade,
Need never be dejected.
Poor Pat, who once did nothing right,
Has proved a famous writer;
While Mat "shirked prayers" (with all his might!)
And wears, withal, his mitre.
Dull maskers we! Life's festival
Enchants the blithe new-comer;
But seasons change, and where are all
These friendships of our summer?
Wan pilgrims flit athwart our track—
Cold looks attend the meeting—
We only greet them, glancing back,
Or pass without a greeting!
Enchants the blithe new-comer;
But seasons change, and where are all
These friendships of our summer?
Wan pilgrims flit athwart our track—
Cold looks attend the meeting—
We only greet them, glancing back,
Or pass without a greeting!
I owe old Bliss some rubs, but pride
Constrains me to postpone 'em,
He taught me something, 'ere he died,
About nil nisi bonum.
I've met with wiser, better men,
But I forgive him wholly;
Perhaps his jokes were sad—but then
He used to storm so drolly.
Constrains me to postpone 'em,
He taught me something, 'ere he died,
About nil nisi bonum.
I've met with wiser, better men,
But I forgive him wholly;
Perhaps his jokes were sad—but then
He used to storm so drolly.
I still can laugh, is still my boast,
But mirth has sounded gayer;
And which provokes my laughter most—
The preacher, or the player?
Alack, I cannot laugh at what
Once made us laugh so freely,
For Nestroy and Grassot are not—
And where is Mr. Keeley?
But mirth has sounded gayer;
And which provokes my laughter most—
The preacher, or the player?
Alack, I cannot laugh at what
Once made us laugh so freely,
For Nestroy and Grassot are not—
And where is Mr. Keeley?
O, shall I run away from hence,
And dress and shave like Crusoe?
Or join St. Blaise? No, Common Sense,
Forbid that I should do so.
I'd sooner dress your Little Miss
As Paulet shaves his poodles!
As soon propose for Betsy Bliss—
Or get proposed for Boodle's.
And dress and shave like Crusoe?
Or join St. Blaise? No, Common Sense,
Forbid that I should do so.
I'd sooner dress your Little Miss
As Paulet shaves his poodles!
As soon propose for Betsy Bliss—
Or get proposed for Boodle's.
We prate of Life's illusive dyes,
Yet still fond Hope enchants us;
We all believe we near the prize,
Till some fresh dupe supplants us!
A bright reward, forsooth! And though
No mortal has attained it,
I still can hope, for well I know
That Love has so ordained it.
Yet still fond Hope enchants us;
We all believe we near the prize,
Till some fresh dupe supplants us!
A bright reward, forsooth! And though
No mortal has attained it,
I still can hope, for well I know
That Love has so ordained it.
Paris, November, 1864.
BRAMBLE-RISE.
What changes greet my wistful eyes
In quiet little Bramble-Rise,
Once smallest of its shire?
How altered is each pleasant nook!
The dumpy church used not to look
So dumpy in the spire.
In quiet little Bramble-Rise,
Once smallest of its shire?
How altered is each pleasant nook!
The dumpy church used not to look
So dumpy in the spire.
This village is no longer mine;
And though the Inn has changed its sign,
The beer may not be stronger:
The river, dwindled by degrees,
Is now a brook,—the cottages
Are cottages no longer.
And though the Inn has changed its sign,
The beer may not be stronger:
The river, dwindled by degrees,
Is now a brook,—the cottages
Are cottages no longer.
The thatch is slate, the plaster bricks,
The trees have cut their ancient sticks,
Or else the sticks are stunted:
I'm sure these thistles once grew figs,
These geese were swans, and once these pigs
More musically grunted.
The trees have cut their ancient sticks,
Or else the sticks are stunted:
I'm sure these thistles once grew figs,
These geese were swans, and once these pigs
More musically grunted.
Where early reapers whistled, shrill
A whistle may be noted still,—
The locomotive's ravings.
New custom newer want begets,—
My bank of early violets
Is now a bank for savings!
A whistle may be noted still,—
The locomotive's ravings.
New custom newer want begets,—
My bank of early violets
Is now a bank for savings!
That voice I have not heard for long!
So Patty still can sing the song
A merry playmate taught her;
I know the strain, but much suspect
'Tis not the child I recollect,
But Patty,—Patty's daughter;
So Patty still can sing the song
A merry playmate taught her;
I know the strain, but much suspect
'Tis not the child I recollect,
But Patty,—Patty's daughter;
And has she too outlived the spells
Of breezy hills and silent dells
Where childhood loved to ramble?
Then Life was thornless to our ken,
And, Bramble-Rise, thy hills were then
A rise without a bramble.
Of breezy hills and silent dells
Where childhood loved to ramble?
Then Life was thornless to our ken,
And, Bramble-Rise, thy hills were then
A rise without a bramble.
Whence comes the change? 'Twere easy told
That some grow wise, and some grow cold,
And all feel time and trouble:
If Life an empty bubble be,
How sad are those who will not see
A rainbow in the bubble!
That some grow wise, and some grow cold,
And all feel time and trouble:
If Life an empty bubble be,
How sad are those who will not see
A rainbow in the bubble!
And senseless too, for mistress Fate
Is not the gloomy reprobate
That mouldy sages thought her;
My heart leaps up, and I rejoice
As falls upon my ear thy voice,
My frisky little daughter.
Is not the gloomy reprobate
That mouldy sages thought her;
My heart leaps up, and I rejoice
As falls upon my ear thy voice,
My frisky little daughter.
Come hither, Pussy, perch on these
Thy most unworthy father's knees,
And tell him all about it:
Are dolls but bran? Can men be base?
When gazing on thy blessed face
I'm quite prepared to doubt it.
Thy most unworthy father's knees,
And tell him all about it:
Are dolls but bran? Can men be base?
When gazing on thy blessed face
I'm quite prepared to doubt it.
O, mayst thou own, my winsome elf,
Some day a pet just like thyself,
Her sanguine thoughts to borrow;
Content to use her brighter eyes,—
Accept her childish ecstacies,—
If need be, share her sorrow!
Some day a pet just like thyself,
Her sanguine thoughts to borrow;
Content to use her brighter eyes,—
Accept her childish ecstacies,—
If need be, share her sorrow!
The wisdom of thy prattle cheers
This heart; and when outworn in years
And homeward I am starting,
My Darling, lead me gently down
To Life's dim strand: the dark waves frown,
But weep not for our
This heart; and when outworn in years
And homeward I am starting,
My Darling, lead me gently down
To Life's dim strand: the dark waves frown,
But weep not for our
