And let me add (to ward off strife)
For V-kers, and for V-ker's wifeShe large and round, beyond belief,
A superfluity of beef!
Her mind and body of a piece,
And both compos'd of kitchen-grease.
In short, dame Truth might safely dub her
Vulgarity enshrin'd in blubber!
He, meagre bit of littleness,
All snuff, and musk, and politesse ;
So thin, that strip him of his clothing,
He'd totter on the edge of nothing!
In case of foe, he well might hide
Snug in the collops of her side.
Ah then what simile will suit ?
Spindle leg in great jack-boot?
Pismire crawling in a rut?
Or a spigot in a butt?
Thus I humm'd and ha'd awhile
When Madam Memory, with a smile,
Thus touch'd my ear-" Why sure, I ween In London streets thou oft hast seen
The very image of this pair:
A little ape, with huge she bear
Link'd by hapless chain together:
An unlick'd mass the one-the other
An antic huge with nimble crupper "-
But stop, my Muse! for here comes supper.
How long will ye round me be swelling,
O ye blue tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in canes was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Thro' the high-sounding halls of Cathloma
In the steps of my beauty I stray'd;
The warriors beheld Ninathoma,
And they bless'd the white-bosom'd maid!
A ghost! by my cavern it darted
In moon-beams the spirit was drest-
For lonely appear the departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest !
But disturb'd by the tempest's commotion,
Fleet the shadowy forms of delight—
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the ocean,
To howl thro' my eavern by night.
ON A CONNUBIAL RUPTURE IN HIGH LIFE. 1796.
I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate;
But what shall sighs avail thee? Thy poor heart, 'Mid all the "pomp and circumstance" of state, Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start
Sad recollections of hope's gairish dream,
That shaped a seraph form, and nam'd it Love; It's hues gay-varying, as the orient beam
Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove.
To one soft accent of domestic joy,
Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch'd dome; Those plaudits, that thy public path annoy,
Alas! they tell thee-Thou'rt a wretch at home!
O then retire, and weep! Their very woes
Solace the guiltless. Drop the pearly flood
On thy sweet infant, as the full-blown rose,
Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighb'ring bud.
And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend,
To lure thy wanderer from the syren's power;
Then bid your souls inseparably blend,
Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower.
WHERE grac'd with many a classic spoil
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
I haste to urge the learned toil
That sternly chides my love-lorn song.
Ah me! too mindful of the days
Illum'd by Passion's orient rays,
When peace with cheerfulness, and health
Enrich'd me with the best of wealth.
Ah, fair delights! that o'er my soul
On mem'ry's wing, like shadows, fly!
Ah flowers! which Joy from Eden stole,
While Innocence stood smiling by!—
But cease, fond heart! this bootless moan,
Those hours, on rapid pinions flown,
Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd,
And scatter livelier roses round.
The Sun, who ne'er remits his fires,
On heedless eyes may pour the day :
The Moon, that oft from heav'n retires,
Endears her renovated ray.
What tho' she leave the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky west?
When she relumes her lovely light,
We bless the wanderer of the night.
PENSIVE, at eve, on the hard world I mus'd,
And my poor heart was sad so at the moon
I gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd-for, Ah! how soon
Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd,
With tearful vacancy, the dampy grass,
Which wept and glitter'd in the paly ray,
And I did pause me on my lonely way,
And mus'd me on those wretched ones, who
O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, alas!
Most of myself I thought: when it befell,
That the sooth Spirit of the breezy wood
Breath'd in mine ear-" All this is very well;
But much of one thing is for no thing good."
Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell!
O! I do love thee, meek simplicity!
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress-
Distress tho' small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true, on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad
I amble on; yet tho' I know not why,
So sad I am! but should a friend and I
Grow cool and miff, O! I am very sad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general :
But whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek simplicity.
ON A RUINED HOUSE IN A ROMANTIC COUNTRY.
AND this reft house is that the which he built,
Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,
Cautious in vain! There rats that squeak so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?
Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.
What tho' she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd:
And, aye, beside her, stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,
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