|
AT Cheltenham, where one drinks ones fill | |
Of folly and cold water, | |
I danced, last year, my first quadrille | |
With old Sir Geoffreys daughter. | |
Her cheek with summers rose might vie, | 5 |
When summers rose is newest; | |
Her eyes were blue as autumns sky, | |
When autumns sky is bluest; | |
And well my heart might deem her one | |
Of lifes most precious flowers, | 10 |
For half her thoughts were of its sun, | |
And half were of its showers. | |
|
I spoke of novels: Vivian Gray | |
Was positively charming, | |
And Almacks infinitely gay, | 15 |
And Frankenstein alarming; | |
I said De Vere was chastely told, | |
Thought well of Herbert Lacy, | |
Called Mr. Banims sketches bold, | |
And Lady Morgans racy; | 20 |
I vowed the last new thing of Hooks | |
Was vastly entertaining; | |
And Laura said, I dote on books, | |
Because its always raining! | |
|
I talked of musics gorgeous fane, | 25 |
I raved about Rossini, | |
Hoped Ronzo would come back again, | |
And criticised Paccini; | |
I wished the chorus singers dumb, | |
The trumpets more pacific, | 30 |
And eulogised Brocards aplomb | |
And voted Paul terrific. | |
What cared she for Medeas pride | |
Or Desdemonas sorrow? | |
Alas! my beauteous listener sighed, | 35 |
We must have storms to-morrow! | |
|
I told her tales of other lands; | |
Of ever-boiling fountains, | |
Of poisonous lakes, and barren sands, | |
Vast forests, trackless mountains; | 40 |
I painted bright Italian skies, | |
I lauded Persian roses, | |
Coined similes for Spanish eyes, | |
And jests for Indian noses; | |
I laughed at Lisbons love of mass, | 45 |
And Viennas dread of treason; | |
And Laura asked me where the glass | |
Stood at Madrid last season. | |
|
I broached whateer had gone its rounds, | |
The week before, of scandal; | 50 |
What made Sir Luke lay down his hounds | |
And Jane take up her Handel; | |
Why Julia walked upon the heath, | |
With the pale moon above her; | |
Where Flora lost her false front teeth, | 55 |
And Anna her false lover; | |
How Lord de B. and Mrs. L. | |
Had crossed the sea together; | |
My shuddering partner cried, Oh, Lord! | |
How could they, in such weather? | 60 |
|
Was she a blue? I put my trust | |
In strata, petals, gases; | |
A boudoir pedant? I discussed | |
The toga and the fasces; | |
A Cockney muse? I mouthed a deal | 65 |
Of folly from Endymion; | |
A saint? I praised the pious zeal | |
Of Messrs. Way and Simeon; | |
A politician? It was vain | |
To quote the morning paper. | 70 |
The horrid phantoms come again: | |
Rain, hail, and snow, and vapour. | |
|
Flat flattery was my only chance, | |
I acted deep devotion, | |
Found magic in her every glance, | 75 |
Grace in her every motion; | |
I wasted all a striplings lore, | |
Prayer, passion, folly, feeling; | |
And wildly looked upon the floor, | |
And wildly on the ceiling; | 80 |
I envied gloves upon her arm, | |
And shawls upon her shoulder; | |
And when my worship was most warm, | |
She never found it colder. | |
|
I dont object to wealth or land; | 85 |
And she will have the giving | |
Of an extremely pretty hand, | |
Some thousands, and a living. | |
She makes silk purses, broiders stools, | |
Sings sweetly, dances finely, | 90 |
Paints screens, subscribes to Sunday-schools, | |
And sits a horse divinely. | |
But to be linked for life to her! | |
The desperate man who tried it, | |
Might marry a barometer, | 95 |
And hang himself beside it! | |
|