Page 1
A
Selection From the Works
OF
FREDERICK LOCKER
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY RICHARD DOYLE.
LONDON:
EDWARD MOXON & CO., DOVER STREET.
1865.
PRINTED BY BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS.
THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. MILLAIS, R.A., AND RICHARD DOYLE
THE COVER FROM A DESIGN BY JOHN LEIGHTON, F.S.A.
THE SERIES PROJECTED AND SUPERINTENDED BY
Some of these pieces appeared in a volume called "London Lyrics," of which there have been two editions, the first in 1857, and the second in 1862; a few of the pieces have been restored to the reading of the First Edition.
TO C. C. L.
I PAUSE upon the threshold, Charlotte dear,
To write thy name; so may my book acquire
One golden leaf. For Some yet sojourn here
Who come and go in homeliest attire,
Unknown, or only by the few who see
The cross they bear, the good that they have wrought:
Of such art thou, and I have found in thee
The love and truth that He, the Master, taught;
Thou likest thy humble poet, canst thou say
With truth, dear Charlotte?—"And I like his lay."
To write thy name; so may my book acquire
One golden leaf. For Some yet sojourn here
Who come and go in homeliest attire,
Unknown, or only by the few who see
The cross they bear, the good that they have wrought:
Of such art thou, and I have found in thee
The love and truth that He, the Master, taught;
Thou likest thy humble poet, canst thou say
With truth, dear Charlotte?—"And I like his lay."
Rome, May, 1862.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE JESTERS MORAL 1
BRAMBLE-RISE 6
THE WIDOW'S MITE 10
ON AN OLD MUFF 11
A HUMAN SKULL 15
TO MY GRANDMOTHER 17
O TEMPORA MUTANTUR! 20
REPLY TO A LETTER ENCLOSING A LOCK OF HAIR 22
THE OLD OAK-TREE AT HATFIELD BROADOAK 25
AN INVITATION TO ROME, AND THE REPLY:—
THE INVITATION 31
THE REPLY 36
OLD LETTERS 40
MY NEIGHBOUR ROSE 43
PICCADILLY 47
THE PILGRIMS OF PALL MALL 50
GERALDINE 53
O DOMINE DEUS 56
THE HOUSEMAID 58
THE OLD GOVERNMENT CLERK 61
A WISH 64
THE JESTER'S PLEA 67
THE OLD CRADLE 70
TO MY MISTRESS 73
TO MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS 75
THE ROSE AND THE RING 78
TO MY OLD FRIEND
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POSTUMUS 80
RUSSET PITCHER 82
THE FAIRY ROSE 87
1863 89
GERALDINE GREEN:—
I. THE SERENADE 92
II. MY LIFE IS A 93
MRS. SMITH 95
THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 98
THE VICTORIA CROSS 101
ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE 104
SORRENTO 105
JANET 106
BÉRANGER 109
THE BEAR PIT 110
THE CASTLE IN THE AIR 112
GLYCERE 119
VÆ VICTIS 121
IMPLORA PACE 123
VANITY FAIR 125
THE LEGENDE OF SIR GYLES GYLES 127
MY FIRST-BORN 133
SUSANNAH:—
I. THE ELDER TREES 135
II. A KIND PROVIDENCE 137
CIRCUMSTANCE 139
ARCADIA 140
THE CROSSING-SWEEPER 145
A SONG THAT WAS NEVER SUNG 148
MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION 154
TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS 157
BEGGARS 160
ON A PORTRAIT OF DR. LAURENCE STERNE 163
A SKETCH IN SEVEN DIALS 166
LITTLE PITCHER 167
UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY 170
ADVICE TO A POET 173
NOTES 177
RUSSET PITCHER 82
THE FAIRY ROSE 87
1863 89
GERALDINE GREEN:—
I. THE SERENADE 92
II. MY LIFE IS A 93
MRS. SMITH 95
THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 98
THE VICTORIA CROSS 101
ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE 104
SORRENTO 105
JANET 106
BÉRANGER 109
THE BEAR PIT 110
THE CASTLE IN THE AIR 112
GLYCERE 119
VÆ VICTIS 121
IMPLORA PACE 123
VANITY FAIR 125
THE LEGENDE OF SIR GYLES GYLES 127
MY FIRST-BORN 133
SUSANNAH:—
I. THE ELDER TREES 135
II. A KIND PROVIDENCE 137
CIRCUMSTANCE 139
ARCADIA 140
THE CROSSING-SWEEPER 145
A SONG THAT WAS NEVER SUNG 148
MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION 154
TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS 157
BEGGARS 160
ON A PORTRAIT OF DR. LAURENCE STERNE 163
A SKETCH IN SEVEN DIALS 166
LITTLE PITCHER 167
UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY 170
ADVICE TO A POET 173
NOTES 177
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
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tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, BY J. E. MILLAIS, R.A. To face Title
THE JESTER On Title
THE JESTER'S MORAL 1
ON AN OLD MUFF 11
THE OLD OAK-TREE AT HATFIELD BROADOAK 25
OLD LETTERS 40
PICCADILLY 47
A WISH 64
THE OLD CRADLE 70
TO MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS 75
THE ROSE AND THE RING 78
THE RUSSET PITCHER 82
TAIL PIECE 86
MRS. SMITH 95
THE CASTLE IN THE AIR 112
THE LEGENDE OF SIR GYLES GYLES 127
ARCADIA 140
MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION 149
THE ANGORA CAT 160
LITTLE PITCHER 167
THE JESTER On Title
THE JESTER'S MORAL 1
ON AN OLD MUFF 11
THE OLD OAK-TREE AT HATFIELD BROADOAK 25
OLD LETTERS 40
PICCADILLY 47
A WISH 64
THE OLD CRADLE 70
TO MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS 75
THE ROSE AND THE RING 78
THE RUSSET PITCHER 82
TAIL PIECE 86
MRS. SMITH 95
THE CASTLE IN THE AIR 112
THE LEGENDE OF SIR GYLES GYLES 127
ARCADIA 140
MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION 149
THE ANGORA CAT 160
LITTLE PITCHER 167
THE JESTERS MORAL
I wish that I could run away
From House, and Court, and Levee:
Where bearded men appear to-day,
Just Eton boys grown heavy.—W. M. Praed.
From House, and Court, and Levee:
Where bearded men appear to-day,
Just Eton boys grown heavy.—W. M. Praed.
Is human life a pleasant game
That gives a palm to all?
A fight for fortune, or for fame?
A struggle, and a fall?
Who views the Past, and all he prized,
With tranquil exultation?
And who can say, I've realised
My fondest aspiration?
That gives a palm to all?
A fight for fortune, or for fame?
A struggle, and a fall?
Who views the Past, and all he prized,
With tranquil exultation?
And who can say, I've realised
My fondest aspiration?
Alas, not one! for rest assured
That all are prone to quarrel
With Fate, when worms destroy their gourd,
Or mildew spoils their laurel:
The prize may come to cheer our lot,
But all too late—and granted
'Tis even better—still 'tis not
Exactly what we wanted.
That all are prone to quarrel
With Fate, when worms destroy their gourd,
Or mildew spoils their laurel:
The prize may come to cheer our lot,
But all too late—and granted
'Tis even better—still 'tis not
Exactly what we wanted.
My school-boy time! I wish to praise
That bud of brief existence,
The vision of my youthful days
Now trembles in the distance.
An envious vapour lingers here,
And there I find a chasm;
But much remains, distinct and clear,
To sink enthusiasm.
That bud of brief existence,
The vision of my youthful days
Now trembles in the distance.
An envious vapour lingers here,
And there I find a chasm;
But much remains, distinct and clear,
To sink enthusiasm.
Such thoughts just now disturb my soul
With reason good—for lately
I took the train to Marley-knoll,
And crossed the fields to Mately.
I found old Wheeler at his gate,
Who used rare sport to show me:
My Mentor once on snares and bait—
But Wheeler did not know me.
With reason good—for lately
I took the train to Marley-knoll,
And crossed the fields to Mately.
I found old Wheeler at his gate,
Who used rare sport to show me:
My Mentor once on snares and bait—
But Wheeler did not know me.
"Goodlord!" at last exclaimed the churl,
"Are you the little chap, sir,
What used to train his hair in curl,
And wore a scarlet cap, sir?"
And then he fell to fill in blanks,
And conjure up old faces;
And talk of well-remembered pranks,
In half forgotten places.
"Are you the little chap, sir,
What used to train his hair in curl,
And wore a scarlet cap, sir?"
And then he fell to fill in blanks,
And conjure up old faces;
And talk of well-remembered pranks,
In half forgotten places.
It pleased the man to tell his brief
And somewhat mournful story,
Old Bliss's school had come to grief—
And Bliss had "gone to glory."
His trees were felled, his house was razed—
And what less keenly pained me,
A venerable donkey grazed
Exactly where he caned me.
And somewhat mournful story,
Old Bliss's school had come to grief—
And Bliss had "gone to glory."
His trees were felled, his house was razed—
And what less keenly pained me,
A venerable donkey grazed
Exactly where he caned me.
And where have all my playmates sped,
Whose ranks were once so serried?
Why some are wed, and some are dead,
And some are only buried;
Frank Petre, erst so full of fun,
Is now St. Blaise's
Whose ranks were once so serried?
Why some are wed, and some are dead,
And some are only buried;
Frank Petre, erst so full of fun,
Is now St. Blaise's
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prior—
And Travers, the attorney's son,
Is member for the shire.
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
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parting.
Though Life is called a doleful jaunt,
In sorrow rife, in sunshine scant,
Though earthly joys, the wisest grant,
Have no enduring basis;
'Tis something in a desert sere,
For her so fresh—for me so drear,
To find in Puss, my daughter dear,
A little cool oasis!
In sorrow rife, in sunshine scant,
Though earthly joys, the wisest grant,
Have no enduring basis;
'Tis something in a desert sere,
For her so fresh—for me so drear,
To find in Puss, my daughter dear,
A little cool oasis!
April, 1857.
THE WIDOW'S MITE.
The Widow had but only one,
A puny and decrepit son;
Yet, day and night,
Though fretful oft, and weak, and small,
A loving child, he was her all—
The Widow's Mite.
A puny and decrepit son;
Yet, day and night,
Though fretful oft, and weak, and small,
A loving child, he was her all—
The Widow's Mite.
The Widow's might,—yes! so sustained,
She battled onward, nor complained
When friends were fewer:
And, cheerful at her daily care,
A little crutch upon the stair
Was music to her.
She battled onward, nor complained
When friends were fewer:
And, cheerful at her daily care,
A little crutch upon the stair
Was music to her.
I saw her then,—and now I see,
Though cheerful and resigned, still she
Has sorrowed much:
She has—He gave it tenderly—
Much faith—and, carefully laid by,
A little crutch.
Though cheerful and resigned, still she
Has sorrowed much:
She has—He gave it tenderly—
Much faith—and, carefully laid by,
A little crutch.
ON AN OLD MUFF
Time has a magic wand!
What is this meets my hand,
Moth-eaten, mouldy, and
Covered with fluff?
Faded, and stiff, and scant;
Can it be? no, it can't—
Yes,—I declare 'tis Aunt
Prudence's Muff!
What is this meets my hand,
Moth-eaten, mouldy, and
Covered with fluff?
Faded, and stiff, and scant;
Can it be? no, it can't—
Yes,—I declare 'tis Aunt
Prudence's Muff!
Years ago—twenty-three!
Old Uncle Barnaby
Gave it to Aunty P.—
Laughing and teasing—
"Pru., of the breezy curls,
Whisper these solemn churls,
What holds a pretty girl's
Hand without squeezing?"
Old Uncle Barnaby
Gave it to Aunty P.—
Laughing and teasing—
"Pru., of the breezy curls,
Whisper these solemn churls,
What holds a pretty girl's
Hand without squeezing?"
Uncle was then a lad
Gay, but, I grieve to add,
Sinful: if smoking bad
Baccy's a vice:
Glossy was then this mink
Muff, lined with pretty pink
Satin, which maidens think
"Awfully nice!"
Gay, but, I grieve to add,
Sinful: if smoking bad
Baccy's a vice:
Glossy was then this mink
Muff, lined with pretty pink
Satin, which maidens think
"Awfully nice!"
I see, in retrospect,
Aunt, in her best bedecked,
Gliding, with mien erect,
Gravely to Meeting:
Psalm-book, and kerchief new,
Peeped from the muff of Pru.—
Young men—and pious too—
Giving her greeting.
Aunt, in her best bedecked,
Gliding, with mien erect,
Gravely to Meeting:
Psalm-book, and kerchief new,
Peeped from the muff of Pru.—
Young men—and pious too—
Giving her greeting.
Pure was the life she led
Then—from this Muff, 'tis said,
Tracts she distributed:—
Scapegraces many,
Seeing the grace they lacked,
Followed her—one, in fact,
Asked for—and got his tract
Oftener than any.
Then—from this Muff, 'tis said,
Tracts she distributed:—
Scapegraces many,
Seeing the grace they lacked,
Followed her—one, in fact,
Asked for—and got his tract
Oftener than any.
Love has a potent spell!
Soon this bold Ne'er-do-well,
Aunt's sweet susceptible
Heart undermining,
Slipped, so the scandal runs,
Notes in the pretty nun's
Muff—triple-cornered ones—
Pink as its lining!
Soon this bold Ne'er-do-well,
Aunt's sweet susceptible
Heart undermining,
Slipped, so the scandal runs,
Notes in the pretty nun's
Muff—triple-cornered ones—
Pink as its lining!
Worse even, soon the jade
Fled (to oblige her blade!)
Whilst her friends thought that they'd
Locked her up tightly:
After such shocking games
Aunt is of wedded dames
Gayest—and now her name's
Mrs. Golightly.
Fled (to oblige her blade!)
Whilst her friends thought that they'd
Locked her up tightly:
After such shocking games
Aunt is of wedded dames
Gayest—and now her name's
Mrs. Golightly.
In female conduct flaw
Sadder I never saw,
Still I've faith in the law
Of compensation.
Once Uncle went astray—
Smoked, joked, and swore away—
Sworn by, he's now, by a
Large congregation!
Sadder I never saw,
Still I've faith in the law
Of compensation.
Once Uncle went astray—
Smoked, joked, and swore away—
Sworn by, he's now, by a
Large congregation!
Changed is the Child of Sin,
Now he's (he once was thin)
Grave, with a double chin,—
Blest be his fat form!
Changed is the garb he wore,—
Preacher was never more
Prized than is Uncle for
Pulpit or platform.
Now he's (he once was thin)
Grave, with a double chin,—
Blest be his fat form!
Changed is the garb he wore,—
Preacher was never more
Prized than is Uncle for
Pulpit or platform.
If all's as best befits
Mortals of slender wits,
Then beg this Muff, and its
Fair Owner pardon:
All's for the best,—indeed
Such is my simple creed—
Still I must go and weed
Hard in my garden.
Mortals of slender wits,
Then beg this Muff, and its
Fair Owner pardon:
All's for the best,—indeed
Such is my simple creed—
Still I must go and weed
Hard in my garden.
A HUMAN SKULL.
A human skull! I bought it passing cheap,—
It might be dearer to its first employer;
I thought mortality did well to keep
Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer.
It might be dearer to its first employer;
I thought mortality did well to keep
Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer.
Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin,
Here lips were wooed perchance in transport tender;—
Some may have chucked what was a dimpled chin,
And never had my doubt about its gender!
Here lips were wooed perchance in transport tender;—
Some may have chucked what was a dimpled chin,
And never had my doubt about its gender!
Did she live yesterday or ages back?
What
What
Page 6
colour were the eyes when bright and waking?
And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black,
Poor little head! that long has done with aching?
And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black,
Poor little head! that long has done with aching?
It may have held (to shoot some random shots)
Thy brains, Eliza Fry,—or Baron Byron's,
The wits of Nelly Gwynn, or Doctor Watts,—
Two quoted bards! two philanthropic sirens!
Thy brains, Eliza Fry,—or Baron Byron's,
The wits of Nelly Gwynn, or Doctor Watts,—
Two quoted bards! two philanthropic sirens!
But this I surely knew before I closed
The bargain on the morning that I bought it;
It was not half so bad as some supposed,
Nor quite as good as many may have thought it.
The bargain on the morning that I bought it;
It was not half so bad as some supposed,
Nor quite as good as many may have thought it.
Who love, can need no special type of death;
He bares his awful face too soon, too often;
"Immortelles" bloom in Beauty's bridal wreath,
And does not yon green elm contain a coffin?
He bares his awful face too soon, too often;
"Immortelles" bloom in Beauty's bridal wreath,
And does not yon green elm contain a coffin?
O, cara mine, what lines of care are these?
The heart still lingers with the golden hours,
An Autumn tint is on the chestnut trees,
And where is all that boasted wealth of flowers?
The heart still lingers with the golden hours,
An Autumn tint is on the chestnut trees,
And where is all that boasted wealth of flowers?
If life no more can yield us what it gave,
It still is linked with much that calls for praises;
A very worthless rogue may dig the grave,
But hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies.
It still is linked with much that calls for praises;
A very worthless rogue may dig the grave,
But hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies.
TO MY GRANDMOTHER.
(SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY MR. ROMNEY.)
This relative of mine
Was she seventy and nine
When she died?
By the canvas may be seen
How she looked at seventeen,—
As a bride.
Was she seventy and nine
When she died?
By the canvas may be seen
How she looked at seventeen,—
As a bride.
Beneath a summer tree
As she sits, her reverie
Has a charm;
Her ringlets are in taste,—
What an arm! and what a waist
For an arm!
As she sits, her reverie
Has a charm;
Her ringlets are in taste,—
What an arm! and what a waist
For an arm!
In bridal coronet,
Lace, ribbons, and coquette
Falbala;
Were Romney's limning true,
What a lucky dog were you,
Grandpapa!
Lace, ribbons, and coquette
Falbala;
Were Romney's limning 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."
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,
Sweet deity, in paint,
What canon says I mayn't
Marry thee?
From atween these cherry lips?
Whisper me,
Sweet deity, 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.
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 cloven foot for spite
In her eye.
Once shamed the swarthy crow.
By-and-by,
That fowl's avenging sprite,
Set his cloven foot for spite
In 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?
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 dropt away
One by one.
But if she heaved a sigh
With a burthen, it was, "Thy
Will be done."
Her charms had dropt away
One by one.
But if she heaved a sigh
With a burthen, it was, "Thy
Will be done."
In travail, as in tears,
With the fardel of her years
Overprest,—
In mercy was she borne
Where the weary ones and worn
Are at rest.
With the fardel of her years
Overprest,—
In mercy was she borne
Where the weary ones and worn
Are at rest.
I'm fain to meet you there,—
If as witching as you were,
Grandmamma!
This nether world agrees
That the better it must please
Grandpapa.
If as witching as you were,
Grandmamma!
This nether world agrees
That the better it must please
Grandpapa.