/'/ i University of California • Berkeley PRIXTED BY BALLANTVNE AND COMPANY, PAUL'S WORK, KDINBURGH. /c^^ DRY STICKS, FAGOTED BY WALTEE SAVAGE LANDOR EDINBURGH: JAMES NICHOL, 104 HIGH STREET. LONDON : JAMES NISBET AND CO. M.DC5CC.LVIII. W. S. LANDOE TO L KOSSUTH, PRESIDENT OF HUNGARY. At your gate I lay my fagot of Dry Sticks, aod go away. I offended you by attempting to bring For- tune thither, whom I never solicited to favor me personally. My zeal was inconsiderate; but per- haps it ought to have offended less that lofty pride to which alone I ever was obsequious. Permit me to offer the only amends I can : permit me to show my respect and reverence toward the man who has worthily occupied a higher station than any one in this country can attain. The eloquence of Milton and of Demosthenes failed in the support of their cause ; the same cause and the same eloquence as yours. Supply me with your english, and I may be able at last to express my veneration of your virtues. iv:J275G40 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/drysticksfagotedOOIandrich PREFACE. Several of these small pieces having been appro- priated by one whose quarry is usually more mate- rial and substantial, it has been thought advisible to publish them collectively, together with others, which perhaps the same predarian would eschew. Among the Dry Sticks many are so slender that they seem to have been cut after a few years' growi:h ; others are knottier and more gnarled than are usually carried to market, but give out greater heat and burn longer. Among the varieties may be found a few fragments seemingly exotic; pointed leaves hanging grimly to them, very like those of the pine which grew formerly about Rome and above Tivoli ; laurels of a species uncultivated in England ; and primings which may be taken for olive, if we judge of them by the smoothness of the bark, the purity of the flame, and the paucity of the ashes. We often find in the clouds, in the mountains, in the fire, and in other objects, resemblances of things quite different : so it may happen that in some of Vlll PREFACE. these Dry Sticks the observer, if his mood is con- templative, or, more probably, if he is half-dreaming, shall see somewhat to remind him of poetry. Here are light matters within ; twigs, broken buds, and moss : but who, in making up a volume, has not sometimes had reason to complain of a quality the reverse of lightness ? and who is ignorant that the lightest is the best part of many^ None of these Poems would have been collected by the uuthor for 'publication^ but that a copy of the greater number was, without his consent or knoivledge, procured from a person who had engaged to transcribe them. Precaution is hereby taken against subtraction, or, what is worse, addition. This is a7i excuse, as far as it goes, for some few levities. CONTENTS. Page Paob Dedication of an Ancient The Heart's abysses, 25 Idyl, 1 Daisy, a Spaniel, 26 The Ancient Idyl, . 2 Death of Daisy, 26 Dedication of a Modern A Lady in haste, 26 Idyl, 6 On the portrait of Luisinha The Modern Idyl, . 7 de Sodre-Pereira, 27 Chorus of ItaUans, . 13 To Sir Charles Napier, 27 To the Duke of Somerset, 14 Late Jealousy, 28 Expostulation, 15 Graver songs, 28 The Two Field-marshals, 16 Fear, 29 Lyons, 16 Louis Napoleon, 29 To a Poet, . 16 With Flowers, 29 Defiance, 17 The tears that rise. 30 Advice to a musical Man On Love and Idleness, 30 not young, 17 A sigh caught. 30 To Lord Nugent, 18 Pleasure, 31 The shortest day, . 18 A young lover's Resolution 31 The Myrtle's Appeal, 19 Incorrigible, 31 Southey, 19 The Sage of Seventeen, 32 To the Nobles of Venice, 20 To the Cyclamen, . 32 To the Giver of an Inkstand, 21 To Judge Haliburton, 33 Casuistry, 21 Erminine reading Homer, 33 To a Limoncina (Verbena), 22 On Love, 34 The Derby and Drop, 22 Dorothea, . 34 To a fair Maiden, . 23 On Law, 34 Croker, 23 A Puissant Prince, . 35 George the Third's Statue, 24 Erminine, 35 Ohm, 24 Bourbons, . 36 On Agesilao Milano, 24 To the Children of Garibaldi , 37 Destiny uncertain, . 25 Confession, . 37 Reply to the above, 25 Under the Lindens, 38 X CONTENTS. Page To Caina^ . 38 A Marble Dog for Paper- Peace, . 39 presser, . Indifference, . 39 Julius Hare, Love in youth, . 40 To a Field-marshal, Parties, 40 To the River Mela, near People and Patriots, . 41 Verona, Advice, 41 Morn, With Digby's Ages of Faith , 41 Leaders and Aspirants, Rosina, 42 Inopportune, Pleasure and Pain, . 42 My wit scanty. To a lady who dropt a few Rewards, years, 43 Boys and Men, Portrait, 43 The Gardener, Justice and Injustice, 43 Apology for Gebir, . Old-fashioned verse. 44 Heroics or Dactyhcs, Honor and Modesty, 44 Dulness, Advice recieved, 45 The Matron, The Middle-sized, . 45 Macaulay's Peerage, Virtue and Vice, . 45 Death of the Day, . Nineteenth of January, 45 The Two Satirists, . To a Lover, . 46 Plays, Lover's Answer, 46 On the Dog-Star, . 111 Success of St Peter, 46 On Reade's Cain, Sir James, . 47 The Solar Microscope, Constancy, . 47 To a Cyclamen, A whipping threatened a Pigmies and Cranes, young lady by an older. 48 The Mountain Ash, To two Spinsters, . 48 To our house-dog Captain, The Steps of Age, . 48 The Rocks of Life, . Written at Malvern, June A Poet sleeping, 1799, 49 Fast fall the leaves, Lesbia Nostra ! Lesbia Ilia . 49 Who is safe? Absence on leave from the " Are you mad or tipsy ? " . Crimea, . 50 The Pilfered to the Pilferer, The pacific Hero, 50 To Recruits, March 24, . 51 Gazelle-skin, Espousals of H. M. of Por- Flattered on my youth, tugal, 51 Pertness reproved, . Commination, 52 Different Graces, Voyage to St Ives, Cornwall 52 Children playing in a Church The Ladies of Leeds, 53 yard. Torbay, 54 We drive the hoop, Page CONTENTS. XI Page Page From the Bay of Biscay, 74 October 1799, 92 Credo, 74 Thermometer, 92 The Casket, . 75 Asked to dance at Bath, 93 Ashes, 75 Idleness, 93 Fur and Moths, 76 Rosina, 93 Written in Illness, . 76 Fist and Cudgel, 94 Kitty and her lover. 77 Laura, 94 Cadmus, 78 One libidinous and spiteful, 94 La Promessa Sposa, 78 Question and Answer, 95 Swift on Pope, 79 Tripos, 95 The grateful heart, 79 To Lamartine, 96 The farmer theologian's J On Southey's death. 98 harangue, 79 Pity and Compassion, 98 Poets on Duty, 80 The Timid, . 99 Decline of Life, 80 Life's Romance, 99 Brethren, 80 The Royal Fea^t, . 100 Fashions in Poetry, 81 England ! well done ! 101 Alternative, . 81 Twice ten years, . 102 To the Cyclamen, . 81 The lost jewel, 102 The Pigeon-fancier, 82 The Royal Beagles, . . 103 Late love, . 82 On the Duke of Devonshire A sensible girl's reply tc turning the Tzar's Por- Moore, 82 trait against the wall at To a young Poet, . 83 Chatsworth, . 104 Wise and Unwise, . 83 To Time, on Ch. Napier, 105 Firmness, . 83 The Crimean Heroes, 105 Eouts, 84 Observing a vulgar name On Southey's death, 84 on the plinth of an an Reflection from Sea and Sk^ , 84 cient Statue, 106 The sole assailant, . . 85 Rehef at the Crimea, 106 Accused of indifference tc To the Emperor, 107 praise. . 85 To Prince Adam Czartoriski , 108 A Complaint of inconstancy f, 86 Hypocricy why hated, 109 St Clair, . 86 A Gift of Poems, . 109 On Admiral Sir Sidnej Nelson, CoUingwood, and Smith, . 87 PeUew, . 110 To a young lady. . 88 The Bible, . 111 To a Mourner, . 88 Sympathy, . 111 Answer to "What do joi To Southey, . 111 believe?" 89 Who are the best laborers ? 112 To Southey 89 Friendship, . 112 Gore-House left for Paris, 91 To one imequally matched, 112 xu CONTENTS. Page Faults acknowledged, . 113 To Caroline Chisholm, Sermoni propiora, , . 113 Death of Blake, Singing birds, . 114 To Mary Russel Mitford, The Three Eoses, . . 115 On the Grasshopper, Scrapes and Maladies, . 115 Verses why burnt. Life hurries by, . 116 Revival of Poets, Another age, . 116 To Rose, What sighs do, . 117 The last Misleto, . On Freedom, . 117 Jupiter's Commandments, . The last Gift, . 117 Our Statesmen, The death in Paris of Jane Difference in Tears, . Sophia, Countess de Mo The Eruption of Vesuvius, . landd, . 118 Why never seen. Where are the Brave ? 118 Written in Sickness, Goldsmith and Gray, 119 Creeds, A fox in a cradle, . 119 Philosopher and Poet, Where are sighs ? . 120 The Fig-trees of Gherar- Gibbon, 120 desca, 'The Descent of Orpheus, 123 On a Spitz, . Promise, 126 CromweU in Council, What is deplorable. 126 The Banquet over, . An Alabaster Hand, 127 A Truth, The stern brow, 127 Caught, The immovable Power, 128 Wishes, Ignorance of Botany, 128 The Fire of Love, . Military merit rewarded, 128 November, . On one in Illness, 129 To Bath, . La Pensierosa, 129 Leaving London, On the Tzar, 130 Few but bend their necks, . Eistormel, . 131 A Back -Biter, To Manin in heaven. 131 Hearts-Ease, The Album opened. 132 The Dreamer, The Album closed. 132 Laying a Foundation-stone, To Sir Henry Strachey, 133 The Bark, . The Prince of Leiningen, . 133 lanthe's Troubles, . On the Earthquake at St To One in Grief, . Sauveur and Biaritz the Kenyon at Cowes, . night of the Emperor's To Lord Nugent, arrival, 134 Written in an Album, To Arthur Walker, . 134 Fanny, To the Author of "The A Pair of Nightingales, Plaint of Freedom," 135 The Honey-Moon, . CONTENTS. XUl Paoe Paoe On an Invitation to a Walk On his wife's affliction, 195 in Evening, 164 On his wife's death, 197 On the Lines above, 164 To Rahdi, 198 Damoetus and Phillis, 165 Ubbedienza, 199 Music, 166 Risposta alle parole. 199 To a Kid, . 167 Translation, 200 Canidia and Caina, . 168 Accanto al fonte del mio The Fat Suitor, 169 duol piangevo. 201 The Primrose-Bank, 169 Latina Qusedam. Nancy's Hair, 170 PoetsB Latini post Ovidium, 202 To my Son Walter, 170 Dolendus, . 203 Frenchmen, . 171 Ad Juventam, 204 The Perfidious, 171 Ad Senectam, 204 To Alexander the Ventrilc )- Sorore Amissa, . 204 quist, 172 Dominus, . 205 Flowers and Friendships, 172 Hesperus, . 205 To J. S., 173 Quid in Vita, 205 How to read me, 173 Muherum Indoles, 206 Good-Bye, . 174 Defunctus Loquitur, 206 What to Bring, 174 CapsulaEx Moro Fabricata, 206 Studious, 175 Amica Amico, 207 Nono sits, . 175 Ad Poetas, 207 Tears, 176 Turres Heidelburgse, 207 Reflection, . 176 Benefacta, 208 Charles and Wilham Napiei •, 176 Quo Dormitum Ire, 208 A Critic, 177 Versus Impetrati in Puella ) Gtovemors of India, . 177 Obitum, 208 To a Lady, . 177 Liber Quando, 209 To Liberty, . 178 In Scytham Sarmatarum The Spouse, . 178 Tyrannum, 209 Repentance, . . 179 Ad Rosam de Natali, 209 Truth will Penetrate, . 179 De Pio Nono, 210 My Homes, . 179 Ad Napoleonem Impera- Achilles and Helena on Ida , 180 torem, . 210 From the Persian. Ad Pomeronem, . 211 To the Vine, . 190 Ad Noi-am Napierara To Abra, . 191 nuptam. 211 To the Nightingale, . 192 Ad Dominam, 213 Praises of Abu-Said, . 192 Canis Amissus, . 213 From the Ai-abic. Ad Mehttam, 213 The Son of Sheik Daher, 193 Somnia et Insomnia, 214 Against Jezzar, . 196 Sertorum Varietas, 214 XIV CONTENTS. Page Fortasse, . . .214 Virgo Eomana Quomodo Tractate., . .214 Glorise Contemptor, . 215 Epitaphum Pauli qui Ex- ercitationes Scripsit et Uxorem Duxit, . 215 Insulsus, . . .215 Mors Tniqua, . .216 Gallia Viiicta, . . 216 Ad Philippum Regem, de Nuptiis Hispan : .216 De Ruinis Lantonianis Pulchre Depictis, . 217 Beatior, . . 217 Speranda Pauca, . . 217 Qnalis Vita Sit Beata, . 218 Britannia, . 218 Ad Lycen, . 218 Virginis Capilli, . . 219 Ad Heedum, . 219 Ad Graium, . 221 Difficile Opes Distribuere, 221 Quis Turpior ? . .222 Ad Amissam, . . 222 Pax Latronibus a Latroni- bus Data, 223 Amicus Meus, Strenuus Miles, Vulueratus, . 224 De Rufa in Novo-Como, . 225 Pax Honesta aut Nulla, . 226 Page Qui Non Inventus, . 226 Eugenia Napoleonis, . 227 Ad Cossuthum et Bemum, 227 In Imaginem Batthianii, . 228 Canis Urna, . .229 De Tribus Prsecipuis Ora- toribus, . . 230 Consolatio, . . 230 Satis, . . .230 To Walter Savage Landor, 231 „ „ Esq., 231 Landor, . . . 232 Sonnets to Walter Savage Landor. I., ... 232 II., . . . 233 A Sonnet to Walter Savage Landor, Esq., . . 234 On Mr Landor's Poem en- titled Ingratitude, . 234 Ah Landor, what a joy were mine, . . ." 235 To Walter Savage Landor, 236 To „ „ „ 237 Quam bene Sermones Scrip- sisti ab imagine dictos, 238 Fortior est Nemo qukm tu, 239 Ad lUustrissimum Virum Savagium Landor, . 239 Urbes Sicanas ut lubenter Viserim, . . . 240 BUY STICKS. DEDICATION OF AN ANCIENT IDYL. TO ROSE. EUROPA CARRIED OFF. Friend of my age ! to thee belong The plaintive and the playful song, And every charm unites in thee Of wisdom, wit, and modesty ; Taught hast thou been from early youth To tread the unswerving path of truth, And guided to trip lightly o'er The amaranth fields of ancient lore. Turn thou not hastily aside From her who stems the Asian tide, For shores henceforth to bear her name . . Thine, thine shall be a better fame ; Lands yet more distant shall it reach Than yonder Hellespontic beach. Or where the bravest blood now flows Before perfidious Delhi, Rose ! From boyhood have I loved old times And loitered under warmer chmes. I never dream such dreams as there . . Voices how sweet, and forms how fair ! The Nymphs and Graces there I find, The Muses too, and thee behind. All chiding thee, all asking why Thou whom they cherish art so shy ; They will not listen when I say, Thou hast some dearer ones than they. " Ungrateful ! " cry they, " can it be ? We have no dearer one than she." A 25 DRY STICKS. No. 1. THE ANCIENT IDYL. EUROPA AND HER MOTHER. MOTHER. Daughter ! wliy roamest thou again so late Along the damp and solitary shore "? EUROPA. I know not. I am tired of distaf, woof, Everything. MOTHER. Yet thou culledst flowers all morn, And idledst in the woods, mocking shriU birds. Or clapping hands at limping hares, who stampt Angrily, and scour'd off. EUROPA. I am grown tired Of hares and birds. mother ! had you seen That lovely creature ! It was not a cow, And, if it was an ox,"*" it was unlike My father s oxen with the hair rubb'd off Their necks. MOTHER. A cow it was. * Bulls are never at large in those countries ; Europa could not have seen one. DRY STICKS. EUROPA. Cow it might be . . And yet . . and yet . . I saw no calf, no font Of milk : I wish I had ; how pleasant 'twere To draw it and to drink ! MOTHER. Europa ! child ! Have we no maiden for such offices 1 No whistling boy '? Kings' daughters may cull flowers. To place them on the altar of the Gods And wear them at their festivals. Who knows But some one of these very Gods may deign To wooe thee ? maidens they have wooed less fair. EUROPA. The Gods are very gracious : some of them Not very constant. MOTHER. Hush ! EUROPA. Nay, Zeus himself Hath wandered, and deluded more than one. MOTHER. Fables ! profanest fables ! EUROPA. Let us hope so. 4 DRY STICKS. But I should be afraid of him, and run As lapwings do when we approach the nest. MOTHER. None can escape the Gods when they pursue. EUROPA. They know my mind, and will not follow me. MOTHER. Consider : some are stars whom they have loved, Others, the very least of them, are flowers. EUROPA. I would not be a star in winter nights. In summer days I would not be a flower ; Flowers seldom live thro' half their time, torn off", Twirl'd round, and indolently cast aside. Now, mother, can you tell me what became Of those who were no flowers, but bent their heads As pliantly as flowers do 1 To Hades. MOTHER. They are gone EUROPA. And left there by Gods they loved And were beloved by ! Be not such my doom ! Cruel are men, but cruder are Gods. DRY STICKS. MOTHER. Peace ! peace ! Some royal, some heroic, youth May ask thy father for thy dower and thee. EUROPA. I know not any such, if such there live ; Royal there may be, but heroic . . where ^i mother ! look ! look ! look ! What ails thee 1 MOTHER. Thou turnest pale ; EUROPA. Who in all the house hath dared To winde those garlands round that grand white brow '? So mild, so loving ! Mother ! let me run And tear them off him : let me gather more And sweeter. MOTHER. Truly 'tis a noble beast. See ! he comes forward ! see, he rips them off, Himself ! EUROPA. He should not wear them if he would. Stay there, thou noble creatiure ! Woe is me ! There are but sandi-ose, tyme, and snapdi-agon Along the shore as far as I can see. 6 DRY STICKS. mother ! lielp me on his back ; he licks My foot. Ah ! what sweet breath ! Now on his side He lies on purpose for it. Help me up. MOTHER. Well, child ! Indeed he is gentle. Gods above ! He takes the water ! Hold him tight, Europa ! Tis well that thou canst swim. Leap off, mad girl ! She laughs ! He lows so loud she hears not me . . But she looks sadder, or my sight is dim . . Against his nostril fondly hangs her hand While his eye glistens over it, fondly too. It will be night, dark night, ere she returns. And that new scarf ! the spray will ruin it ! DEDICATION OF A MODERN IDYL. TO CAINA. THE KERCHEF CARRIED OFF, Of Hell and Heaven we Poets hold the keys, Admitting or excluding whom we please. Thou puzzlest me : I know not what to do, Or which the safer gate to let thee thro'. Here from the Angels thou wouldst pluck the wings, There would the Devils wail their broken stings ; The Prince would abdicate his ancient throne Defiled by thee, and leave the realm thy own ; Between thy roomy teeth the scorpion breed, And revel on thy tongue the centipede. Live, Caina, live ! go, bear the mark of Cain, But never raise thy branded brow again. DRY STICKS. ■ No. 2. THE MODEEN IDYL. THE KERCHEF CARRIED OFF. Lady : Old Womari : Policeman. OLD WOMAN. These, madam, may perhaps be jokes Imiocent in you gentlefolks ; But tradesmen take it veiy ill If we from counter or from till Sweep inadvertently away Some shillings : there 's the devil to pay ! LADY. What means the woman ? OLD WOMAN. Nothing more Than what you Ve heard about before. LADY. Speak plainly. OLD WOMAN. Well, if speak I must, Words sour as verjuice, hard as crust, Have at you ! Be upon your guard ! Seldom I strike, but then strike hard. DRY STICKS. You, who 're a lady, should despise Such very petty larcenies. When somehow your wide sleeves might catch A diamond pin, a seal, a watch ; And gentlemen are never hard on Ladies who curtsy and beg pardon. But, if it is the same to you, I would have back my pink-and-hlue. LADY. I never set my eyes upon 't. OLD WOMAN to POLICEMAN. The Lord ha' mercy ! what a front ! That shilling which she tried to pass At the next baker's show'd less brass. LADY to OLD WOMAN. I '11 bring you to the County Court, You wretch ! you shall be ruin'd for 't. LADY to POLICEMAN. She threatens me. Police 1 police ! POLICEMAN. Madam, I charge you, keep the peace. LADY. I am half mad with rage and grief That you should lend her your belief. Thieve ! my stars ! thieve ! sir ! what ! 1 1 And if I tried, I could not lie. DRY STICKS, OLD WOMAN. Hark! POLICEMAN. Keep your tongue within your teeth, If you have any. OLD WOMAN. Few, i' faith ! A single one of hers would do. To set me up a score or two. POLICEMAN. I know you both. My good old crone ! What, in God's name, can you have done 1 OLD WOMAN. Ask her what she has. LADY. WiU you hear What she would say ? what she would swear ? POLICEMAN. Why are you grinning like a cat, Mother ? OLD WOMAN. And can you ask at what ? Those are the very words the Jury Applied to her (I do assure ye) 10 DRY STICKS. Last winter, when she fenced a lie With files of well-driU'd infantry, Where some were belted, some were sasht, But not a soul of them abasht. LADY. Now I declare to God . . POLICEMAN. Pray don't ! Or He may think it an affront. Ten times you Ve made that declaration Since I have been upon the station. At our most gracious Queen's expence, Thousand and thousand miles from hence Some have been sent for change of air By swearing ; so mind what you swear. In my home practise there are some The better for diaculum Across the solids ; there I mean Where ladies loom through crinoline. I Ve known it call'd for by postiUions, Never by such as ride on pillions. LADY to POLICEMAN. I wonder what all this can mean. I am quite ashamed of you. OLD WOMAN to POLICEMAN aside. Between Ourselves, it may in part refer To many, but comes home to her. DRY STICKS. 1 1 POLICEMAN to LADY. Shame, madam, might (and well become) Like charity, begin at home. OLD WOMAN, qfier pondering. Well now ! I really could believe She then swore . . but one's ears decieve. POLICEMAN. Now can not you arrange the matter Without this devil of a clatter 1 Mother ! you know as well as I Ladies require apology. OLD WOMAN. Well ; I am willing. POLICEMAN. Make it then. And never break the peace agen. OLD WOMAN. I would not steal, were I a thief, One's fifteen-penny neck-kerchef. POLICEMAN. Hold hard ! OLD WOMAN. I will ; but I must say She is a blessed thief . . 12 DRY STICKS. POLICEMAN. Heighday ! OLD WOMAN to LADY. Madam, the worst miglit not be meant ; So you are partly innocent. You little thought it was but cotton. And not worth half the one you Ve got on. But, if it is the same to you, I should like back my pink-and-hlue. LADY. Hard usage ! Once you call'd me good. OLD WOMAN. I would stil do it if I coa'd. Large once, and bright too, was the moon, She dwindled and got dimmer soon. LADY. Nonsense ! Let us make up the matter. POLICEMAN to OLD WOMAN. Don't look so desperate doubtful at her. OLD WOMAN. A drop . . LADY to POLICEMAN. Now tell me what she said. DRY STICKS. 13 OLD WOMAN. Flour without wetting won't make bread. LADY. 1 11 think upon it. OLD WOMAN. But don't think I '11 go without my blue-and-pink. No. 3. CHOEUS OF ITALIANS. Siren of high Siena ! thine Is not a song that lures the weak : To thee stern Freedom's ears incline, Through thee the purer Muses speak ; Etruria's Genius follows thee, Triumphant Piccolomini ! From his Subalpine region springs The only bard like bards of yore. The Man of Asti.''' Lo I he brings From Delphi's hight the crowns they wore ; Crowns fresh as ever . . but thy breath Would have blown off the blight of death. *Alfieri. 14 DRY STICKS. If Italy awakes again, Twill be at thy Seraphic strain, Soul-giver Piccolomini ! Enough from thee one ardent word To heave the sigh or draw the sword. To make men slaves or set them free. But dare we look into thine eyes While tears of shame in ours arise That those bright stars,'"" our guiding Twins, Are unavenged 1 Along the beach They lighted on, who strives to reach The goal *? Where Valor halts, Crime wins. Prophetic was that old man's dream (Who sang it out) of Polypheme. Where lies the avenging torch 1 extinct '? No ; the blind monster left behind Others as brutal and as blind . . Shake, shake your chains until unlinkt. No. 4. TO THE DUKE OF SOMEESET. Poor Somerset ! 'twas safer work At Bentham dead to shake thy dirk. Than sling thy brooklet's small black stone At the high brow of Hamilton. * The Bandieras. DRY STICKS. 15 No. 5. EXPOSTULATION. Now yellowing hazels fringe the greener plain, And mountains show their unchain'd necks again, And little rivulets beneath them creep, And gleam and glitter in each cloven steep ; Now when supplanted by insidious snow The huge stone rolls into the lake below. What, in these scenes, her earlier haunts, to roam. What can detain my lovely friend from home 1 Tis that, 'mid fogs and smoke, she hears the claim And feels the love of Freedom and of Fame ; Before these two she bends serenely meek. They also bend, and kiss her paler cheek. No. 6. THE TWO FIELD-MARSHALS. Of two Field-marshals there is one Who never heard an angry gun : The other, hearing it, cries " What Would the mad Menschikoflf be at ? Get ready, some of you, and see Why all this bustle there should be Among the brushwood. Ha ! by Jove ! They come ; I see their caps above." History ! be thou impartial. And duly honor each Field-marshal. 16 DRY STICKS. No. 7. LYONS. The horn-eyed, cold, constrictor Tzar, With crouching German satellites, Eattles the scaly crest of war To scare off all who seek their rights. Onward, brave Lyons ! thou at least Art ready, whosoever fail. To battle down the rampant beast . . Look, traitor princes ! look and quail. Ere now the victory is won. For thro' ten thousand breasts thy soul Hath shot its patriot fire, that shone The brightest o'er Sebastopol. No. 8. TO A POET. Poet ! too trustful and too tender. Let not your fire o'erleap the fender. Or you perhaps may be unable To save the papers on the table. Prepare for now and then a theft If these, which others want, are left. DRY STICKS. 17 No. 9. DEFIANCE. Catch her and hold her if you can . . See, she defies you with her fan, Shuts, opens, and then holds it spred In threatening guize above your head. Ah ! why did you not start before She reacht the porch and closed the door ? Simpleton ! will you never learn That girls and time will not return ; Of each you should have made the most, Once gone, they are for ever lost. In vain your knuckles knock your brow. In vain will you remember how Like a slim brook the gamesome maid Sparkled, and ran into the shade. No. 10. ADVICE TO A MUSICAL MAN, NOT YOUNG. My dear friend Barry ! Think ere you marry That " Time is on the wing!' Do you not fear That you may hear The bride with laughter sing Fa— la f 18 DRY STICKS. No. 11. TO LOED NUGENT. You ask me, will I come to Stowe ; I grieve my answer must be, no : Yet, Nugent, I would fain behold Once more your favorite haunts of old, Your native home : but since you say You know not where poor Hammond lay ; Of all those chambers which was that Where Love's exhausted victim sat. Until Death call'd him, and he heard Sad-smiling, and obey'd the word. What care I if a Cobham too Lived there "l or, Nugent, even you 1 Come Bath -ward, I have bought a chair, Able your whole expanse to bear ; But first examine it, then try So rare a curiosity : Imperfectly by me 'twas done, With a slight make- weight, scarce ten stone. No. 12. THE SHOKTEST DAY. The day of brightest dawn (day soonest flown !) Is that when we have met and you have gone. DRY STICKS. 1 9 No. 13. THE MYETLFS APPEAL. To the tender and pensive I make my Appeal. If ever ye felt, believe I also feel. Who rifles my blossoms, who strips my young leaves, May the maiden he swears to, be sure he decieves ! But ye who in grove or in chamber run over The songs of all lands that have burst from the lover, And have learnt and have often repeated my name, From Cyprus to distant lerne the same. Do spare me ! There is (you may know her) a flower Who blooms and who blushes for only an hour ; She may not be backward a breast to adorn. Perhaps warm as hers, and perhaps cold as Morn ; There place her : I fancy she will not resist. Nor will one (for her parents have many) be mist. But, if you hope aught from our Goddess, leave me To rest on the sands and to look on the sea.* No. 14. SOUTHEY. SouTHEY and I have run in the same traces, When we break down what pair shall fill our places ? * Litora myrtitis gratissima. Virgil. 20 DRY STICKS. No. 15. TO THE NOBLES OF VENICE, ON THE RECEPTION OF THE AUSTRIAN. Lords of the Adriatic, shores and iles, Nobles 1 of that name sole inheritors ! Bravely ye acted, worthy of yourselves And ancestors, who shut your palaces When Perjury stalkt forth along the square Where Doges sat beneath their patron saint. While swords and crowns weigh down the scale, and while Nations once free wish faintly, or wish not. To see your freedom and high state restored. Can ye but dwell upon your ruins '? Hark! To Tarvis and Isonzo swells a blast From far Taranto, not forgetful now Of Sparta ; brave the sires, the sons as brave Spring forth. The indomitable AUobrox, Who pluckt the Eoman eagles, and rais'd higher, Across his mountains hears the voice of Tell, And Hofer, echoing, tho' less loud behind. Kise, unentangled by your flowing robes ; Put newer armour on ; march forward ; march, Keckless of German threat and Gallic fraud. DRY STICKS. 21 No. 16. TO THE GIVER OF AN INKSTAND. Know me better. Do you think I will ever stain with ink Crystal vase and rosewood stand, Brought me by your bounteous hand ? In that drawer shall never lie Aught designed for other eye ; Neither sealing-wax nor note That the fairest fingers wrote ; Nor the one I would retouch For too little or too much. In that drawer shall never rest Naked hand with spear-head crest : Whether spea7'-head crest it be Or heisildic Jleur-de-lis It is much the same to me : Only jewels should lie there Or the flower you deign d to wear. No. 17. CASUISTRY. Our brother we believe we must not slay ; His blood we may not spill, his tears we may Alas ! in this wide world how few abstain From siezing pleasure thro' another's pain. 22 DRY STICKS. No. 18. TO A LIMONCINA (VEEBENA). Flowers may enjoy their own pure dreams of bliss. Prest, smoothed with soft slow hand, upon her book By Isabel, and winning one kind look, Couldst thou, my Limoncina, dream of this '? No. 19. THE DEEBY AND DEOP. Derby ! we read, a noble dame Of France cast luster on your name, Which ne^er before and ne'er since then Shone half so brightly in the men. Ye catch it now upon the course And share your thirds with man and horse : I rank (can such precedence shock ye '?) The horse the first, and next the jockey. Nobles, 'tis true, no longer sit Where steel-spurr'd cocks drive mad the pit, Or where the dog and bull engage. And mildness is provoked to rage ; Yet stil they haunt the listed ground Where thieves and gamblers sit around. And eagerly hold out a hand To the old sages of the stand. DRY STICKS. 23 And clutch the profer'd gold they wou The night before from youths undone, A sister's pride, a father s hope, Or drooping widow's slender prop. See Palmer ! for that wretch, my lord, Your fellow-workmen noost the chord, And the same wheel that twisted it In the same ropewalk rolls on yet. Beneath an unblest turf he lies. Not deader than your sympathies. Were ye devout or were ye just, Ye had enshrined your martyr s dust, Or, better, wiped away the score, And turn'd him loose . . to murder more. No. 20. TO A FAIR MAIDEN. Fair maiden ! when I look at thee I wish I could be young and free ; But both at once, ah ! who coiUd be ? No. 21. CROKER. Disposer of our fleet is Croker, He should have been at most a stoker. 24 DRY STICKS. No. 22. GEOEGE THE THIERS STATUE. Altho' against thee, George the Third ! I threw sometimes a scornful word, Against thy nape I did not nail Characteristical pig-tail. What is thy genus none can doubt Who looks but at thy brow and snout. No. 23. GLIM. Do and permit whatever you will With others, I shall love you stil. Heaven grant we may not love the most When to each other we are lost ! No. 24. GN AGESILAG MILANG. Sometimes the brave have bent the head To lick the dust that despots tread ; Not so, Milano : he alone Would bow to Justice on the throne ; To win a crown of thorns he trod A flinty path, and rests with God. DRY STICKS. 25 No. 25. DESTINY UNCERTAIN. Gracefully shy is yon Gazelle : And are those eyes, so clear, so mild, Only to shine upon a wild And be reflected in a shallow well 1 Ah ! who can tell ? If she grows tamer, who shall pat Her neck ? who wreathe the flowers around 1 Who give the name ? who fence the ground ? Pondering these things a grave old Dervish sat, And sighed. Ah ! who can tell. No. 26. REPLY TO THE ABOVE. Old Dervish ! how good you are ! Your verses lit papa's cigar. No. 27. THE HEARrS ABYSSES. Triumphant Demons stand, and Angels start, To see the abysses of the human heart. 26 DRY STICKS. No. 28. DAISY, A SPANIEL. High as the sofa Daisy's head Was raised, and thus in whines she said " I am the smallest of the three, And wiU you not make room for me "? " No. 29. DEATH OF DAISY. Daisy ! thy life was short and sweet ; Who would not wish his own the same ? And that his hand, as once thy feet, Were claspt in hers whose vocal name Awakes the summer and the bird That sings so lonely and so late, A song these many nights IVe heard, And felt, alas, it sang my fate. No. 30. A LADY IN HASTE SAYS, I CAN not give much time to you ; Will nothing else, I wonder, do 1 DRY STICKS. 27 No. 31 ON THE POKTEAIT OF LUISINHA DE SODRE-PEREIEA. Afar was I when thou wast born, More than one country to adorn, My Luisinha ! and afar From me shines now thy morning star ; But not unblest by Heaven is he Who its reflected light can see. No. 32. TO SIR CHARLES NAPIER. Napier ! I am too prompt to cry Against injustice ; such am I, Yet sometimes in a calmer mood I cease to think of it : no good In anger, little in reproof . . From each then let me stand aloof. But scorn can ill repress her laugh To see the boobies gild the calf. Warrior and Prophet too was he Who crost the Erythraean sea. And saw his nation safe and free. Warrior and Prophet too wast thou, Long disallowed, acknowledged now. In toil and pain ran on thy days, At nightfall came thy coimtry's praise. 28 DRY STICKS. No. 33. LATE JEALOUSY. No, I have never feard that age Your generous heart would disengage From one you long had valued, one To every other cold as stone, But warm to you, and you alone. I loved your beauty for your sake, My share of pleasure proud to take When younger men your worth could prize. And read their fortunes in your eyes. But I am jealous now at last . . that your wicked girl should cast Her teacher off, and take another To help her forward past her brother. Distrusting . . me, shame ! shame 1 . . in latin The only thing that I am pat in. 1 know what girls are, eight years old. And she would laugh if I should scold. No. 34. GEAVER SONGS. Graver songs I fain would sing : " Ah ! 'twill never, never do ! " Love cries out . . and every string Sounds, and sounds again, but you. DRY STICKS. 29 No. 35. FEAK. I FEAR a little girl I know ; Were I but younger I were bolder ; Diana ! I would break thy bow In twain across her ivory shoulder. No. 36. LOUIS NAPOLEON. Bees on imperial mantle Louis bears, And the same emblem thro' his court appears, They buz about the hall, they mount the chamber, The Empress washes them in liquid amber. They lull the people with their humming wings, Few taste their honey, many feel their stings. Yet England's praise hath Louis justly won In sheltering valiant Guyon's homeless son. No. 37. WITH FLOWERS. The Goddess of beauty, who loves early hours. Awakened the Graces to gather yon flowers : The Goddess of wisdom comes later, and says, " Those wither ; take mine ; they shall last all your days." 30 DRY STICKS. No. 38. THE TEAKS THAT EISE. The tears that rise Into my eyes Shall not descend : With you began The course they ran. With you shall end. No. 39. ON LOVE AND IDLENESS, A SKETCH BY COEREGGIO. Troublesome child ! do let that youth alone ; Thy friend and fosterer in thy earliest days Was Idleness ; without him few or none Have haird thy presence or have sung thy praise. No. 40. A SIGH CAUGHT. Happy the man for whom arose that sigh, And happy too, tho' less by half, am I : I am the first to catch it on its way, The last that winged herald to betray. DRY STICKS. 31 No. 41. PLEASURE. What bitter flowers surround the fount of Pleasure, And poison its bright waters as they fall ! No. 42. A YOUNG LOVEFS RESOLUTION. I WILL not depose The image of Rose From the heart that has long been her shrine ; I know there is one Who would say, 'Twere ill done ; He never shall desecrate mine. No. 43. INCORRIGIBLE. My hopes and glories all go down, Before the shadow of your frown : You smile on me, and I am then The happiest and the first of men. To you is given, and but to you, To pimish and to pardon too. Grave was my fault, yet wish it less I can not ; I would stil transorress. 32 DRY STICKS. No. 44. THE SAGE OF SEVENTEEN. Little have you to learn from me, sage of seventeen ! Wiser I will not boast to be, 1 can not to have been. Go, rather place your hand in hers Who acts a mother's part, And who to all your charms prefers Your pure and grateful heart. Slowly you TL draw it back again When Love demands his day ; Pleasure will hardly conquer Pain To carry you away. No. 45. TO THE CYCLAMEN. My little flower of stem so tall, Who would have thought that we should fall So soon, or ever, in disgrace '? My little flower ! be thou resign'd. Like me, nor deem it hard to find. Even at her feet our resting-place. DRY STICKS. '^:^ No. 46. TO JUDGE HALIBURTON. Once I would bid the man go hang, From whom there came a word of slang ; Now pray I, tho' the slang rains thick Across the Atlantic from Sam Slick, Never may fall the slightest hurt on The witty head of Haliburton, Wherein methinks more wisdom lies Than in the wisest of our wise. No. 47. EKMININE READING HOMER. Hellen was once as fair, Erminine ! as you are, And was as fickle too Almost, or quite, as you. When you Ve turned o'er the page Of Greece's poet-sage, You 11 place upon one palm Your head, its thoughts to calm, And dwell upon the l^est Arising o'er the rest, " Who v)oidd not rather be Hector's Andromache f c 34 DRY STICKS. No. 48. ON LOVE. What right have I to hold back Love so late, When we should long have gone to rest ? But we were pelted by the storms of Fate From where we rashly built our nest. One there is yet who drives us not away, But warms our hands in her's this winter day. No. 49. DOEOTHEA. Stately step, commanding eye, Attributes of majesty. Others may from far adore . . Adoration ! mine is more When that stately step I see, Swifter now, approaching me, And that eye whose one command Is, " Come here and take my hand" No. 50. ON LAW. What thousands. Law, thy handy work deplore ! Thou hangest many, but thou starvest more. DRY STICKS. 35 No. 51. A PUISSANT PKINCE. A MOST puissant picture-scouring Prince, Whose charger never has been known to wince Before a bayonet or cannon ball, Resolved SebastopoFs beleaguered wall In one more brief campaign should tumble down Beneath the terrors of his fatty frown. What said Napoleon 1 This Napoleon said. And shook ambiguously the imperial head. " Let others trench, and undermine, and storm, Prince ! you have higher duties to perform, Leave you one Titian only half extinct, One Claude, one Rubens.'' Thus he spake, and winkt. No. 52. ERMININE. No Goddess is but seventeen; No Goddess then is Erminine. The Powers above submit to Fate, Even Venus is grown old of late, So that no lover ventures now To breathe her name before his vow, Earth's fi-esher bloom the wise prefer In Erminine, and woi-ship her. 36 DRY STICKS. No. 53. BOUEBONS. Isabella spits at Spain, Bomba strips and scourges Naples : Are there not then where they reign Addled eggs or rotten apples ? Treadmills, pillories, humbler stocks ! Ye repeat your lessons yet. Halters, gibbets, axes, blocks ! Your old textbook ye forget. Men have often heard the thunder Koll at random; where, where Eolls it now '? I smell it under That fat priest in that foul chair. Never was there poet wanting Where the lapdog licks the throne ; Lauds and hymns we hear them chanting, Shame if I were mute alone ! Let me then your deeds rehearse. Gem of kings and flower of queens ! Tho' I may but trail a verse Languider than Lamartine's. DRY STICKS. 37 No. 54. TO THE CHILDEEN OF GAEIBALDI. Children ! be not too proud, altho' the man Whom Ocean smiles on with parental love. And Earth from every coast with loud applause Hails a deliverer, children, is your sire. what vast empire have ye to defend ! A name so high, so inaccessible, Virtues so pure and courage so humane. All are your heritage : by liveried serfs On right and left will these be long assailVl : March ever onward, but march watchfully, Follow his steps and ye are safe ; depart One furlong from them and ye sink beneath The vilest head that ever dozed on throne Or ever bow'd to it : be true to Faith, Not Faith recumbent upon downy lies, But Faith that grasps the hand of Providence And Justice, in this darkened world of ours. And bends to One above, to none below. No. 55. CONFESSION. Confession soon would be discarded If all the priests were Abeilarded ; For Faith is hardly worth a pin Without a few good works of sin. 38 DRY STICKS. No. 56. UNDEK THE LINDENS. Under the lindens lately sat A couple, and no more, in chat ; I wondered what they would be at Under the lindens. I saw four eyes and four lips meet, I heard the words, How sweet ! how siveet ! Had then the Faeries given a treat Under the lindens *? I pondered long and could not tell What dainty pleased them both so well : Bees ! bees ! was it your hydromel Under the lindens ? No. 57. TO CAINA. At the cart's tail, some years ago. The female thief was dragged on slow, And the stern beadel's eager whip . Followed, the naked haunch to clip. If no such custom now prevails. Is it that carts have lost their tails 1 Eejoice, Caina ! raise thy voice. Not where it should be, but rejoice ! DRY STICKS. :VJ No. 58. PEACE. He who would wish his country great Must call around her every state, Upholding high their rights and laws; Must spurn usurpers, and despise As weak and worthless all allies Who fight against Man's common cause. Princes of Germany ! if some Half-naked to our hearths have come And we have cloth'd and fed them too, Couple your hungry hounds where runs Your Elbe, for never England's sons Shall wear a collar puncht by you. Away with leaders who forget Or have to learn their duties yet. If Peace illume not every town, may we never see her back ! Never, to trail a train of black And bind her brow with fragil crown ! No. 59. INDIFFERENCE. Whether a span above ground or below 'Tis best to lie, it boots me not to know. 40 DRY STICKS. No. 60. LOVE IN YOUTH. Sounder, sweeter, be your sleep For the few fond tears you weep ! But, by all your brief young love Pure as any born above, I adjure you ! let not me Waste away your memory ! Half-remember, half-forget. What my heart will treasure yet. Broken words not idly thrown In that vase : may I alone Suffer, if there aught remain To be suffered yet of pain. Spring is past ; 'twas mutual then, Share it now with other men. I would say too " Make one blest" But that speech within my breast (False for once) must be supprest. No. 61. PAETIES. Tories don't like me, Whigs detest ; Then in what quarter can I rest ? Among the Liberals '? most of all The liberals are illiberal. DRY STICKS. 4 I No. 62. PEOPLE AND PATRIOTS. People like best the patriots who betray 'em ; They trusted Russell and they trusted Graham : Past folly's last extreme they now are gone, And pant, and halt, and cling to Palmerston. No. 63. ADVICE. At every step of life expect Flings from your Ragged School, bard ! Walk quietly, and recollect That rotten apples hit not hard. No. 64. WITH DIGBTS AGES OF FAITH. I AM not learned in such lore divine ; Take it : in scenes which other thoughts invade. It may one hour cast round a cooler shade. Yet darken not that gentle breast of thine. It tells of Peace, and those she called to dwell Apart with her, when desperate Sin opprest The struggling Earth ; it can not reach thy breast. But troubles may ; so take this holy spell. 42 DRY STICKS. No. 65. EOSINA. EosiNA ran down Prior-park, Joyous and buoyant as a lark. The little girl, light-heerd, light-hearted, Challenged me ; and away we started. Soon in a flutter she returned. And cheek, and brow, and bosom burn'd. She fairly own'd my full success In catching her, she could no less, And said to her mama, who smiled Yet lovelier on her lovely child, " You can not think how fast he ran For such a very old old man, He would not kiss me when he might. And, catching me, he had a right. Such modesty I never knew. He would no more kiss me than you." No. 66, PLEASUEE AND PAIN. Pleasure and Pain, Of equal reign, I know not which is strongest ; But well I know, (And grieve 'tis so), Which domineers the longest. DRY STICKS. 43 No. 67. / TO A LADY WHO DKOPT A FEW YEAES. Lightly you run thro' years ; stop ! stop ! Let me pick up the gems you drop. Five I perceive are on the ground . . What ! are you angry they are found ? No. 68. POKTEAIT. Thy skin is like an unwasht carrot's, Thy tongue is blacker than a parrot's, Thy teeth are crooked, but belong Inherently to such a tongue. No. 69. JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE. You think Injustice is a curse, But Justice you will find the worse ; Its rotten bench is stuft with thorns, And the road to it bad for corns. You would ride back then : well, but where Is money left to pay the fare ? 44 DRY STICKS. No. 70. OLD-FASHIONED VEESE. In verse alone I ran not wild When T was hardly more than child. Contented with the native lay Of Pope or Prior, Swift or Gay, Or Goldsmith, or that graver bard Who led me to the lone church-yard. Then listened I to Spencer's strain. Til Chaucer's Canterbury train Came trooping past, and carried me In more congenial company. Soon my soul was hurried o'er This bright scene : the " solemn roar ' Of organ, under Milton's hand. Struck me mute : he bade me stand Where none other ambled near . . I obey'd, with love and fear. No. 71. HONOR AND MODESTY. When Honor once hath shut the door Behind him, he returns no more. Modesty finds, once gone astray. No forward and no backward way, Gone every grace that most endears ! Gone, beyond all, the grace of tears ! DRY STICKS. 45 No. 72. ADVICE RECIEVED. On perjurer and plunderer turn no more, But leave the carrion on the kennel-door. No. 73. THE MIDDLE-SIZED. Middle-sized men live longest, but soon dies The pthisic poet of a middle size. No. 74. VIRTUE AND VICE. Virtue and Vice look much the same ; If Truth is naked, so is Shame. No. 75. NINETEENTH OF JANUARY. FLOWERS SENT. If flowers could make their wishes vocal, they Would breathe warm wishes on your natal day : Boldly to meet your smile they venture forth This winter morn, nor dread the blustering north. 46 DRY STICKS. No. 76. TO A LOVEK. Gaze not at the lights that shine From the heaven of Erminine. Lover ! tremble at those stars. Bright as Venus, stern as Mars. Tremble, lover ! until Hope Fixes firm your telescope. No. 77. LOVER'S ANSWER. Gaze not ! By those heavens above ! By the sacred fire of Love ! By her purer self, I swear I will gaze while they shine there. No. 78. ILL SUCCESS OF SAINT PETER. Saint Peter could fish up No shark of a bishop In the waters of far Galilee, So he rigs a new skiff And is wondering if He can find one in Exeter See. DRY STICKS. 47 No. 79. SIR JAMES. A COWARD ! who dares call Sir James Such inappropriate ugly names 1 Against the world will I uphold No Briton ever was so bold. Say, did he, minister of state, One hour, one moment, hesitate To open letters not his own, Nor relevant to England's throne 1 And did he not full surely know, Nay, take good heed, they should lay low Two youthful heads that Greece had crown'd, Chaunting immortal h}Tnns around. I warrant you the brave Sir James Would toss these hymn-books on the flames, And start straitforward and defy His scowling country's scornful cry. Fame ! what is fame ? a passing gust That gathers up and scatters dust : But cabinets are close and warm. Where Shame may sit and fear no harm. No. 80. CONSTANCY. Constancy has one bright day, Then like light it fades away. 48 DRY STICKS. No. 81. A WHIPPING THEEATENED A YOUNG LADY BY AN OLDEE. If you design For Erminine A stroke or so, I beg you 'U make Of me the stake To tie her to. No. 82. TO TWO SPINSTEES ; HOOKS AND EYES. Fair spinsters ! be ye timely wise, Where men bring hooks do you bring eyes. No. 83. THE STEPS OF AGE. I DO remember when each stride Toward your gate was swift and wide Shorter and slower steps become As they are bending to the tomb ; But when within your house I rest, I am already with the blest. DRY STICKS. 49 No. 84. WRITTEN AT MALVERN, JUNE 1799. Ye springs of Malvern, fresh and bright. Wherein the Spirits of health delight To dip incessantly their wings, Rise and sustain the pallid maid Who steps so slow and seeks your aid; Bless, and in turn be blest, ye springs ! If I might ask the Powers above One gift, that gift should be her love. Hush ! thou unworthy creature, hush ! Wouldst thou not rather see her, then. Without her love, in health agen 1 I pause ; I bow my head, and blush. No. 85. LESBIA NOSTRA! LESBIA ILLA! Lips ! that were often prest on mine, What falsehood ever found ye there ? I scarcely calFd her half-divine, Scarcely the fairest of the fair. I wooed to right, I warn'd of wrong, I taught the little lore I knew ; She paid me with a siren song . . Better one breath of pure and true ! D 50 DRY STICKS. No. 86. ABSENCE ON LEAVE FEOM THE CEIMEA. " See the conquering hero comes" Bites his nails and twirls his thumbs, Under fondest kindred eye He shall eat his Christmas-pie, While his comrades droop afar Pincht by frost and criisht by war. He shall teach his country-folk a Marvelously pretty polka, Tell what cities he will storm In a majors uniform, Uniform so justly due In another year or two ; By the Army-list 'tis shown He hath served already one. No. 87. THE PACIFIC HERO. Why should not Albert meet the Tzar And terminate at once this war 1 What earthly foe can Albert fear ? Has he not quell'd both grouse and deer ? Let him now put the feathered hat on, And Earth shall quail before his baton. DRY STICKS. 51 No. 88. MAECH 24. Sharp crocus wakes the froward Year ; In their old haunts birds re-appear ; From yonder elm, yet black with rain, The cushat looks deep down for grain Thrown on the gravel-walk : here comes The redbreast to the sill for crumbs. Fly off ! fly off ! I can not wait To welcome ye, as she of late. The earliest of my friends is gone, Alas ! almost my only one ! The few as dear, long wafted o'er, Await me on a sunnier shore. No. 89. ESPOUSALS OF H. M. OF PORTUGAL. Youngster of Coburg ! thou hast found a throne Easy to mount, and easier to slip down : But, in the name of wonder ! who beside Of mortal men could mount thy royal bride ? So vast an enterprize requires the force And ladder too that scaled the Trojan horse. In whose rank orifice some hundreds hid Themselves and arms, and down the rampire slid. Thou hast achieved a mightier deed and bolder, And hast not dislocated hip or shoulder. 52 DRY STICKS. No. 90. COMMINATION. Taking my walk the other day I saw a little girl at play. So pretty, 'twould not be amiss, Thought I, to venture on a kiss. Fiercely the little girl began . . " / wonder at you, nasty man ! " And all four fingers were applied, And crimson pinafore beside, To wipe what venom might remain. "Z)o, if you dare, the like again; " / have a mind to teach you better,' And I too had a mind to let her. No. 91. VOYAGE TO ST IVES, COENWALL, FROM PORT-EINON, GLAMORGAN, 1794. How gladsome yet how calm are ye White birds that dip into the sea ! How sportive those bright fins below Which through green alga-meadows glow I How soft the lustrous air around, And the red sail's is all the sound. While me my heart's fierce tempest drives On from Port-Einon to St Ives, DRY STICKS. 53 No. 92. THE LADIES OF LEEDS. Ladies of Leeds ! the arts of peace With golden crown have crown'd your siies ; And Heaven, the blessing to increase, Hath ranged you round domestic fires. Mindful are ye from theirs how far Your country's brave defenders bleed, In strenuous strife, in righteous war. And well ye know the help they need. A traitor, liid behind the throne, Has barr d the honest house-dog in ; While the safe wolf stalks slyly on. And hears and mocks his angry din. For war and warlike song unfit, Along the vale of years I creep ; Glory and virtue charm me yet. And make the darkness round less deep. The vale of years is not a vale Where flowers that teem with honey shine. Where shepherds love to tell the tale. And then the coronal to twine. Here on my elbow as I rest. And faintly blow the unequal reeds, Harmonious voices sing, " Be blest In love, jxist pi*ide of2^(fi*cnt Leech ! " 54 DRY STICKS. No. 93. TORBAY. Again the rocks and woodlands of Torbay Proclaim the advent of their festal day, The summer sky with fresher brightness glows, And Ocean smiles to meet the smile of Rose. No. 94. A MARBLE DOG FOR PAPER-PRESSER. Mark ! always, always watchful, here I stand. To guard the letters of a lover's hand, Tho' gems should glisten, and tho' gold should shower, I would defy, Jupiter ! thy power. No. 95. JULIUS HARE. Julius ! how many hours have we Together spent with sages old ! In wisdom none surpassing thee, In Truth's bright armure none more bold. By friends around thy couch in death My name from those pure lips was heard. Fame ! how feebler all thy breath Than Virtue's one expiring word ! DKY STICKS. 55 No. 96. TO A FIELD-MARSHAL. Is it that Care Has thinn'd thy hair, Field-marshal ! let us hope not ; Venus, they say, Is apt to play The Devil with the top-knot. No. 97. TO THE RIVER MELA, NEAR VERONA.^ Ah Mela ! pleasant art thou to behold Drop, as thou runnest on, thy curls of gold In looser ringlets, and then bending down Those branches whence Alcides wreath'd his crown. And mingling them with darker from the dead O'er whom Apollo droopt his guilty head. There in one shadow on thy breast unite Cypress and poplar, equal in thy sight. But where is our Valerius ? where is he Who sang so many loves, and each with glee ? The Muse of elegy stood far away And pined and pouted at his Sapphic lay. Venus could never bring her faithful doves Within the precincts of the Lesbian groves. * Flavus quam molli percurrit flumine Mela. Catullus. 56 DRY STICKS. He whom thou most delightedst in prefer'd The pert and piping to the cooing bird/"" And the few tears, the very few, he shed, Were on the breast which held that pert one dead. Barbaric trumpets, Mela, now resound On every hill and vale thou seest around. But fear not, Mela ! thou shalt yet rejoice. And mid thy shepherds raise thy silvery voice. The robbers shall be driven far and wide. . . Shrink not if gore pollute thy placid tide. If some few days it swell with bloated men, It shall run free, soon, soon, and pure agen. No. 98. MOKN. Sweet is the Morn where'er it shines. Whether amid my Tuscan vines. Or where Sorrento's shadows play At hide-and-seek along the bay, Or high Amalfi takes its turn, ^ Until they rest on low Salern. And here too once the Morn was sweet, For here I heard the tread of feet Upon the pebbles wet with dew ; Sweet was the Morn, it breath'd of you. * Lesbia's bird has everywhere been called a sparrow. Italians at this day use the word passero for several birds. DRY STICKS. 57 No. 99. LEADEKS AND ASPIRANTS. Palmerston lies and gives the lie With equal volubility. The " artful Dodger," little John, Is scarcely match for Palmerston. Who next ? Jim Crow ; he prigs our letters. And parries Freedom like his betters. No. 100. INOPPORTUNE. A CRUNCHING bear inopportunely bit Thy finger, Reade ! ^^ It should have been ere thy first verse was writ, It should indeed ! No. 101. MY WIT SCANTY. I HAVE but little wit, all they Whose brains are close and curdy say, They relish best the broadfaced jokes Of hearty, burly, country-folks. And are quite certain those must judge ill Who for the rapier drop the cudgell. * John Edmund. 58 DRY STICKS. No. 102. KEWAKDS. To bring is better than to cause Good news, say they who frame our laws. The bravest soldier is not half Eewarded as a telegraph, And Eoyalty puts no such spurs on A veteran's heels as those of Curzon. Yet, poor blind Fanny Brown ! at last On thee a royal glance is cast, Altho' none ever heard thee praise Spaniel or poodle all thy days : How sadly then those days were spent ! Repent, Fanny Brown, repent ! And thus, perhaps, in time to come, A parish girl may lead thee home In thy old age, and thou mayst find One heart that feels for lame and bhnd : But, having yet some vigor, hope Eeward for rubbing Windsor soap On (if benignant fate so will) Smock royal and field-marshal frill. No. 103. BOYS AND MEN. Lea ve me alone ! the pettish school-boy cries. Leave me alone ! say too the calm and wise. DRY STICKS. 59 No. 104. THE GAKDENEE. Bloom, my rose ! Bloom there where blows The vernal, not autumnal, air, Enough for me At times to see A flower an angel ought to wear. Thy graceful jar Was rais'd afar From that which holds my coarser clay. Yet could thy smile Warm it awhile And melt the distance half away. No. 105. APOLOGY FOE GEBIK. Sixty the years since Fidler bore My grouse-bag up the Bala moor ; Above the lake, along the lea Where gleams the darkly yellow Dee ; Thro' crags, o'er cliffs, I carried there My verses with paternal care, But left them, and went home again. To wing the birds upon the plain. With heavier luggage half forgot, For many months they followed not. 60 DRY STICKS. When over Tawey's sands they came, Brighter flew up my winter flame ; And each old cricket sang alert With joy that they had come unhurt. Gebir ! men shook their heads in doubt If we were sane : few made us out, Beside one stranger ; in his heart We after held no niggard part. The songs of every age he knew, But only sang the pure and true. Poet he was, yet was his smile Without a tinge of gall or guile. Such lived, ^tis said, in ages past ; Who knows if Southey was the last 1 Dapper, who may perhaps have seen My name in some late magazine. Among a dozen or a score Which interest wise people more, Wonders if I can be the same To whom poor Southey augured fame; Erring as usual in his choice Of one who mocks the public voice. And fancies two or three are worth Far more than all the rest on earth. Dapper, in tones benign and clear, Tells those Avho treasure all they hear, " Landor would have done better far. Had he observed the northern star; Or Bloomfield might have shown the way To one who always goes astray ; He might have tried his pen upon The living, not the dead and gone. DRY STICKS. 61 Are turban'd youths and muffled l^elles Extinct along the Dardanelles ? Is there no scimitar, no axe i Daggers and bow-strings, mutes and sacks ? Are they all swept away for ever From that sky-blue resplendent river ? Do heroes of old time surpass Cardigan, Somerset, Dundas 1 Do the Sigsean mounds inclose More corses than Death swept from those V* No, no : but let me ask in turn. Whether, whene'er Corinthian urn. With ivied Faun upon the rim Invites, I may not gaze on him 1 I love all beauty : I can go At times from Gainsboro' to Watteau ; Even after Milton's thorough-bass I bear the rhymes of Hudibras, And find more solid wisdom there Than pads professor s easy chair : But never sit I quiet long Where broidered cassock floats round Young ; Whose pungent essences perfume And quirk and quibble trim the tomb ; Who thinks the holy bread too plain. And in the chalice pours champagne. I love old places and their climes, Nor quit the syrinx for the chimes. Manners have changed ; but hearts are yet ,^ The same, and will be while they beat. Ye blame not those who wander o'er Our earth's remotest wildest shore, 62 DRY STICKS. Nor scoff at seeking what is hid Within one-chambered pyramid ; Let me then, with my coat untorn By your acacia's crooked thorn, Follow from Gades to the coast Of Egypt men thro' ages lost. Firm was my step on rocky steeps ; Others slipt down loose sandhill heaps. I knew where hidden fountains lay ; Hoarse was their thirsty camels' bray ; And presently fresh droves had past The beasts expiring on the waste. No. 106. HEKOICS OR DACTYLICS. Force me (and force me you must if I do it) to write in heroics, Taking (as model in English) the meter of Homer and Virgil. Leave me, leave me at least my own hero, my own field of battle. Sing then, Goddess ! Muse ! or in whatever name thou delightest. Neither a cut-throat on land nor a vagabond over the ocean, OjQfering me sacksful of wind . . I can buy them as cheaply of Russell, Palmerston, Grey, Aberdeen, Jockey Derby, or Letterman Graham. DRY STICKS. 63 No. 107. DULNESS. Deem me not sad and sorrowful Because my looks and words are diiU. Are not deep rivers, as they flow Along the pleasant meadow, slow 1 While shallow streamlets frisk and stray Among the pebbles, cold as they. Come, sit upon my knee, and then I shall be quite alive agen, Altho' my too imperfect speech Say nothing more than what you teach. No. 108. THE MATKON. Become a matron, grave and sage, You, reprehending every page That pleas'd you not long since, seem now To ask from under frowning brow, " Ha ! what audacity hath placed This volume in a hand so chaste ? A volume where fictitious names Cover, not hide, forbidden flames." Be merciful ! and let him pass ; He is no longer what he was : He T^Tote as poets wrote before, And loved like them . . but rather more. 64 DRY STICKS. No. 109. MACAULAY'S PEEEAGE. Macaulay is become a peer ; A coronet he well may wear ; But is tliere no one to malign 1 None : then his merit wants the sign. No. 110. DEATH OF THE DAY. My pictures blacken in their frames As night comes on, And youthful maids and wrinkled dames Are now all one. Death of the day ! a sterner Death Did worse before ; The fairest form, the sweetest breath, Away he bore. No. 111. THE TWO SATIEISTS. While we are frolicking with Flaccus Comes Juvenal to slash and hack us. DRY STICKS. 65 No. 112. PLAYS. How soon, alas, the hours are over, Counted us out to play the lover ! And how much narrower is the stage, Allotted us to play the sage ! But when we play the fool, how wide The theater expands ; beside. How long the audience sits before us ! How many prompters ! what a chorus ! No. 113. ON THE DOG-STAR I HOLD it unlawful To question the awful Appointments of Heaven, or hazard a doubt ; But needs I must say. Heaven's Dog had his day. And Pomero beats the said Dog out and out. No. 114. ON READE'S CAIN. The rule of Justice hath returned again, Cain murdered Abel, and Reade murders Cain. E 66 DRY STICKS. No. 115. THE SOLAE MICKOSCOPE. You want a powerful lens to see What animalcules those may be, Which float about the smallest drop Of water, and which never stop, Pursuing each that goQS before. And rolling in unrest for more. Poets ! a watery world is ours, Where each floats after, each devours, Its little unsubstantial prey . . Strange animalcules . . we and they ! No. 116. TO A CYCLAMEN. I COME to visit thee agen. My little flowerless cyclamen ; To touch the hand, almost to press. That cheer'd thee in thy loneliness. What could thy careful guardian find Of thee in form, of me in mind. What is there in us rich or rare. To make us claim a moment's care ? Unworthy to be so carest, We are but withering leaves at best. DRY STICKS. 67 No. 117. PIGMIES AND CRANES. I LIVE among the Pigmies and the Cranes, Nor care a straw who loses or who gains. Peel doffs the harness, Russell puts it on, The late Sir Robert is the live Lord John, Close in the corner sits the abler man, But show me the more tricky if you can. No. 118. THE MOUNTAIN ASH. The mountain ash before my pane, Rattling red berries once again, Said, " Where, where ! can Rose remain ? " Hearing him call, I rais'd the sash And answered him, " Sir mountain-ash ! At Passy.'^ "Why?'' " To cut a dash." He shook his head, and in reply. Said only " Well then, you and I May both go on to droop and die." " Thanks ! thanks ! my fellow sufferer ! I, by your leave, should much prefer To look out here and wait for her." 68 DRY STICKS. No. 119. TO OUE HOUSE-DOG CAPTAIN. Captain ! we often heretofore Have boxt behind the coach-house door, When thy strong paws were rear d against My ribs and bosom, badly fenced : None other dared to try thy strength, And hurl thee side-long at full length, But we well knew each other s mind, And paid our little debts in kind. I often braved with boyish fist The vanquisht bull's antagonist. And saw unsheath'd thy tiny teeth And the dark cell that oped beneath. Thou wert like others of the strong. But only more averse from wrong ; Reserved, and proud perhaps, but just, And strict and constant to thy trust. Somewhat inclement to the poor. Suspecting each for evil-doer. But hearing reason when I spoke. And letting go the ragged cloak. Thee dared I; but I never dar'd To drive the pauper from the yard. No. 120. THE ROCKS OF LIFE. Life's rugged rocks burst thro' its flowery plain ; Flashes of pleasure ! thunderbolts of pain ! DRY STICKS. 69 No. 121. A POET SLEEPING. The poet sleeps : at every wheeze, At every grunt and groan You cry, " His verses how like these ! He marks them for his own." No. 122. FAST FALL THE LEAVES. Fast faU. the leaves : this never says To that, " Alas ! how brief our days ! " All have alike enjoy 'd the sim, And each repeats, " So much is ivon : Where we are falling, millions mor^ Have dropt, nor weep that life is o'er." No. 123. WHO IS SAFE? Men always hate The man that *s great, Nor cease to fall On him that 's small. 70 DRY STICKS. No. 124. ''ARE YOU MAD OR TIPSY f'' Tho' the good luck I Ve often had To be a little little mad, Yet, save with certain eyes and lips, I Have never in my life been tipsy. No. 125. THE PILFERED TO THE PILFERER. Mother Pestcome ! none denies You were ever true . . to Lies. So the Father of them all Helps you up at every fall. Putting money in your pocket, Showing armlet, showing locket, Showing where you lately found That poor nurse's lost five-pound. Pay me down the debt you owe For such praise as few bestow. I can never take for this Tottering teeth and slobbering kiss ; Teeth, to say the least, as long As another woman's tongue ; Some athwart like wind-miU sails, Others fitter for park-pales : Kiss as foul as muskets are After the Crimean war. DRY STICKS. I will tell you Ijriefly what 1 just now am driving at. Tho' you Ve made her pale and thin As the child of Death by Sin, When you Ve done with Caroline Bid her for a night be mine ; You shall have her all the day Following, to repeat our play. Whether you do this or not, What is done is unforgot ; Fate for you shall sheathe her shears, You shall live some hundred years. No. 126. TO RECEUITS. Ye who are belted and alert to go Where bays, won only in hard battles, grow. Asthmatic Wordsworth, Byron piping-hot, Leave in the rear, and march with manly Scott. Along the coast prevail malignant heats, Halt on high ground behind the shade of Keats. No. 127. GAZELLE-SKIN. Some dress in marten, some in vair, Gazelle- skin is the softest wear. 72 DRY STICKS. No. 128. FLATTEEED ON MY YOUTH. Flatter me not with idle tales of youth, But rather flatter me than tell the truth : My youth might not have gone had you been by. And you been happy, tho' far less than I. No. 129. PERTNESS EEPROVED. I SEE in you not greatly more Than I once saw in one before.'^ " Then I know why : it is that you Are on the verge of eighty-two. Go, get along ; you may be wise, But others have much better eyes." No. 130. DIFFERENT GRACES. Around the child bend all the three Sweet Graces ; Faith, Hope, Charity. Around the man bend other faces ; Pride, Envy, Malice, are his Graces. DRY STICKS. 73 No. 131. CHILDEEN PLAYING IN A CHURCH-YARD. Children, keep up that harmless play ; Your kindred angels plainly say, By God's authority, ye may. Be prompt His holy word to hear, It teaches you to banish fear ; The lesson lies on all sides near. Ten summers hence the spriteliest lad In Nature's face will look more sad, And ask where are those smiles she had. Ere many days the last will close . . Play on, play on ; for then (who knows ?) Ye who play here may here repose. No. 132. WE DRIVE THE HOOP. We drive the hoop along the green of life And hear no voice behind us : one cries out 'T is lesson-time : on rolls the hoop : at last It reels and falls : we then look round and shout, Wlio took my apples and my nuts away? Our playmates crunch the apples, crack the nuts, And pat us on the back and laugh amain. Poets ! the moral of my verse ye know. 74 DRY STICKS. No. 133. FKOM THE BAY OF BISCAY. Afar our stormy vessel flies From all my heart holds dear, But thou art yet before my eyes. And thy far voice I hear. The Fates then had not frowns enough ; Too happy had we been Had not the Atlantic, cold and rough, Eoird his wide wave between. Too happy, yes ; but ah ! how dear The price we should have paid ! I fear'd no tempest, there or here, For thee was I afraid. No. 134. CEEDO. I DO believe a drop of water May save us from the fire hereafter. 1 do believe a crumb of bread, O'er which the priest his prayer hath said, May be the richest flesh and blood . . I would believe too, if I could, Pius's word is worth a crumb Or drop ; but here awe strikes me dumb. DRY STICKS. 75 No. 135. THE CASKET. Sure, 't is time to have resigned All the dainties of the mind, And to take a little rest After Life's too lengthened feast. Why then turn the casket -key ? What is there within to see 1 Whose is this dark twisted hair? Whose this other, crisp and fair ? Whose the slender ring ? now broken Undesignedly, a token. Love said mme ; and Friendship said So I fear ; and shook her head. No. 136. ASHES. Under the grate the ashes lie Until the dustman passes by : Does it occur to young or old These ashes were not always cold ? They are the same that shone so bright And warm'd so many but lust night ; They may even now some thought suggest, Some simily . . but let it rest. 76 DRY STICKS. No. 137. FUE AND MOTHS. TO THE GIVER OF THE FUR. The fur you gave me I 'U take care To keep away from sun and air, Wrapping it well in linen-cloth All over, to avoid the moth. Those little animals alight Mostly on what is warm and bright ; And trouble I have had enough In former days to keep them off ; Fearing them most when, fluttering round, They scarcely made the slightest sound, Til, driven wildly on, the lamp Singed them, or forced them to decamp. Only bring you the looser linen, Leave it to me to put the pin in. No. 138. WEITTEN IN ILLNESS. Before another season comes And frost the shrinking earth benumbs, I think I shall be warm enough. Like an old rat in sink or sough. Allowing me a higher merit, Keep off the terrier and the ferret. DRY STICKS. " 77 No. 139. KITTY AND HER LOVER. LOVER. I DO think it quite a pity You so young should sink in sorrow, I must say " Goodbye," to-morrow ; Part we must, my little Kitty. KITTY. Noble is indeed the feather You have mounted on your hat ; Only let us go together, And 1 11 give you two for that. Mother has a cock at home ; And, poor fellow, he will cry Piteously, when, plucking, I Hold with t' other hand his comb. LOVER. Kitty ! I must serve my queen. KITTY. But the queen won't let you love her Like your Kitty : Kitty's een Will be dim ere war be over. LOVER. On the Green next year we '11 dance. 78 DRY STICKS. KITTY. There are Greens where briars and stones Rise against it over bones ; There may be such Greens in France. No. 140. CADMUS. Cadmus ! if you should want again Some dragons teeth to sow the plain, Haste hither : one old woman has A bushel in a pan of brass. Mind ! do not throw the foam away. Keep it to kill the birds of prey. Its virulence excels the might Of hellebore and aconite. No. 141. LA PROMESSA SPOSA. Sleep, my sweet girl ! and all the sleep You take away from others, keep : A night, no distant one, will come When those you took their slumbers from, Generous, ungenerous, will confess Their joy that you have slumber'd less, And envy more than they condemn The rival who avenges them. DRY STICKS. 79 No. 142. SWIFT ON POPE. (imaginary.) Pope, tho' his letters are so civil, Wishes me fairly at the devil ; A little dentifrice and soap Is all the harm I wish poor Pope. No. 143. THE GEATEFUL HEAET. The grateful heart for all things blesses ; Not only joy, but grief endears : I love you for your few caresses, I love you for my many tears. No. 144, THE FARMER THEOLOGIAN'S HARANGUE. Good people ! I wonder now what ye are a'ter. Who made such a bother o' late about water ; Whether children on whom not a drop ever fell Could escape, good or naughty, the torments of hell. While one wants it fresh and while one wants it salt, I advise you to give it a slight dash of malt. 80 DRY STICKS. No. 145. POETS ON DUTY. Never yet was poet wanting Where a lapdog lickt a throne While a priest the lauds was chanting I stand off and muse alone. No. 146. DECLINE OF LIFE. How calm, life, is thy decline ! Ah ! it is only when the sun His hot and headstrong course hath run, Heaven s guiding stars serenely shine. No. 147. BRETHEEN. Somewhere in youth I think I heard Brethren we all should be. From heaven, I do believe, the word Came, and it fell on me. Thy word (for it is thine) God ! Give me the grace to keep ; Nor scourge with too severe a rod Those who should hear, yet sleep. DRY STICKS. 81 No. 148. FASHIONS IN POETRY. The Sivain and Nymph went out together. Now Kriight and Ladie ride o'er heather : And who comes next 1 Perhaps again Will smirk and sidle Nymph and Sivain. No. 149. ALTERNATIVE. If your heart is warm, come hither, Let me bask in its fine weather ; But if it is cold, my charmer. Let me try to make it warmer. No. 150. TO THE CYCLAMEN. Thou Cyclamen of crumpled horn Toss not thy head aside ; Repose it where the Loves were born, In that warm dell abide. Whatever flowers, on mountain, field. Or garden, may arise, Thine only that pure odor yield Which never can sufiice. Emblem of her I Ve loved so Ions:, Go, carry her this little song. F *o' 82 DRY STICKS. No. 151. THE PIGEON-FANCIER. Some are fanciers in religions, Some (the wiser they) in pigeons. I confess it, I prefer Much the pigeon-fancier. For I never knew him spill Pigeon's blood, nor threaten ill, Whether hell's or kitchen's flame Can those others say the same 1 Fools ! to fancy loads of faggot Are required to cook a maggot ! No. 152. LATE LOVE. Sitting up late, incautious Love takes cold, The wiser give him over ere grown old. No. 153. A SENSIBLE GIRL'S REPLY TO MOORE'S " OUK COUCH SHALL BE ROSES ALL SPANGLED WITH DEW." It would give me rheumatics, and so it would you. DRY STICKS. 83 No. 154. TO A YOUNG POET. The camel at the city -gate Bends his flat head, and there must wait. Thin in the desert is the palm, And pierced the thorn to give its balm. The Land of Promise thou shalt see, I swear it, by myself and thee ; Eise, cheer thee up, and look around, All earth is not for deer and hound ; Worms revel in the slime of kings, But perish where the laurel springs. No. 155. WISE AND UNWISE. To love and to be loved the wise would give All that for which alone the imwise live. No. 156. FIRMNESS. Firmer the tree when winter whirls the leaves ; And should not we Be like the tree 1 Winter is sure, but often spring deceives. 84 DRY STICKS. No. 157. EOUTS. The breath five hundred haggards breathe Kills every rose in Beauty's wreathe : And thy flame, Genius ! soon goes out Mid Fashion's pestilential rout. No. 158. ON SOUTHETS DEATH. Friends ! hear the words my wandering thoughts would say, And cast them into shape some other day. Southey, my friend of forty years, is gone. And, shattered by the fall, I stand alone. No. 159. EEFLECTION FEOM SEA AND SKY. When I gaze upon the sky And the sea below, I cry. Thus be poetry and love, Deep beneath and bright above. DRY STICKS. 85 No. 160. THE SOLE ASSAILANT. Few, I believe (but can not say- Exactly) try to block my way Tliro' Letter-land ; and one alone, Of name across his street unknown, Shouting to raise a ragged row, Persists to pelt and hoot me now. He might have earned his daily bread By honest work, but chose instead In the dank lane to gather nettle Or any trash to fill the kettle, Flavored with dirty salt that falls From rancid flitch on smoky walls. Boys who, by opening you a gate. In broken hat off broken pate Might catch a penny, yet prefer To toss into your boot a bur. No. 16L ACCUSED OF INDIFFEKENCE TO PEAISE. TO SOPHIA. Acute in later as in earher days Hath ever been the poet's ear to praise ; Indifferent to its loudest voice am I, And would exchange it for your faintest sigh. 86 DRY STICKS. No. 162. A COMPLAINT OF INCONSTANCY. Silly one ! do you think it strange That any woman's heart should change, That summer 's hot, that winter 's cold, That if you live you will grow old 1 No. 163. ST CLAIR OCTOBER 5, 1796. Of all the saints of earth or air What saint was ever like St Clair ! 'Twas she herself who crost my way, And thunderstruck me yesterday. In simple vest she stood arraid, To mortal eyes a mortal maid, And in her dexter hand she bore A shining mass of shapeless ore. My courage, voice, and memory gone, I bow'd and kist the magic stone. I urged attendance ; she complied ; And now behold us side by side. I speak ; the country people stare . . " The Saxon speaks to empty air.'' When all but lovers long had slept, I tost and tumbled, fretted, wept, DRY STICKS. 87 To Love himself vow\l endless hate, Eenounced my stars and curst my fate ; When, lo ! in pity to my tears, In sleep an angel form appears. " Subdue/' she says, " regrets like these, We angels vanish when we please.^' My curtains, starting, I withdrew ; The Morn appear d, the Vision flew. No. 164. ON ADMIEAL SIR SIDNEY SMITH. No less than either who have borne the name Of Sidney, those two Napiers of their time. Is thine, who stoodest upon Acca's mound And hurledst thence defiance on the host That would have won Byzantion, which remained The soHtary city unsubdued By fraud or force, from Afric's desart sands To Zembla's and Siberia's frozen sea. The vanquisht loved thee for thy generous soul And own'd thee worthy to be French almost, While England sent thee forth unrecompenst To live and die among them. Thus it fared With Eodney too : but Rodney never walkt Amid the wretched to relieve their wants. To speak kind words, to press the palsied hand, And carry from his own now scanty store 88 DRY STICKS. A portion under a worn cloak '"' . . thou didst Therefor be blessings on thee ! therefor praise, From one who can bestow it, and who deals Thrifuly that, and watches for desert. No. 165. TO A YOUNG LADY. Teue, ah too true ! the generous breast Lies bare to Love and Pain : May one alone, the worthier guest, Find yours, and there remain. No. 166. TO A MOUENER. Away with tears and sorrows ! bid them cease To haunt the lofty mansions of thy soul ! Shall serpent tongues disturb its heavenly peace '? Shall puny malice its strong will controul "l The purest bosoms of thy native land Beat, gentle mourner, to partake thy cares : O'er Badon's springs let Hermes wave his wand And Lethe's waters 'intermix with theirs. * This was related to me by Mr Sandford, who caught him in the fact. DRY STICKS. 89 No. 167. ANSWER TO "WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE?" This is my faith. I do believe That ladies never would decieve, And that the petty fault of Eve Is very easy to retrieve. " She lost us immortality r Well, so she might ; and what care I ? Eden and Paradise are nigh As ever ; you know where and why. No. 168. TO SOUTHEY. Laugh, honest Sou they ! "^^' prithee come With every laugh thou hast at home ; But leave there Virtue, lest she sneer At one most noble British Peer, Who ties fresh tags upon his ermine By crying Aye and catching vermin : Terror of those, but most the foe Of all who think and all who know. The passive transferable tool Of every knave and every fool Wliom England's angiy Genius sent To glut our hungiy Parliament ; '*' Ridete quidquid est domi cachinuorum. Catullus. 90 DHY STICKS. A sworn apprentice who, accurst With pale ambition^s feverish thirst, Is doomed to labor all he can Yet never to be master man. " Such characters, methinks you say, We meet by hundreds every day ; And common dolts and common slaves, Distinguisht but by stars or staves. Should glitter and go out, exempt From all but common men's contempt. The hounds that on their dunghills rot. Fawners or snarlers, are forgot ; But not more speedily than those Whose pleasures hang upon their nose. Kibbons and garters, these are things Often by Ministers and Kings, Not over-wise nor over-nice, Confer'd on folly and on vice. How wide the difference let them see 'Twixt these and immortality ! '' Yes, oftentimes imperial Seine Has listened to my early strain. Beyond the Ehine, beyond the Khone, My Latian Muse is heard and known : On Tiber's bank, in Arno's shade, I woo'd and won the classic Maid. When Spain from base oppression rose, I foremost rushed amid her foes. Gallicia's hardy band I led. Inspirited, and cloathed, and fed. DRY STICKS. 91 Homeward I turn : o'er Hatteril's rocks I see my trees, I hear my flocks. Where alders mourn'd their fruitless bed, A million larches raise the head ; And from Segovia's hills remote My sheep enrich my neighbor's cote : The wide and easy road I lead Where never paced the harnest steed ; Where scarcely dared the goat look down Beneath the fearful mountain's frown, Suspended while the torrent's spray Springs o'er the crags that roll away. But Envy's steps too soon pursue The man who hazards schemes so new; Who, better fit for Eome and Greece, Thinks to be Justice of the Peace ! No. 169. GOKE-HOUSE LETT FOR PARIS. Under the lilacs we shall meet no more, Nor Alfred's welcome hail me at the door, Nor the brave guardian of the hall contend In harsher voice to greet his trusty friend, Nor on the banks of Arno or of Seine Sure is my hope to bend my steps again ; But be it surer, Margarite, that Power May stil remember many a festive hour, More festive when we saw the captive free. And clasp afresh the hand held forth by thee. 92 DRY STICKS. No. 170. OCTOBER 1799. Why should sorrow darken over Brow by nature so serene ? Come, those lucid gems uncover, Drop those fingers from between. Sadness is my doom as often As a sigh escapes from you. Let me strengthen, and not soften. Heart so tender and so true. It hath spoken : why confess it '? Those loud sobs have told me thrice. I would only not possess it, my love ! at such a price. No. 171. THERMOMETER. If the Rhsetian Alps of old Were insufferably cold, Colder ten degrees are they Since ''' Readers Poems blew that way. And those bleak and steril scalps Now are call'd the Readian Alps. * John Edmund. DRY STICKS. 93 No. 172. ASKED TO DANCE AT BATH. In first position I can stand no longer; A time there was when these two calves were stronger And could move bravely up and down the Eooms, But youthful days evaporate like perfumes. No. 173. IDLENESS. Idleness ! enchanting Idleness ! The more we have of thee, the more we love thee ; In this thou art supreme, thou art alone. No. 174. ROSINA. 'Tis pleasant to behold The little leaves unfold Day after day, stil pouting at the Sun, Until at last they dare Lay their pure bosoms bare : Of all these flowers I know the sweetest one. 94 DRY STICKS. No. 175. FIST AND CUDGEL. In my opinion, rulers judge ill Who interdict the fist and cudgel. For in the ring an open set-to Is honester than sly stiletto. No. 176. LAURA. Laura ! the chords of your guitar. Strike them too hurriedly, will jar ; And, Laura, thus my verses too Are less melodious rung for you Than when they flow from calmer vein. And throb with neither joy nor pain. No. 177. ONE LIBIDINOUS AND SPITEFUL. So fierce and vengeful who was ever known 1 The very Scorpion of the Torrid Zone. Spite had reduced her long ago to dust But the best half was found dissolved in lust. DRY STICKS. 95 No. 178. QUESTION AND ANSWER Why back to verse 1 I love to play With children at the close of day. No. 179. TKIPOS. BY THE AUTHOR OF " DULL ESSAYS," NAMELY, " IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS," ETC. I. Gaffer Lockhart ! Gaffer Lockhart ! Thou no inconvenient block art, Tho' unoil'd and coarse the stone, To repass my razor on. II. Lockharts who twitch my skirt may feel Some day a buffet from my heel, Which Nature has thought fit to place Exactly level wdth their face. Kind to his cattle, blind or lame, Murray will feed them just the same. 96 DRY STICKS. III. Who would have thought the heaviest particle That ever sank into an Article, Blown by a whiff or two of mine, Should cross the Ocean and the Line, Sparkle beneath both setting sun And rising 1 Yet all this is done : Nay, more : another insect I Quicken by electricity. My friend the generous Crosse will own Life-giving is not his alone. No. 180. TO LAMAETINE. Not that the Muse with brow benign Looks on the crown which circles thine, And points thee out with finger strait For great ones to behold more great. Do I approach thee, Lamartine, First actor in the world's first scene . . For we poor children of the earth Grow envious of exalted worth . . Nor is it that where Arno flows We sought and found the same repose, Eepose which Dante never knew. For foes were many, friends were few ; Nor that our friendships were the same With many a bright enduring name ; DRY STICKS. 97 No ; but that France, with fond appeal, Calls thee to guard her Commonweal ; And Europe, echoing back her voice, Applauds the wisdom of the choice. Once, when thy laureFd head hung low Beneath Affliction's heaviest blow, A prophetess,^'' not always mad. With potent speech thy tears forbad, And show'd, beyond where deserts lay. The glories of thy future way. " Go, Wanderer!'' she exclaimed, ''go on ! The cedar-groves of Lebanon Cast shadows over other men. But thou must into light agen!' She spake : the glories she foreknew, The virtues half-escaped her view. She saw that Man's true right divine (Safe in few hands, but safe in thine) Is not to prune the deadly tree, But wrench the root of Eoyalty, And sprinkle with black salt the ground. Exhausted, and for years unsound. Unhoped-for imder eastern skies. She saw not this fresh dawn arise. Europe, now free of kingly fraud. Stands up unfettered and unaw'd ; And soon shall Africa alone In her worst wilds that curse bemoan. * Lady Hester Stanhope. G 98 DRY STICKS. No. 181. ON SOUTHEFS DEATH. Not the last struggles of the Sun Precipitated from his golden throne Hold darkling mortals in sublime suspence ; But the calm exod of a man, Nearer, but far above, who ran The race we run, when Heaven recalls him hence. Thus, thou pure of mortal taint. Thus, my Southey ! poet, sage, and saint. Thou after saddest silence art removed : What voice in anguish can we raise. Or would we, dare we, in thy praise '? God now does that . . the God thy whole heart loved. No. 182. PITY AND COMPASSION. Let pity and compassion be outspred. Early as prayer, above the boyish head. There take full swoop, there find imbroken rest! No blessing ever leaves the human breast "Without returning to it, soon or late. And driving back the strides of adverse fate. DRY STICKS. 99 No. 183. THE TIMID. Maidens are timid ; were they bolder One's head had rested on my shoulder, And I above her slender neck Had breathed the thoughts I could not speak. Breath'd ! and what breath ! her own ! her own ! Heaven breathed it in her breast alone. There may be . . ah tliere is ! . . a bliss Even on our earth, surpassing this : He who deserves it, he shall gain it. And may he thro' long life retain it ! Happiest of mortal men ! for he May rest upon her constancy. But let him know that every day The fire now bright will ash away Unless the sinking flame be fan'd With active and unsparing hand, And Love, as once, be ever near To catch the sigh and wipe the tear. No. 184. LIFFS ROMANCE. Life's tome Romance we thumb throughout the day Cast it aside : 'tis better this be done Ere fall between its leaves the dust that none Can blow away. 100 DRY STICKS. No. 185. THE EOYAL FEAST. 'TwAS at the royal feast for Kars By faithful Eussia won ; Seated, if not aside of Mars, Aside of Marsis son, Who bears a plume of purest white. Which plume he proudly shows To guide old chiefs agape for fight. But fitter for repose, Twas at this royal feast Panmure His portly paunch displaid . . " But art thou very, very sure ? " The baldpate patron said. " Ay, sixteen thousand," quoth Milord, " Surrendered to our Tzar, Enforced by Famine : now the sword Methinks is sick of war." " Then," quoth the Mars-born, " we will ask Our master in the north What (may it please him !) such a task Performed for him is worth." Assure him it is our intent For ever to go on so : Odessa shows him how we meant To please him and Woronzow. DRY STICKS. 10 Napier, than whom no seaman braver Hath scourged the Baltic coast, Threatens his city ; we will save her : Gunboats ! yes ; four at most. Say we have daughters growing up Who like such pretty things As jewels, and should never stoop Below the rank of kings. Panmure, be ready with thy tongue, Be ready with thy pen, Else we may see the world go wrong And Kars the Turk's agen. Tell Palmerston he may, if wise. Our firm support rely on. Say he may praise above the skies But must pull down that Guy on. No. 186. ENGLAND! WELL DONE! England ! well done ! you strike at last, And no false German holds you fast. What say Balmoral and Berlin When, spite of them, you thus begin ? Perhaps they say you go too far. And wound all princes thro' the Tzar. 102 DRY STICKS. No. 187. TWICE TEN YEAES. I WAS not young when first I met That graceful mien, that placid brow : Ah ! twice ten years have past, and yet Near these I am not older now. Happy how many have been made Who gazed upon your sunny smile ! I sate as happy in the shade To hear the voice that could beguile. My sorrow for whate'er I left In bright Ansonia, land of song, And felt my breast not quite bereft Of those home joys cast down so long. No. 188. THE LOST JEWEL. The jewel that is absent from the ring We, after long entreaty, may supply ; But who, infolded in his breast, shall bring A word once fallen, a long wanting sigh 1 Such word, such sigh, as must perforce have burst From him who placed it or who saw it placed, And lookt between those eyelashes when first A tender smile his little gift had graced. DRY STICKS. 103 No. 189. THE EOYAL BEAGLES- Where are the royal beagles so high-fed ? The grated cart shakes them from side to side, Protruding with stretcht neck the sweating tongue : Open it ; take them by the scuflf, and toss The creatures into kennel : let them bark. And stand upright against the bolted door All day, and howl all night. Politics ! Can no man touch ye but his hand must stink His whole life thro' 1 must sound become unsound In your inclosure 1 ye busy mites That live within our cheese, and fatten there, And seem its substance, must ye feel the keen And searching air, and thus be swept away! The scullery and sink receive ye, sent Race after race ; and yet ye will outlast Sesostris and Osiris, girded round By guards of obelisks and pyramids ; Your generations numberless, your food Man's corrupt nature, man s corroded heart, Man's liquified and unsubstantial brain. Yea, while the world rolls on, unfelt to roll, There will be Greys and Stanleys round its core. Divested of their marrow and their nerve, Gigantic forms lie underneath our feet Without our knowing it : we pass, repass, And only stop, and then stop listlessly, 104 DRY STICKS. Or idly curious, when some scient hand Unearths and holds huge bones before our eyes, And says, " Ye trampled on them, silly clowns ! Now they may teach you somewhat ; try to learn/' Meanwhile the meadow hums with insect sounds. And gilded backs and wings o'ertop the grass, And, cap in hand, and over bog and briar. Men run to catch them. Such are prized, and cased In secret cabinet for royal use. No. 190. ON THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIEE TURNING THE TZAR'S PORTRAIT AGAINST THE WALL AT CHATSWORTH. WoNDEE not, stranger, coming from the dome Where Nature in her beauty sits enthroned. To find that Virtue exiles from her home Him at whose feet whole nations long have groaned. Wonder not that the tyrant's painted mask Is turned against the wall : his generous host Knew not the traitor . . Fount of Truth ! we ask In fear if such example must be lost In other palaces, in higher seats. Whose floor erewhile the smooth barbarian trod. The heart of Cavendish this verse repeats, *' An honest man 's the noblest ivorh of God!' DRY STICKS. 105 No. 191. TO TIME, ON CH. NAPIER Time ! seated on thy hoary rock, Let Ages o*er thee roll, Their shifting movements calmly mock, Above such weak controll. Yet thou art mortal ; men there are Immortal ; they from heaven Look down on thee, and little care What scars thy wrath has given. With healing on thy wings, Time, To these shalt thou descend. And lift them o'er that mound sublime Where earth and heaven blend. Else, Napier ! thou art call'd away By him who hears my call. By him whom all for once obey, Beyond that once oiot all. No. 192. THE CRIMEAN HEROES. Hail, ye indomitable heroes, hail ! Despite of all. your generals ye prevail. 106 DRY STICKS. No. 193. OBSEKVING A VULGAK NAME ON THE PLINTH OF AN ANCIENT STATUE. Barbarians must we always be 1 Wild hunters in pursuit of fame 1 Must there be nowhere stoue or tree Ungasht with some ignoble name '? Venus ! in thy Tuscan dome May every God watch over thee ! Apollo ! bend thy bow o'er Eome And guard thy sister s chastity. Let Britons paint their bodies blue As formerly, but touch not you. No. 194. RELIEF AT THE CRIMEA. Flannel, and potted meat, and rum, Before the dog-days will have come In EUesmere's expected yacht . . I know but one event like that. Here is my story . . I remember About the middle of December Ice fringed the Arno, crisp and clear, And upon shallow pools might bear. A gentleman from Tipperary, Alert as he is wise and wary, Wrote home for skates : one fine May morn The skates he wrote for reach Leghorn. DRY STICKS. 107 No. 195. TO THE EMPEROR. Now thou hast left this friendly shore, And civic shouts are heard no more, Crisping afar the pliant wave That bore the beauteous with the brave . . Aloof from others here I stand Erect upon my native land. Napoleon ! never came I near The courtly train while thou wert here, Nor sought the depths of that calm eye To me once friendly : hear me why. No, hear not me, but Rome ; and there Look on the broken curule chair. Above its fragments sits elate A priest ! o'er all that once was great. We grieve it gone, but grieve far more To lose what one man could restore. Whatever country be our home, We had one nurse, and she was Rome. The past is past, but may return, And wisdom yet more wisdom learn. Power is unstable. Truth is not ; Be both, for Europe's sake, thy lot ! Tell Justice to outspread her wings And cool the crazy heads of kings : Her balance may be now restored By throwing in the Gallic sword. Thy future glory let it be To serve the good and rule the free. 108 DRY STICKS. No. 196. TO PKINCE ADAM CZARTORISKI. The house of mourning in a foren land I liave no privilege to enter now ; When all were happy there, I entered it, A not unhonored nor ungrateful guest. By bad men hated and by good beloved, I have lived on, not unconcerned, amid The struggles and uprisings of our world, The shattered hopes of nations, which their God Calls with his trumpet to unite again, And to embody in more glorious form. I panted to be present on that day. And may yet see it. Down, usurpers, down Ye perjurers, ye blasphemers ! Down, false Gods, Who made earth hell ! in hell be now adored. One like yourselves shall smite you, that the blow May fall the heavier on your abject heads. Shalt not thou, Czartoriski, live to see The justice thy beloved land implores Of those her valor rescued from the sword ? Perhaps thou mayest not ; for years and cares Have weighed upon thee sorely : but whoe'er Hath lived as thou hast lived may look behind And hear the plaudits of a noble race Bursting thro' light and darkness from afar. Is there no solace in the gentle voice Of that brave man whose brow was gasht with swords. DRY STICKS. 109 But before sword or scepter never bent ?^ The shameless were ashamed : his prison-door Flew open : he went forth, and breathed free air In other lands than those which celebrate His natal day in sadness and despair. To such Death's portal opens not in gloom, But its pure chrystal hinged on solid gold Shows avenues interminable, shows Amaranth and palm, quivering in sweet accord Of human mingled with angelic song. No. 197. HYPOCRICY WHY HATED. There 's no hypocricy in being civil Even to one you wish were at the devil. It is not that you hate it, but you hate (Dont you 1) the man for somewhat good or great. Half, more than half, the honest I have known Feel at the heart the truth they dare not own. No. 198. A GIFT OF POEMS. Send me such poems as a treat! By Jupiter ! I 'd rather eat A mangy fox or Cheshire cheese, Or any ordure that you please. * Kosciiisco. 110 DRY STICKS. No. 199. NELSON, COLLINGWOOD, AND PELLEW. Few have been better, braver none have been. Than Nelson : iron were his will and power With man, with woman flexible as gold. Who are the twain aside him who support His steps 1 Two greater even than himself, More virtuous, nor less valiant. Years and years This toird upon the waves, nor rested he His weary feet on his domestic hearth. Nor felt the embraces of a tender brood Or wife the cherisht of his youthful days : And that, with countenance as firmly mild. Shared nearly the same lot ; but more than once He claspt his blooming ofispring to his breast Then sprang afloat. Our annals may record Actions more glorious than whatever shone On other lands and other seas : not Blake^s, Not even Blake's, inspired by God himself. Displayed more active, more intrepid skill. More calm decision than was thine, PeUew ! Deliverer of all nations that the world Bemoaned as helpless, hopeless, in Algiers. France came and strode across the shattered walls And waved her flag above them, and stil waves, Eegardless of her vows : but when were oaths Eegarded by her 1 even with herself 1 The Frank of old was free in wood and swamp, DRY STICKS. Ill The Arab in his desert : now alike They share the chain ; one proud to see it shine, The other biting it with frantic tooth Til burnt alive for such fierce contumacy. No. 200. THE BIBLE. The Bible is the Earth ; and we begin To learn a little of what lies within. No. 201. SYMPATHY. When our eyes melt not with another's woes Methinks 'tis time they should for ever close. No. 202. TO SOUTHEY. Ah Southey ! how we stumble on thro' life Among the broken images of dreams, Not one of them to be rais'd up agen ! 112 DRY STICKS. No. 203. WHO AEE THE BEST LABOKEES? You in good blinkers can see nothing shocking, I shy and start before a crimson stocking ; I think what dippings and how deep have died Those courtly trappings of unchristian pride ; Then, looking into the next field, percieve Men work the better for less width of sleeve. No. 204. FEIENDSHIR Theee is a flame that flickers over us. Paler, yet not unlike the flame of love : It never burns the hand : below the urn That holds it, Friendship is the word I read. No. 205. TO ONE UNEQUALLY MATCHED. Bear it, matcht unequally, you must. And in your strength and virtue firmly trust. The Power that rules our destinies decreed One heart should harden and another bleed. DRY STICKS. 113 No. 206. FAULTS ACKNOWLEDGED. The soft I own to ; then of fun I must acknowledge I have none, And am the only man that ever Doubted if he, in wit, was clever. No. 207. SEEMONI PEOPIORA. Little do they who glibly talk of verse Know what they talk about, and what is worse, Think they are judges if they dare to pass Sentence on higher heads. The mule and ass Know who have made them what they are, and heed From far the neighing of the generous steed. Gell, Drummond, Hare, and wise and witty Ward^^ Knew at first sight and sound the genuine bard, But the street hackneys, fed on nosebag bran, Assail the poet and defame the man. Let them but try to write as good a line As that, however bad, which they mahgn. And tho' their life upon the task were spent, Scarce would that life accomplish that intent. * Lord Dudley and Ward. H 114 DEY STICKS. I never was too bashful, yet have stood Low in the shadow of the Delphic wood, While '"'Bobus, older than myself, four years. Sat with the Muse's first-created peers. The high Choregus of the classic song To whom alone all ancient lyres belong, To whom from Dirce's rock came Pindar down And proud Lucretius held his fresher crown. No. 208. SINGING BIEDS. Merle! cushat! mavis! when but young More vulgar names from mother tongue Often and often, much I fear, Have wounded your too patient ear. Before our dame, old Poesie, Took me and held me on her knee, " Woodpigeon dear ! '^ I may have said. Hearing you coo above my head, And " Speckled thrush ! let that poor worm Creep safely thi^o' the rain and storm. Blackbird ! unless it tires you, stay And sing me one more song to-day!' Ye listened then ; and each one did (Except the thrush) as he was bid. I doubt if now ye sing so well In your fine names ; but who can tell ^ * Robert Smith. DRY STICKS. 115 No. 209. THE THREE ROSES. When the buds began to burst, Long ago, with Rose the First I was walking ; joyous then Far above all other men. Til before us up there stood Britonferry's oaken wood, Whispering " Happy as thou art. Happiness and thou must part" Many summers have gone by Since a Second Rose and I (Rose from that same stem) have told This and other tales of old. She upon her wedding-day Carried home my tenderest lay ; From her lap I now have heard Gleeful, chirping, Rose the Third. Not for her this hand of mine Rhyme with nuptial wreath shall twine ; Cold and torpid it must lie. Mute the tongue, and closed the eye. No. 210. SCRAPES AND MALADIES. The scrapes of youth and maladies of age In Life's account-book blur how many a page. 116 DRY STICKS. No. 211. LIFE HUEKIES BY. Life hurries by, and who can stay One winged Hour upon her way ? The broken trellis then restore And train the woodbine round the door. No. 212. ANOTHEE AGE. Come, Dante ! virtuous, sage, and bold. Come, look into that miry fold ; Foxes and wolves lie there asleep, O'ergorged ; and men but wake to weep ; Come, Saints and Virgins ! whose one tomb Is Eome's parental catacomb ; Above where once ye bled, there now Foul breath blows blushes from the brow Of maidens, whipt until they fall To feed the plump confessional. earlier shades ! not less revered ! In your Elysium ye have heard No tale so sad, no tale so true, None so incredible to you. Gloomy as droops the present day, And Hope is chill'd and shrinks away, Another age perhaps may see Freedom raise up dead Italy. DRY STICKS. 117 No. 213. WHAT SIGHS DO. Each year bears something from us as it flies, We only blow it farther with our sighs. No. 214. ON FREEDOM. Let Freedom on thy breast descend, Earth ! and love thy truest friend, For wayward as his flights may be, He never was unkind to thee. No. 215. THE LAST GIFT. The shadows deepen round me ; take I will not say my last adieu, But, this faint verse ; and for my sake Keep the last line I trace for you. The years that lightly touch your head, Nor steal away nor change one hair, Press upon mine with heavy tread And leave but barren laurels there. Another year I may not see, I may not all I hope in this, Kecieve then on your brow from me And give Rosina's lips the kiss. 118 DRY STICKS. No. 216. THE DEATH IN PAEIS OF JANE SOPHIA, COUNTESS DE MOLANDE. Teaks ! are they tears indeed 1 And can the dead heart bleed 1 Suffering so long, so much, heart ! I thought no touch Of pain could reach thee more ! Alas ! the thought is o'er. I will wipe off the tear That falls not on her bier Who would have wept o'er mine. Ah me ! that form divine Above my reach must rest And make the blest more blest. No. 217. WHEEE AEE THE BKAVE ? Wheee are the brave 1 With God : for Earth gives up All who would circulate the social cup Of sober freedom. What men have chain'd down Italians, Poles, Hungarians '? What f Our own. Blush, honest England ! thy embroidered knaves Have forged the links that despots drill on slaves. Ah England ! art thou honest % but for thee Man had been manly, Europe had been free. DRY STICKS. Hi) No. 218. GOLDSMITH AND GEAY. Sweet odors and bright colors swiftly pass. Swiftly as breath upon a looking-glass. Byron, the schoolgirFs pet, has lived his day. And the tall maypole scarce remembers May. Thou, Nature, bloomest in perennial youth . . Two only are eternal . . thou and Truth. Who walks not with thee thro' the dim Churchyard 1 Who wanders not with Erin s wandering bard ? Who sits not down with Auburn's pastor mild To take upon his knee the shyest child ? These in all hearts will find a kindred place. And live the last of our poetic race. No. 21.9. A FOX IN A CEADLE. A FOX, to Castlecombe pursued From Badmington, thro' down and wood. In a child's cradle took his place And lay there like a babe of Grace. Ah babes of Grace ! beware lest you Be come about by foxes too. There are some black ones at their holes Who lick their lips for you, poor souls ! I sniflf the scent ; I hear the sign In Wilberforce's distant whine. Let yoxu- old nurses tuck you tight, Or they will share your sheets at night. 120 DRY STICKS. No. 220. WHEEE AEE SIGHS 1 Unless my senses are more dull Sighs are become less plentiful. Where are they all ? these many years Only my own have reacht my ears. No. 221. GIBBON. Gibbon ! if sterner patriots than thyself With firmer foot have stampt our English soil ; If Poesy stood high above thy reach, She stood with only one on either hand Upon the cliffs of Albion tall and strong : Meanwhile gregarious songsters trampt around On plashy meadow-land, mid noisome flowers Sprung from the rankness of flush city-drains. In other regions graver History Meets her own Muse ; nor walk they far below. The rivulets and mountain-rills of Greece Will have dried up while Avon stil runs on ; And those four rivers freshening Paradise Gush yet, tho' Paradise had long been lost Had not one man restored it ; he was ours. Not song alone detained him, tho' the song DRY STICKS. 121 Came from the lips of Angels upon his, But strenuous action when his country called Drew him from those old groves and that repose In which the enchantress Italy lulls all. No Delphic laurel's trembling glimmery leaves Checkered thy gravel-walk ; 'twas evener groimd, Altho' mid shafts and cornices o'ergrown With nettles, and palatial caverns choakt With rubbish from obliterated names. There are who blame thee for too stately step And words resounding from inflated cheek. Words have their proper places, just like men. I listen to, nor venture to reprove. Large language swelling under gilded domes, Byzantine, Syrian, Persepolitan, Or where the world's drunk master lay in dust. Fabricius heard and spake another tongue. And such the calm Cornelia taught her boys. Such Scipio, Caesar, Tullius, marshaling, Cimber and wilder Scot were humanized. And, far as flew the Eagles, all was Eome. Thou lookedst down complacently where brawl'd The vulgar factions that infest our streets. And turnedst the black vizor into glass Thro' which men saw the murderer and the cheat In diadem and cowl. Erectly stood. After like work with fiercer hand perform'd, Milton, as Adam pure, as Michael strong, When brave Britannia struck her bravest blow. When monstrous forms, half-reptile and half-man, Snatcht up the hissing snakes from off" Hell's floor And flung them with blind fuiy at her crest. 122 DRY STICKS. Two valiant men sprang up, of equal force, Protector and Defender each alike. Milton amid the bitter sleet drove on, Shieldbearer to the statelier one who struck That deadly blow which saved our prostrate sires And gave them (short the space!) to breathe once more. History hath beheld no pile ascend So lofty, large, symmetrical, as thine, Since proud Patavium gave Kome's earlier chiefs To shine again in virtues and in arms. Another rises from the couch of pain. Wounded, and worne with service and with years. To share fraternal glory, and ward off (Alas, to mortal hand what vain essay !) The shafts of Envy. May Thucydides, Eecalled to life among us, close his page Ere come the Pestilence, ere come the shame Of impotent and Syracusan war ! Lately (how strange the vision !) o'er my sleep War stole, in bandages untinged with wounds. Wheezing and. limping on fat nurse's arm To take a draught of air before the tent. And, for each step too fast or wide, rebuked. Peace stood with folded arms nor ventured near, But Scorn ran closer, and a shout went up From north and south above the Euxine wave. DRY STICKS. 123 No. 222. THE DESCENT OF OEPHEUS.* The shell assuaged his sorrow : thee he sang, Sweet wife ! thee with him on the shore alone, At rising dawn, at parting day, sang thee. The mouths of Taenarus, the gates of Dis, Groves dark with dread, he entered ; he approacht The Manes and their awful king, and hearts That knew not pity yet for human prayer. Rous'd at his song, the shades of Erebus Eose from their lowest, most remote abodes, Faint shades, and empty semblances of life. Numberless as from woodland wilds the birds That wintery evening drives or mountain storm : Mothers and husbands, unsubstantial crests Of high-souFd heroes, boys, un wedded maids, And youths swept oflf before their parents' eyes. The deep black oose and rough unsightly reed Of slow Cocytusis unyielding pool. And Styx confines them, flowing ninefold round. * Virgil says in one place, that the conditions were imposed by Proserpine ; in another, by Pluto. This is a fault, however it may be explained ; it would be were it only a redundancy. Then, " scirent si ignoscere Manes." Now the Manes were so placable that a little milk and honey was thought sufficient. Beside, they had no right to meddle with a contract by their superiors. Beattie talks with much the same critical skill on it as on the conclusion of the sixth book of the Eneid, not suspecting that Virgil could be hable to an oversight. Thirdly, Proteus relates the whole conduct of Orpheus in the world below, of which he could know nothing ; but speaks from re- poi-t alone when he describes his sufferings in Thi-ace, which, from his wide maritime range and extraordinary cleverness, he might have 124 DRY STICKS. The halls and inmost Tartarus of Death, And (the blue adders twisting in their hair) The Furies were astounded. On he stept. And Cerberus held agape his triple jaws ; On stept the bard . . Ixion's wheel stood still. Now, past all peril, free was his return, And now was hastening into upper air Eurydice, when sudden madness siezed The incautious lover ; pardonable fault, If they below could pardon : on the verge Of light he stood, and on Eurydice (Mindless of fate, alas ! and soul-subdued) Lookt back. known exactly. He ceases on a sudden to be refractory and contu- macious, and becomes tender and compassionate, forgetting that Aristseus came to consult him about the loss of his bees, and not about the loss of another man's wife. Fourthly, It is strange that the women of Thrace should think themselves despised, and should punish this imaginary contempt so severely, when Orpheus had lost his wife no longer than seven months. After all, it was only a gossip's tale that he grieved so long. Seven months is no inordinate season for mourning, ex or dine. Fifthly, Where did he sooth the tiger ? Tigers had gone south- ward of Thrace before his time. The story of Orpheus and Eurydice is a beautiful excrescence, like a misleto on an apple-tree, or the tuft of moss that comes after the roses. And now a few words on the translators. They represent the nightingale as sitting on a bough. Naturally she did so : but here she was sitting on the bough from which her young were taken. It is curious that the close of the Georgics should contain, in the part most generally admired, almost the only inharmonious verse in this exquisitely musical and truly great poet. Observans nido implumes detraxit, is not merely prosaic. ■ We may take any liberty with a contemporary ; we may jump into DRY STICKS. 125 There, Orpheus! OrjDheiis! there was all Thy hibor shed, there burst the Dynast's bond, And thrice arose that rumor from the lake. " Ah what !" she cried, " what madness hath undone Me ! and, ah wretched ! thee, my Orpheus too ! For lo ! the cruel Fates recall me now ; Chill slumbers press my swimming eyes . . Farewell! Night rolls intense around me as I spread My helpless arms . . thine, thine no more . . to thee." She spake, and, like a vapour, into air Flew, nor beheld him as he claspt the void And sought to speak ; in vain ; the ferry-guard Now would not row him o'er the lake again, His wife twice lost, what could he 1 whither go '? the judgment .seat with heavy and creaking and dirty boots on, and cite the noblest before us, bidding him to hold up his hand ; but we are chop-fallen in the presence of Antiquity. Else I would venture to suggest that Pervigilans might relieve the heaviness of the line, and express that the birdcatcher had bided his time, and had been watching for it. Nobody seems to ask what good it would do him to take away birds unfledged, when certainly he could not bring them up. Those who have never been in Italy may be ignorant that callow birds, nightingales among others, are brought to market and thought to be delicacies. All in that state are palatable alike, or nearly so ; the swallow, the cuckoo, the hawk, the owl. Even foxes, while they have tasted nothing but the mother's milk, are sought for. Once when I was entering the Porta del Popolo at Rome, a young shepherd was waiting for the doganier to fix the price of impoi*tation on two foxes, about the size of rabbits, which he was carrying on his shoulder. He offered them to me. EcceUenza ! ecco qualchecosa da stordire. My reply was, that they were too exquisite for Excellences, and worthy of Eminences. Gli portero a' medesimiy said he, arranging them afresh on his shoulder. I asked the gate-keeper whether they really were good : he said, Buonissimi per quegli chi hanno da spendere. Very good, for those who can afford to buy them : adding that, when they grow much older they are worth little but for the skin, and require a good deal of vinegar and garlic. ]26 DRY STICKS. What chaunt, what wailing, move the Powers of Hell 1 Cold in the Stygian bark and lone was she. Beneath a rock o'er Strymon's flood on high, Seven months, seven long-continued months, 'tis said. He breath'd his sorrows in a desert cave, And sooth'd the tiger, moved the oak, with song. So Philomela mid the poplar shade Bemoans her captive brood : the cruel hind Saw them unplumed and took them : but all night Grieves she, and, sitting on the bough, runs o'er Her wretched tale, and fills the woods with woe. No. 223. PKOMISE. I MAY not add to youth's brief days Nor bid the fleeting hours stand still ; No, Eose ; but I can waft your praise To distant ages, and I will. Forgotten be my name if yours In its fresh purity endures. No. 224. WHAT IS DEPLORABLE. It is deplorable to fear an enemy. But more deplorable to fear a friend. As wicked men must do, and good men may. DRY STICKS. 127 No. 225. AN ALABASTER HAND PRESENTED BY LORD ELGIN. He who, raised high o'er war s turmoils, Eesciied from Time his richest spoils, Had laid them at thy feet, Eose ! But Britain cried, To me belong Trophies beneath whose shadoivs sung The choir of Pallas where Ilissus flows. Of purest alabaster, well Expressing what our speech would tell. Beauteous, but somewhat less divine Than Pheidias, taught by Pallas, plan d, Elgin presents the only hand That throbs not at the slightest touch of thine. No. 226. THE STERN BROW. You say my brow is stern and yet my smile (When I do smile) is sweet. Seldom, ah seldom so ! 'tis only while None see us when we meet. It is your smile, lantlie, and not mine, Altho' upon my lips ; Your's brought it thither ; its pale rays decline Too soon in sad eclipse. 128 DRY STICKS. No. 227. THE IMMOVABLE POWEE. There is a power, itself immovable, Whicli makes the worlds around it move and shine, thou, of God's bright ministers most lovable, Such power and station in this world are thine. No. 228. IGNOKANCE OF BOTANY. I HARDLY know one flower that grows On my small garden plot ; Perhaps I may have seen a Rose And said, Forget-me-not. No. 229, MILITARY MERIT REWARDED. Worth is rewarded, even here. With praises ; nor is this all : Havelock wins fivescore pounds a year, And Guyon . . a dismissal. But Napier, who on many a day Performed the foremost part, And fiird the murderers with dismay . He won . . a broken heart. DltY STICKS. 129 No. 230. ON ONE IN ILLNESS. Health, strength, and beauty, who would not resign. And be neglected by the world, if you Bound his faint neck your loving arms would twine, And bathe his aching brow with pity's dew? No. 231. LA PENSIEKOSA. It is not envy, it is fear Impels me, while I write, to say When Poesy invites, forbear Sometimes to walk her tempting way ; Readier is she to swell the tear Than its sharp tinglings to aUay. To oui* first loves we oft return When years, that smoothe our path, are past. And wish again the incense-urn Its flickering flame once more to cast On paler brows, until the bourn Is reacht where we may rest at last. Are there no stories fit for song And fit for maiden lips to sing ? To you, Rose, they all belong, About your knee they fondly cling, They love the accents of your tongue. They seek the shadow of your wing. •. I 130 DRY STICKS. All ! let the Hours be blythe and free, With Hope for ever at their side, And let the Muses chaunt a glee Of pleasures that await the bride, Of sunny lifers untroubled sea, Smooth sands and gently-swelling tide. A time will come when steps are slow And apt on ancient scenes to rest, When life hath lost its former glow And, one by one, your shrinking breast Hath dropt the flowers refreshing so That mansion of the truly blest. Then, nor til then, in spring go forth The graves of waiting friends to see : It would be pleasant to my earth To know your step, if that might be : A bayleaf is above my worth, A daisy is enough for me. No. 232. « ON THE TZAR Peace ! fly to Heaven ; and, righteous war ! come down. Europe sits trembling at a despot's frown. O'er provinces and realms behold him stride ! And seas of blood alone can quench his pride. Strike, valiant arm, impatient of disgrace. And let him die the death of half his race ! DRY STICKS. 1 '^ 1 No. 233. KISTOKMEL. Summer is come, and must I never see Thro' its dense leaves, Kistormel, aught of thee ? Never the time-defying castlewall. The fragil bridge, the sparkling waterfall ? Ah there are other sights, how far more dear Than castle, bridge, or river swift and clear, Or that green meadow, or that dim retreat Under the oaks, or that broad garden-seat. Where thoughts were many and where words were few . . Must I, Eistormel, bid all these adieu ? Above the river's ever-restless flow I hear one soothing voice ; it whispers no. No. 234. TO MANIN IN HEAVEN. Manin ! thy country mourns thee ; but afar Shines o'er the Adrian sea thy cloudless star. And every child throughout the land to thee At rising sun and setting, bends the knee. To thy pure soid ten thousand altars bear Each a thanksgiving sigh and hopeful prayer 132 DRY STICKS. No. 235. THE ALBUM OPENED. Just as opposite in merit As in place these lines you see. She has pathos, she has spirit, Naught but what she gave has he. Never image springs without her, Rose comes first, and last comes Rose, And the chaff he throws about her Her bright amber-drops inclose. No. 236. THE ALBUM CLOSED. I NEVER thought to see thee end in blanks So soon, cherisht book ! Return to her who filled a few, with thanks Upon thy sadden'd look : Bid her in these or other lands be blest With health and love and peace : Devoting thus one vacant page, we rest . . For here our wishes cease. DRY STICKS. 133 No. 237. TO SIR HENRY STRACHEY. Strachey ! now may'st thou praise thy God That thy tired feet long since retrod Thy ancient hall, thy native fields, And spurn'd the wealth that India yields. Millions were grateful for thy care, For wrong redrest and guilt laid bare : Short-lived is Gratitude, of all The Virtues first to faint and fall. That court where thy tribunal stood Is dyed and drencht with British blood. Mothers and infants lie around Hewn piecemeal : but from one worse wound Brave husbands save a fond chaste breast, Pierce it, and there again find rest. No. 238. THE PRINCE OF LEININGEN. MURDERED OCTOBER 6, 1849, BY THE AUSTRIAN. Among the foremost of Earth's freeborn men Himgarians stil bemoan thee, Leiningen ! Even England, fallen from her high estate, Beholds, tho' dimly, the sublimely great. She hugged too fondly her distorted sons, Castlereas, Cannings, Russells, Palmerstons : No more asleep or drunk, she marks afar Deserted Guyon o'er the Raglan star, 134 DRY STICKS. And blesses Kossuth's Demosthenic tongue, Dividing true from false, and right from wrong. could thy spirit fly across the sea, And those who boast thy blood resemble thee. No. 239. ON THE EAETHQUAKE AT ST SAUVEUE AND BIAEITZ THE NIGHT OF THE EM- PEEOE'S AEEIVAL. The mountains bow'd and trembled as he came. Shall not Earth's man-gorged monsters do the same 1 No. 240. TO AETHUE WALKEE, NEPHEW OF Sm BALDWIN. Soldier and Saint ! go forth. A groan of pain Draws unavailing Pity from the slain : She points before thee where, on either hand. Angels of mercy, mortal angels, stand. Go, Arthur ! Friends will weep ; but sternest Pride May shed some tears, some few, he would not hide. The path of danger ever was thy path : God's children heed not Man's unmanly wrath. He call'd thee forth and led thee unapall'd Where Pestilence smote cities, vainly wall'd : May He who rules the tempest, may He Protect and guide thee on the Euxine Sea ! DRY STICKS. 135 No. 241 TO THE AUTHOK OF " THE PLAINT OF FREEDOM." Praiser of Milton ! worthy of his praise ! How shall I name thee 1 art thou yet unnamed 1 While verses flourish hanging overhead In looser tendrils than stern husbandry May well approve, on thee shall none descend ? At Milton's hallowed name thy hymn august Sounds as the largest bell from minster-tower. I ponder ; and in time may dare to praise ; Milton had done it ; Milton would have graspt Thy hand amid his darkness, and with more Impatient pertinacity because He heard the voice and could not see the face. No. 242. TO CAROLINE CHISHOLM. How little have the powerful of the earth Aided in raising up God's image, marred In falling, and from age to age trod down ! Crowns have but crusht it ; shepherds and their flocks Only the more defiled it ; Laws have buzzed Perplexing round about ; before the prance Of War they cowered awhile, then seized his hand, And, running at his side, took half the spoil. 136 DRY STICKS. Europe and Asia rais'd Gods over Gods, Men over men ; but gentle brotherhood They never knew. Our iland sent beyond The Atlantic wave some stubborn hearts, unmoved By pity, and intolerant of tears. One after sent she forth of milder mien. And Peace and Justice were the counselers On right and left of that sage patriarch : Brave was the sire, but braver was the son. Founder of states to live when Europe dies. Greater than he comes one whom never gain Attracted, never sanguinary field Delighted, never idle peace allured From earnest duty : thro' remoter seas Her vessel sails . . her vessel '? Yes, that helm A woman guides . . but One above guides her. Chisholm ! of all the ages that have rolFd Around this rolling globe, what age hath seen Such arduous, such heaven-guided enterprise As thine '? Crime flies before thee, and the shores Of Austral Asia, lustrated by thee. Collect no longer the putrescent weeds Of Europe, cast by senates to infect The only unpolluted continent. Thither hast thou conducted honest toil Fainting of hunger on the wealthy street, Thither the maiden in whose pallid face Lust thought he saw his victim, but could raise Only one blush and one indignant tear. These, these hast thou watcht over, nor hast lookt Beyond, where Glory sits awaiting thee; Nor wouldst thou hear with any fresh delight. DEY STICKS. 137 What sages in their histories will record, That the most potent empire of the earth Was planted, some five centuries before, Under God's guidance by his Chisholm's hand. Semiramis begirt with terraced walls Her mighty city for the prince and slave ; Thy grander soul threw open a wide world With one command, Be virtuous and he free. No. 243. DEATH OF BLAKE. BLAKE. The pillow is too soft ; my head sinks in ; Eaise me up higher : that wiU do, my men ! But where is England 1 Are they cliffs or clouds That rise before me ? CAPTAIN. There are both, Sir, both Ahead of us. But you without your glass See better than the rest of us. BLAKE. How so 1 I could not read my Bible in the sun, Nor see the porpoises that played below But yesterday. My sight grows worse and worse . . My hearing too . . I catch your words by halves . . I can not hear the water. Do we move 1 138 DRY STICKS. CAPTAIN. Ay, Sir, and homeward. Nearer than thine. BLAKE. My home lies, methinks, CAPTAIN {aside). God help him ! he forgets That we are neighbors in our pleasant vale, That he has caught me up and twicht my chin When I would run into the house for shame. BLAKE. Look out, men ! Level with the shrouds, nay, lower, The mists loom over-head ; the cliffs are close ; Beware ; mind each his business ; leave me here. And say no more ; for I am faint . . at heart Not very . . yet there too. restless soul. So soon to leave me with my God alone, Why sickenest thou '? He will support my steps To His own house and rest me with His own. CAPTAIN. General ! He hears you ; He hath heard our prayer. BLAKE. I thought . . but I was wrong . . that my command Was Let all leave me. Once none disobeyed ; Now, alas ! now . . Eobert Blake I thy voice Is weak indeed ; it was not so, time past. DEY STICKS. 139 CAPTAIN. Sir ! the most duteous is the only one Who here hath disobeyed. Forgive this fault, The first in Edward Hardy you have blamed. BLAKE. I dare not blame it. How much greater faults Have I committed when thy years were mine ! Yet they were all forgiven, else the Lord Would not have rais'd me from my low estate To gain His battles, with true men like thee. Ah surely I am haler than I was, And much of fever hath abated in me. For I feel moisture on my hand and cheek. What ! groanest thou at this'? Wouldst wish me dead Because in battle 'twas not mine to die '? CAPTAIN. Sir ! my tears have wetted you ! they may Do mischief ! BLAKE. There are tears that brave men shed And brave men only ; thine have done me good ; Squander no more of them ; reserve the rest For better . . men I would have said, but men Is not the word . . For woman . . spouse and widow. Where are we now 1 CAPTAIN. The Lizard is in sight. 140 DRY STICKS. BLAKE. Happy, England ! he wlio meets thee safe, Mistress of nations, mistress of thyself . . Be this thy glory ! My general ! CAPTAIN. No small part is yours. BLAKE. Hush, thou babbler ! without more As bold, as self-devoted . . Am I proud 1 I, who should now grow humbler . . without those Nothing were done for England's Commonwealth : Long, long as ye deserve it, may it last ! Edward ! I think no better word, if any, Will follow. Lower my head. Thanks ; thanks ; good-bye. Thus sank the wisest of the godly-brave. And England's own high heart sank too . . how deep ! She saw his bones, yet moist with their own clay. Amid the giggles of the fouly fair And smirks of prelates in like lawn arraid, A drunken king dig from the grave and spurn. Britain ! take up thy spear ; the morn is fresh ; A brood of the same beasts is prowling round In packs ; prick onward ; let not one escape, Growler or whiner : thou hast limbs as strong As those who fought with Blake and died for thee. DRY STICKS. 141 No. 244. TO MAKY KUSSELL MITFORD. The hay is carried ; and the Hours Snatch, as they pass, the linden flowers ; And children leap to pluck a spray Bent earthward, and then run away. Park-keeper ! catch me those grave thieves About whose frocks the fragrant leaves. Sticking and fluttering here and there, No false nor faltering witness bear. I never view such scenes as these In grassy meadow girt with trees, But comes a thought of her who now Sits with serenely patient brow Amid deep sufferings : none hath told More pleasant tales to young and old. Fondest was she of Father Thames, But rambled to Hellenic streams ; Nor even there could any tell The country's purer charms so well As Mary Mitford. Verse ! go forth And breathe o'er gentle breasts her worth. Needless the task . . but should she see One hearty wish from you and me, A moment's pain it may assuage . . A rose-leaf on the couch of Age. 142 DRY STICKS. No. 245. ON THE GEASSHOPPER. BY DUNSTERVILLE BRUCKS. Grasshopper ! thou art not the same Either in form or voice or name As once the Teian sung, and he Who mourned the loss of reedy lea With Tityrus, while over-head Its broad cool shade the beech outspred. Whether thou lovedst sun or dew Most dearly, neither of them knew ; But both were better pleased than I At hearing thine incessant cry. I do not recognise the same Now thou hast changed thy note and name And form and color, and art come To cheer the meadows nearer home. No poet ever sang thy praise In dewy or in sunny days Sweetly as he where sounds less shrill Repeat the name of Dunsterville. No. 246. VERSES WHY BURNT. How many verses have I thrown Into the fire because the one Peculiar word, the wanted most. Was irrecoverably lost. DRY STICKS. 143 No. 247. REVIVAL OF POETS. Poets had kept tlie Long Vacation Of thirty years in every nation ; In England suddenly were heard Two, and in Italy a third. Loose-girted Germany sent forth Puff after puff that warm'd the north : But such narcotic strong perfumes Grew vapid in close English rooms, And in our garden scarce a hive Did they, in passing, leave alive ; Recovered now, the cluster sweUs, And purer honey fills the cells. No. 248. TO ROSE. OCTOBER 13, 1857. Qualis ab Incepto. Few the years that wait for me Rounding my centenary ; But my latest wish shall be Health and happiness to thee. Years in age are apt to grow Crabbed ; all the rest may go Ere another fall of snow Fill the furrow on my brow. 144 DEY STICKS. We shall see thy face again When despotic Winter s chain Clanks upon the pallid plain . . Let him rave ; he raves in vain. Not a floweret fears the cold In thy presence : we are told That the bravest men enrol'd In Fame's record were less bold. No. 249. THE LAST MISLETO. TO AN OAK. It was a cruel hand that tore From thee, so helpless now and hoar, That misleto, the only one Left on our oaks : how many a sun Its ripe and rounded pearls hath seen, And leaves, when yours had fallen, green ! Where all assert an ancient stem Had pity hold on none of them 1 And did no Druid reappear To cry in threatening tone " forbear ! Blind idiots ! is there none to trace That misleto's more noble race ? None who can sing in Celtic rhyme The glories of its parents' prime 1 How (bards behind) we Druids stood In the dim center of the wood. DRY STICKS. 145 With golden blade, in vest of snow, To clip our sacred misleto ? And dare, ye, recreants, so efface Here the last scion of his race." No. 250. JUPITEK'S COMMANDMENTS. How is it that the loveliest lands Of Mother Earth are barren sands ? The best and boldest once they bore, Alas ! these races are no more. Wisdom went forth from sea to sea To join her sister Poetry ; Unlike that Wisdom, calFd the true. Ready to gibbet me and you. Because we may not quite find out. And seem in some degree to doubt. That they can make our sins weigh lighter. Or life's expiring lamp shine brighter. Ye men of Croton ! grew ye brave By listening to a lazy knave, W^ho caught and held you from the school Where Samos sent her sage to rule ; Where Milo swung his cestus round And only fear'd to strike and wound. for the days so blythe and free When piped the swains of Sicily 1 The glorious days when mutual song, Mountains and vales and woods amona:, K 146 DRY STICKS. Ascended under smiling skies. And opposite more radiant eyes ; Days when the gravest Gods above Laught at a tale of wily Love, And jeer d each other ; for they knew It was but what they used to do ; When Jupiter was heard to say Amid the dreaminess of day, " Eat the vine-berries when ye please, But when ye kiss abstain from cheese : Drink from the spring when ye are dry, But lay the flask and flagon by : Check petulance in kid or goat, But seize no rival by the throat. Never hurl hatred back agen. But one caress repay with ten. I have so many things to do I can no longer talk with you, But bid my daughter and her son Eeport what youths and maids have done. Smile not, thou youth ! shrink not, thou maid ! Nor thou be bold, nor thou afraid. Gentle as ye may deem her now, With not a frown across the brow, My daughter is as strong as I, And, where she bids, his arrows fly : He bears no thunder ; but he bears Enough to deluge earth of tears. Keep my commandments ; hers too keep. Or she will give you cause to weep : In brief, whoever contravenes We banish from these blissful scenes." DRY STICKS. 147 No. 251. OUE STATESMEN. Canning, in english and in latin strong, Was quite an infant in each other tongue. Proud, yet an easy embassy he sought From the kind comrade he traduced and fought : Poet, yet certain 'twas no poet's dream That stil the Tagus rolls a golden stream. And now is sent the son he thought a fool O'er restless India's tottering realm to rule ! And shall not England with stern hand chastise Those who her warnings and her woe despise 1 For every thousand let but only one, The basest for the bravest men, atone. She has spent all, or nearly all, her shot. But all her timber she (thank God !) has not. No. 252. DIFFEKENCE IN TEAKS. There are some tears we would not wish to dry. And some that sting before they drop and die. Ah ! well may be imagined, of the two Which I would ask of Heaven may fall from you. Such, ere the lover sinks into the friend On meetinir cheeks in warm attraction blend. 148 DRY STICKS. No. 253. THE EEUPTION OF VESUVIUS, NOV. 2, 1857. Mountains are less inert than men. Vesuvius blazes forth agen ; He has borne more, for fewer years. Than every soul about him bears. I know what victim would appease The Spirit of Empedoeles. How joyous would be then the roar Across the bay from shore to shore : Tremendous the accord would be Of those insurgents, fire and sea. No human victim should it cost, Only a Bourbon at the most. No. 254.. WHY NEVER SEEN. You ask me why I 'm " never seen." Except by you, perhaps you mean. Without the gazes of the crowd I can be (while you let me) proud. Society props slender folk. In the deep forest swells the oak. DRY STICKS. 149 No. 255. WEITTEN IN SICKNESS. Death of the year ! wilt thou be also mine, O Winter ! never must I catch agen The virgin breath of mountain cyclamen, Pushing aside the wayward eglantine 1 Such were my phantasies not long ago, Ere thou wast nearer : I had thought once more To ramble as of old along the shore Of Larius, now indeed with step more slow : And thence, if such a scene the heart can bear To leave behind, Sorrento's cliffs along From that old terrace-walk guitar and song (Spectres ! away with ye !) agen to hear. No. 256. CKEEDS. We have outlived low Creeds ; the high remains. One, that our God is good, the soul sustains. Eevenge he leaves among the blind below, Who miss the object when they 'aim the blow. Far, not too far, it pleases Him to place Hope for the humble, terror for the base. 150 DRY STICKS. No. 257. PHILOSOPHER AND POET. Philosopher and poet you shall find Each ever after his own kind : Tis well to watch them . . not too near perhaps One snarls at you, the other snaps. No. 258. THE FIG-TREES OF GHERARDESCA. Ye brave old fig-trees ! worthy pair ! Beneath whose shade I often lay To breathe awhile a cooler air, And shield me from the darts of day. Strangers have visited the spot, Led thither by my parting song ; Alas ! the strangers found you not, And curst the poet's lying tongue. Vanisht each venerable head. Nor bough nor leaf could tell them where To look for you, alive or dead ; Unheeded was my distant prayer.^^ * Et ficus maneant duo, Semper religiosius Servandse, umbriferuin caput Conquassante senecta. DRY STICKS. 151 I might have hoped (if hope had ever Been mine) that storm or time alone Your firm alliance would dissever. . Hath mortal hand your strength overthrown 1 Before an axe had bitten thro' The bleeding bark, some tender thought. If not for me, at least for you. On younger bosoms might have wrought. Age after age your honeyed fruit From boys unseen thro' foliage fell On lifted apron ; now is mute The girlish glee ! Old friends, farewell ! No. 259. ON A SPITZ. Death ! thou must have lost thy wits To throw a wanton dart at Spitz. Axe there no creatures wild or tame Which thou shouldst rather make thy game 1 No prowling tigers, worn-out asses ; No Aberdeens, no Nicholasses, That thou shouldst single from the rest A watchful, wise, true-hearted beast. Who never seized anothers bone But dogfully maintained his own. 152 DKY STICKS. No. 260. CEOMWELL IN COUNCIL. Peelates and Judges ! Privy-Councillors ! In virtue of my office I besought Your presence. Ye were taught obedience, And ye should teach it, if so be ye learnt Your lesson ere ye thrust it into hands Under your ferule, smarting from it yet. What is that word I caught from yonder corner ? Jabber no longer. Talk to me of laws ! Laws there are thousands ; Justice there is one. One only. God created her, well pleased With his creation. Men like you can make. And do make, year by year and day by day. What ye call laws. Laws thrust down Eliot Into Death's chamber, agonized with blows Of ponderous damp incessant. Better men Than you or I are doom'd if one escape. But, by the Lord above ! whose holy name I utter not profanely, by the Lord ! That one shall not escape. God's signature I bear, and I affix it on the blood Of those brave hearts that bounded at Dunbar. (The Prelates and Judges dc. go.) Are those folks gone'? Conduct them tenderly ; Draw up the gloves for it, thy softest pair. Ireton ! thou hast not gliber speech than I, But tell those cravats, frills, and furbelows. DRY STICKS. 153 Those curl'd purveyors to the Unicorn, A bushel of such heads, priced honestly, Is not worth one grey hair of Eliot Pluckt by the torturer Grief, untoucht by Time. Givers of laws, forsooth ! The feast is over Which they got drunk at, striking right and left Until their shins and shoulders fared the worst. Troth ! I can scarce be grave in looking at them ; They have now done their work, let us do ours. We, tho' unworthy of a sight so grand. Shall see God strike the throne : they who again So sin, shall see Him raise it in His wrath. No. 261. THE BANQUET OVEE. I LEAVE the table : take my place, Ye young, and, when ye rise, say grace. Hence all unthankful ones, and go Where neither vines nor myrtles grow. No. 262. A TEUTH. There may be scornfulness, there may be wrong Which never rises to the proud man's tongue. 154 DRY STICKS. No. 263. CAUGHT. Hide not that book away, nor fear I shall betray the fallen tear. Believe me, at a single look I know the cover of that book. Nothing with such assiduous care Is studied in the Book of Prayer ; And never did I see arise Blushes from David's melodies. I sadly fear that wicked " Corsair,^' Fiery as flint and rough as horse-hair. More tears from those dim eyes hath won Than David shed on Absalom. No. 264. WISHES. Wishes are by-paths to unhappiness. And in the vale of Tears they terminate. No. 265. THE FIRE OF LOVE. The fires of love are pure in just degree, Like other fires, to their intensity. DRY STICKS. 155 No. 266. NOYEMBEK. The year lies waste ; November's rain Is deluging the world again. Behold the signal to embark ! Come then, my dove ! behold the ark ! Noises all round us we may hear Of spite and malice : never fear. The tamer beasts shall stall below, Their wildness shall the wild forego, And we above will pass the day As blithely as we did in May ; And one shall bill, and one shall coo, The choice of which I leave to you. No. 267. TO BATH. The snows have fallen since my eyes were closed Upon thy downs and pine- woods, genial Bath ! In whose soft bosom my young head reposed. Whose willing hand shed flowers throughout my path. The snows have fallen on more heads than mine, Alas ! on few with heavier cares opprest. My early wreath of love didst thou entwine, Wilt thou entwine one for my last long restf 156 DRY STICKS. No. 268. LEAVING LONDON. Wonders, 'tis true, I leave behind, And, what is rarer, friends so kind. To my own country I am gone From Grecian Slave and Amazon, Nor longer can delight my eyes In painture's proudest galleries. But Nature's are before me stil, And I may wander at my wiU Mid avenues where ancient trees Discourse about the coming breeze And tremble for the rooks above, And chide the unreturning dove ; Then, showing at their feet the moss, Invite me to forget my loss. Or, if unwilling to forget, To dream that I am with you yet. No. 269. FEW BUT BEND THEIE NECKS. How few there are who live content To pass thro' life with neck unbent ! Yet the bent neck bears shame and pain, And never comes erect again. DRY STICKS. 157 No. 270. A BACK-BITER. If thou wert only foul and frowsy, If only itchy, only lousy. Bold men might take thy hand, Dalhousie ! Thou art a prudent chiel, my lord, And in thy little heart are stored Lies stampt and mill'd, a precious hoard ! If thou hadst only run away While Napier kept our foes at bay. None would have cried, " Come hack! stay, stay!" Many like thee are not o'er-brave. Like thee their bacon they would save, But ne'er besmirch a veteran's grave. No. 271. HEAETS-EASE. There is a flower I wish to wear. But not until first worne by you . . Hearts-ease . . of all Earth's flowers most rare ; Bring it ; and bring enough for two. 158 DRY STICKS. No. 272. THE DEEAMEE. I AM a dreamer both by night and day. Among my life's no rare felicities Is this, that seldom painful dreams befall My night's repose, or perch on my arm-chair. It is not only in our youth we men Eun after morning dreams fast-slipping by, Or fain would solder broken images : With thinner fancies Age essays the task, And throws it down again, as one unmeet And unbecoming ; so he says ; but I Know better : 'tis because he tires and fails. Some would affirm that dreams portend events To come soon after, certainly to come : I doubt it : yet may Fear and Hope create Progeny ill-proportioned, in accord Earely ; but Hope contends, tho' Fear prevails ; And short-lived is that sickly progeny. Sophia ! whom I seldom call'd by name. And trembled when I wrote it ; my friend Severed so long from me 1 one morn I dreamt That we were walking hand in hand thro' paths Slippery with sunshine : after many years Had flown away, and seas and realms been crost. And much (alas how much !) by both endured We join'd our hands again and told our tale. And now thy hand hath slipt away from mine, And the cold marble cramps it : I dream on, Dost thou dream too 1 and are our dreams the same ? DRY STICKS. 159 No. 273. • LAYING A FOUNDATION-STONE. What has prince '"' '''" done that he Without a monument should be '? He in his bounty placed a stone For mason-boys to build upon ; Should not like mason-boys bestow A stone on him ? a quid pro quof If they will not, there are who will ; Some, be assured, are grateful stil. Austrian and Russian, Eang and Tzar Owe him for Turk held down from war, For navies burnt, for cities razed. Our ships at anchor, God be praised And smelling from afar the smoke That might have blacken'd British oak. Statues ! inscriptions ! what are they 1 Gems, gems alone, such worth repay ; Necklaces, crosses ; from one hand Fall these, and, where they fall, command. How long unbroken shall remain, Europe ! thy adamantine chain 1 No. 274. THE BARK. Upon the bark of this old tree You here and there your name will see ; You caught the blossoms where they fell, And may you like the fruit as well. 160 DRY STICKS. No. 275. lANTHE'S TROUBLES. YouK pleasures spring like daisies in the grass, Cut down and up again as blythe as ever ; From you, lanthe, little troubles pass Like little ripples in a sunny river. No. 276. TO ONE IN GRIEF. Ah ! do not drive off grief, but place your hand Upon it gently ; it will then subside. A wish is often more than a command, Either of yours would do ; let one be tried. No. 277. KENYON AT COWES. My Kenyon ! who would live away From Wimbledon a summer day. No, there is nothing worth the sight Where you are in your Isle of Wight. Wimbledon has its charms for me . . Per Bacco ! I would rather see Than all the crowds that crowd the gate Before the greatest of the great The gander and the goose upon Your little mere at Wimbledon. DRY STICKS. 161 No. 278. * TO LOKD NUGENT. Ah Nugent ! are those days gone by When, warm from Chaucer, you and I Beheld our claret's beak dip low. And then felt Moca's breezes blow, Fragrant beyond the fragrant flower Of citron in her dewy hour : We schemed such projects as we might In younger days with better right. Athens was ours ; and who but we Shouted along Thermopylae '? Wlio shared Olympus with the Gods, Or siezed Earth's fairest daughter Khodes, Or Delos girt with purple seas And peristyles of Cyclades ? Alas ! alas ! my genial friend. There is a night when dreams must end ; They, like all mortal things are vain. But 'tis the vainest to complain. No. 279. WKITTEN IN AN ALBUM. See how this paper, pure no more, By worthless pen is scribbled o'er ! 'Tis easy Folly's mark to trace. But not so easy to efiace. L 162 DEY STICKS. No. 280. FANNY. Fanny would flatter me : she said " I think you need not be afraid Of Byron, tho' the greatest man At verses since the world began." " Ah ! I replied, a poet's curse is Not only in another's verses, But in his youth and beauty too, If they are felt by one like you." " Stuff I I should never mind such things In poets, not if they were kings. You are not quite so tender, quite So resolute by day and night. And could you . . much I doubt it . . swim Across the Hellespont, like him 1 Was ever such a dear white throat ! And what a duck without his coat ! If he had seen me, he had tried (No doubt of it) to raise my pride ; And that is what you never did. But only just what you were bid. Some there are who might more expect, And call your careless way neglect. I never would ; for you alone Have given me the proper tone ; You call'd me, what you made me, wise. And kist, but never prais'd, my eyes/' DRY STICKS. 163 No. 281. A PAIR OF NIGHTINGALES. Cool-smelling Oleander loves the stream And bends ripe roses over it ; but whose Are those bright eyes that look aslant at me '? And whose are those slim talons, smooth, yet sharp, That hold an insect up 1 She flies away, Nor heeds my doubts and questionings. Erelong Melodious gurgles ripple from a copse Hard-by : she seems to thank me, seems to tell Her partner not to fear me : they defer The song of gratitude til even-tide. Then gushes it amain. Fond pair, sing on ; I will watch near you ; none shall interrupt That deep and sparkling stream of melody. No. 282. THE HONEY-MOON. The honey-moon is very strange. Unlike all other moons the change She regularly undergoes. She rises at the full ; then loses Much of her brightness ; then reposes Faintly ; and then . . has nought to lose. 164 DRY STICKS. No. 283. ON AN INVITATION TO A WALK IN EVENING. Mama ! we both are quite agreed That stars are very nice indeed. But, the plain simple truth to tell, We like bright epaulettes as well. And look at partners just as soon As at the man there in the moon. We girls by nature's hand are made For waltz, quadrille, and gallopade. Snails for the garden and the glade. No. 284. • ON THE LINES ABOVE. Sophy looks grave nor says one word, But Kose's little ire is stirr'd ; Such ire as may be thine, dove Of Venus ! when thou 'rt vext by Love. " Leave the rude spiteful man to me '' She says. " Fll punish him : youll see. He is too silly to go mad. Yet not so but he may be sad ; And I will bring him to his senses For this and many more offences. DRY STICKS. 165 Mind ! two whole evenings, should he come, I will be blind and deaf and dumb ; Bettina he shall hear no more, And offer worlds for Fescatdr. No. 285. DAMCETUS AND PHILLIS. AN IDYL. Damcetus is a boy as rude As ever broke maid's solitude. One morning he saw Phillis going Where the wild raspberries were growing, And, under a pretence of fear Lest they might scratch her arms, drew near ; Then, pulling up a stiff grey bent, The fruit, scarce touching it, he sent Into both hands : the form they took Of a boat's keel upon a brook ; So not a raspberry fell down To balk her aim or splash her gown. When it was over, for his pains She let his lips do off the stains. And lookt down on his head, while he First kist two fingers, then kist three. And, to be certain every stain Had vanisht, kist them o er again. At last the boy, quite shameless, said " I have here taken out the red. 166 DRY STICKS. Now, where there 's riper richer fruit Pray, gentle Phillis, let me do 't." " Audacious creature ! ^' she cried out, " What in the world are you about '? " He had not taken out the red . . All over both her cheeks 'twas spred ; And both her lips, that should be white With fear . . if not with fear, with spite At such ill usage, never showed More comely nor more deeply glow'd. Damoetus fancied he could move The girl to listen to his love ; Not he. She said, " For pity's sake. Go ; never more come near this brake. The boldest thing I ever knew. Impudent boy ! was done by you ; And when you are a little older. By Dian ! you may do a bolder." No. 286. MUSIC. Interminable undulating weeds Cover sharp rocks along the sea's abyss ; Thus buoyant music waves about the breast And lifts it up from what lies dark below. DRY STICKS. 167 No. 287. TO A KID. My little kid ! if I forbid Your visit to my tender trees, Take it not ill, nor vainly fill With hoarse lament the mountain breeze. Your father there with hoary hair And there your gentler mother stands ; I sadly fear their coming near My quiet nook on lower lands. Let poet rest his throbbing breast In the lone woodland's cool retreat ; Let higher state the goat await Who scorns alike the wind and heat, For you alone, my little one, I spread behind the stable door The softest straw you ever saw. . Against the lintel more and more You may bring out the horns that sprout So ruddily, and polish each. A shining brook runs near . . you look Affrighted . . what a thoughtless speech ! So ! here I find on kiddish mind Traditionary lore instil'd. Tho' fairly bookt, Nymph might have lookt For poet's promise unfulfild. 168 DRY STICKS. But never mind ; no hand shall bind For a Bandusia such a kid. Bound if you are, one fond and fair Shall bind you in fresh flowers half-hid. My groves delight by day and night To hear her name : this makes them still. Should she have prest to yours her breast A little hard, dont take it ill. Her cheek tho' warm will do no harm To the cool nostril she may kiss. We all must bear things as they are. . Now one word more . . and it is this. As you grow old grow not too bold, Learn modesty, nor ramp nor roam. Lest blushes rise to pain her eyes Your lady cousins must not come. Meanwhile, tho' play you fairly may. Hit not the inviting knee too hard ; For haply he afar may be Who knows the cure, her faithful bard. No. 288. CANIDIA AND CAINA. Canidia shared her prey with owls and foxes, The daintier Caina feeds from letter-boxes. DRY STICKS. 169 No. 289. THE FAT SUITOR THOU on whom Eubens had revel'd ! fatter Than Silenus, than uglier than Faun or than Satyr ! What was it thy impudence breath'd in the ear Of lanthe, all redden'd with shame and with fear 1 We will cover thy carcase with blanket and sheet And make it a matras as soon as we meet. No. 290. THE PKIMEOSE-BANK. It was because the seat was dry, And many other reasons why, primrose-bank ! lanthe's gown Was lifted for her to sit down, When we both thought that harm were done More than sufficiently by one : So only one of us imprest The tender turf Why tell the rest 1 Ground-ivy peer d, and celandine Show'd us how smartly he could shine, And stiff-neck violets, one or two, Pouted, and would not venture thro'. Forgive us, and accept our thanks. Thou pleasantest of primrose-banks ! 1 70 DRY STICKS. No. 291. NANCY'S HAIR. Ye native gems of beauty ! golden hairs Once mingled with my own, While soft desires, ah me ! were all the cares Two idle hearts had known. How is it that I take ye from the shrine Which holds one treasure yet. That ye, now all of Nancy that is mine. Shrink from my fond regret 1 Ye leaves that droopt not with the plant that bore ye, Start ye before my breath 1 Shrink ye from fonder Love that would adore ye, ye who fear not Death *? No. 292. TO MY SON WALTER. My serious son ! I see thee look First at the picture, then the book. I catch the wish that thou couldst paint The yearnings of the ecstatic saint. Give it not up, my serious son ! Wish it again and it is done. Seldom will any fail who tries With patient hand and earnest eyes And wooes the Arts with such pure sighs. DRY STICKS. 171 No. 293. FEENCHMEN. Whiskered Furies ! boy-stuft blouses, Fanning fires on peaceful houses ! Wbat are all these oaths and yells Eais'd from thirty million hells '? Swagger, scream, and pest away ; Courage now, anon dismay. Never since the world began Yours, France, was one great man. Him ye boast ye boast in vain, Germany's was Charlemagne, Eoland, Corday, and the Maid At whose spear were those afraid That had broken every sword Drawn for your degenerate lord . . These were more than men, and more Than your petty envy bore. Louis-Philip ! rear your walls Eound those madmen and their brawls ; Well you know the fiery rout And what rain can put it out. No. 294. THE PEEFIDIOUS. Go on ! go on ! and love away ! Mine was, anothers is, the day. Hear me awhile, and do not speak I see the pressure on the cheek. 172 DRY STICKS. I know the very red it took When its first posture it forsook. Go on ! go on 1 perfidious ! now Upon his shoulder rest thy brow And look into his eyes until Thy own, to find them colder, fill. No. 295. TO ALEXANDER THE VENTRILOQUIST. Standing with courtiers, princes, Tzars, Methinks I'm acting in a farce : Not one among these scenic men Would wish to see my face agen ; And here for ever may there be A pure and perfect sympathy. But, Nymph Echo's darling brother ! Whenever you or such another Senses and reason have beguiled And puzzled me like any child, 111 run and scribble down a verse And puzzle you to find one worse. No. 296. FLOWERS AND FRIENDSHIP. Flowers wounded may recover breath, But wounded friendship bleeds to death. DRY STICKS. 1 73 No. 297. TO J. S. Many may yet recall the hours That saw thy lover's chosen flowers Nodding and dancing in the shade Thy dark and wavy tresses made : On many a brain is pictured yet Thy languid eye's dim violet, But who among them all foresaw How the sad snows that never thaw Upon that head one day should lie And love but glimmer from that eye. No. 298. HOW TO EEAD ME. To turn my volumes o'er nor find (Sweet unsuspicious friend !) Some vestige of an erring mind To chide or discommend, Believe that all were loved like you With love from blame exempt. Believe that all my griefs were true And all my joys but dreamt. 174 DRY STICKS. No. 299. GOOD-BYE. Loved when my love from all but thee had flown, Come near me ; seat thee on this level stone, And, ere thou lookest o'er the churchyard-wall To catch, as once we did, yon waterfall. Look a brief moment on the turf between And see a tomb thou never yet hast seen. My spirit will be sooth'd to hear once more Good-bye, as gently spoken as before. No. 300. WHAT TO BEING. Landoe, ! what is best to bring To the maiden who so long Hath endured to hear thee sing (Tiresome man !) her birthday song ? Bring the flower whose name she bears, And repress a wounded pride If that flower she never wears, If she throws this verse aside. AU that thou hast ever borne Thou canst surely bear again ; Flowers neglected, verses torne. Feel not, and should give not, pain. DRY STICKS. 175 No. 301. STUDIOUS. In youth, it is true, when my heart was o'erladen, I call'd to relieve it a kind-hearted maiden. I thought the whole summer was passing me while I was told to walk on as she mounted the stile. I trembled to touch the most innocent hand, And thought it too much to receive a command : At last the most hard of commands to obey Was whispered in passing me " Mind me, sir, pray I If I waltz, if I gallop, you must not come near ; I once fear'd your eyes, now all others I fear." But tranquiler days were advancing apace. And we lookt, tho' not boldly, in each other's face ; And we sat on the mole-hill, and where there were ants A vigilant hand well protected the plants ; Then I red to my listener ; and often her face Was turn'd rather nearer to look at the place, While her elbow was covering our book ; she " had heard The rest quite distinctly, but not the last word.'' It was the last word, the last word that I red. And she found better room for her elbow and head. No. 302. NONO SITS. God made his likeness, Man : when this was done He said to Nono " Sit thou for my son." 176 DRY STICKS. No. 303. TEAES. Mine fall, and yet a tear of hers Would swell not sootlie their pain Ah ! if she look but at these tears They do not fall in vain. No. 304. EEFLECTION. With fitful step unsteddily the soul Wanders at parting o'er the scenes it loved. No. 305. CHAELES AND WILLIAM NAPIEE. One brother closed the Scindian war, The other the Peninsular : One bore his painful wounds few years, The other his thro' fifty bears. Each, who abroad had overcome His foes, encountered worse at home. England ! are such rewards for these Who won and wrote thy victories ? DRY STICKS. 177 No. 306. A CRITIC. With much ado you fail to tell The requisites for writing well ; But, what bad writing is, you quite Have proved by every line you write. No. 307. GOVERNOES OF INDIA. Auckland, Dalhousie, Canning ! shall we ever Again see three such rulers ? three so clever At shattering the foundation of a state And hastening on the heavy step of Fate. No. 308. TO A LADY. Has there been all the year one day In which some rhymes I did not lay Upon your toilet 1 or, should Love So order, push into your glove? I wish your paper-case were filFd, Or you were rather less self-will'd ; For in five minutes I could then Speak what I hardly write in ten, And all I said you 'd make me say Again, and throw that scrawl away. M 178 DRY STICKS. No. 309. TO LIBEETY. Goddess of heroes and sages ! I know thee By the patriot beside and the tyrant below thee ! Goddess, whose breath is the soul of the free Such didst thou appear over Hellas ten ages, Not such over Gaul, where a phantom yet rages, A frightful (if any) resemblance of thee. No. 310. THE SPOUSE. Lady ! whose hand is now about to part No moderate stores of pleasure and of pain. To one the honied hours, to more the smart . . When will return that graceful form again *? Glad as I was, or thought I was, when thou Gavest thy faith where love and virtue bade. The light of gladness is oershadowed now When thou art leaving us, pure-soul'd maid ! Noblest in form and highest in estate Of all our wide- spread western lands contain, I see thee lovely and scarce wish thee great . . When will return that graceful form again 1 DRY STICKS. 179 No. 311. REPENTANCE. Repentance hastens if forbearance halts. No. 312. TRUTH WILL PENETRATE. Close as we may our eyes against the truth, Some Hght will penetrate the upper lid. No. 313. MY HOMES. Home ! I have changed thee often : on the brink Of Arrowe early I began to think, Where the dark alders, closing overhead. Across the meadow but one shadow shed. Lantony then received me for a while And saw me musing in the ruin'd aile : Then loitered I in Paris ; then in Tours, Where Ronsard sang erewhile his loose amours, And where the loftier Beranger retires To sing what Freedom, and what Mirth, inspires. 180 DRY STICKS. From France to Italy my steps I bent And pitcht at Arno's side my household tent. Six years the Medicsean palace held My wandering Lares ; then they went afield, Where the hewn rocks of Fiesole impend O'er Doccia's dell, and fig and olive blend. There the twin streams in Afirico unite, One dimly seen, the other out of sight, ''''" But ever playing in his smoothen'd bed Of polisht stone, and willing to be led Where clustering vines protect him from the sun, Never too grave to smile, too tired to run. Here, by the lake, Boccacio's Fair Brigade Beguiled the hours and tale for tale repaid. How happy ! how happy ! had I been With friends and children in this quiet scene ! Its quiet was not destined to be mine ; 'Twas hard to keep, 'twas harder to resign. Now seek I (now Life says. My gates I dose) A solitary and a late repose. No. 314. ACHILLES AND HELENA ON IDA. HELENA. Stranger ! who art thou 1 why approachest thou To break my sacred slumber '? such it was, * The scene of Boccacio's Ninfale and his Bella Brigada. DRY STICKS. 181 For she who brought me all my joy and grief Hath brought me hither. Thou appallest me, For thou art stern and godlike ; and no crook Nor needful stajff of upland wayfarer Is that thou bearest. that cruel spear ! Comest thou . . yes, thou comest . . speak . . to slay me? ACHILLES. Helena ! fear me not . . I am the son Of Peleus. HELENA. Fear thee not ! hide awhile The glittering point before it strike me dead. ACHILLES. Behold it fixt into the glebe. HELENA. It casts A slitting shadow half across the down. ACHILLES. Now seat thee (but why risen?) as before. HELENA. Be thou too seated : first look round about; For there are lions on these lonely hills. Beside the tamer which are yoked before 182 DRY STICKS. The Mother of the Gods, upon whose head Are towers and cities in one awful crown. And thou hast come alone. ACHILLES. Alcides slew His lion, and Alcides was alone. HELENA. son of Peleus ! didst thou ever see My two brave brothers ? ACHILLES. In my father's house 1 saw them once. HELENA. And were they not like thee? Dear Kastor ! Polydeukes dearer stil ! Kastor would lift me on his fiercest horse And laugh at me : but Polydeukes placed One kindly hand beneath my sinking chin Upon the swift Eurotas, with the other Buoying my feet, for I was then a child. But tell me, who conducted thee away From those beleaguered walls into this wild'? ACHILLES. Thetis, my mother : she around me threw DRY STICKS. 183 A cloud, not dark within, but dark without, As clouds may be wherein the Gods rejoice. But what, more wonderful, impeFd thy feet Hither ? so delicate, so like to hers Who bore me, which are radiant thro' the depth Of dimmest ocean. HELENA. All I know is this, A voice, and it was Aphrodite's voice, Call'd me : I would have risen at the call. But wino-s were over me and underneath, And, until thou appearedst, left me not ; Nor did sleep leave me. how fresh the flowers Are breathing round us in this tepid air ! I do love flowers ; they look into my eyes And seem to say fond things to me, in breath Sweeter than infants. Hermione ! Sweet even as thine. Where art thou, lovely babe? Who tends thee 1 who caresses thee 1 all must ; All but one wretch who left thee in thy sleep. ACHILLES. Sorrow is not unseemly in the breast Of women : men too (shame on them) have grieved, Have wept, and not the tears of rage alone. HELENA. Blame not my weakness then : no rage is mine, 184 DRY STICKS. I never felt it. Flowers are comforters At dawn and sunset on the terraced roof: Few are they; but the dearest are the few. ACHILLES. Flowers ! Inconsiderate ! Thinkest thou of flowers While nations shed their blood, their lives, for thee 1 HELENA. They are so fragrant and so beautiful! And what profusion! what variety! In my own country I have known by name More than my fingers of both hands could count Twice over : there was mint and drosera And serpolet, just as you see are here : How can I then but love to talk of them 1 ACHILLES. Helena ! let children love to talk Thus idly. HELENA. Ah ! that I were yet a child ! But how wilt thou return before the walls'? ACHILLES. The Gods will care for that : they too who brought Thee hither will provide for thy return. DRY STICKS. 185 HELENA. Couldst not thou 1 ACHILLES. Helena ! I come to warn thee Against the rancour of a man incenst : I hate him ; I shall hate him worse if wrath Urge him to vengeance on thee; for the twins (Then boys) thy brothers were my father's guests, And much I loved to hear of them, and hoped One day to share their glory, sung on earth For me ; for them along the placid waves There where my mother oft repeats the song. I loved songs too. HELENA. ACHILLES. Sweetest are those to me Which Keiron taught me ; songs which bring again To life, and fresher life, the brave of old. Zeus ! grant me but few years, grant only one. And he who wrongs me, he when such men sing, The king of Argos shall stand far behind. HELENA. Ah ! thou art strong and irresistable. But spare . . 186 DRY STICKS. ACHILLES. Spare whom'? HELENA. Alas ! I dare not name him. No fault was his ; no fault was mine : the Gods Decreed it. She to whom he gave her prize Performed a promise . . how imperfectly ! And gave him . . pernicious gift, me ! me ! Pity thou him whom even my brothers might Have pardon'd; him as beautious as themselves Or thee, almost. ACHILLES. In this arm lies my beauty, Smiter in vengeance of the guilty head. HELENA. Why springest thou upon thy feet, alert As grasshopper, without a hand to rest Upon the turf beneath ? ACHILLES. I must be gone. HELENA. And without me 1 DRY STICKS. 187 ACHILLES. It hath not been forbidden, No ; nor commanded. If the Gods so will Come thou with me. HELENA. I dare not. They who led My way to Ida will direct me hence. And yet I tremble. ACHILLES. Take thou heart. HELENA. It fails. For there are other Deities who hate Me and my guilt. The Mother of the Gods Inhabits here, and here her temple stands ; Here sound the tymbrels and the cymbals struck By priests infuriate. ACHILLES, Fear them not : thy sire Zeus and his daughter will watch over thee. HELENA. Farewell, son of Peleus ! born to rule O'er happier realms. 188 DRY STICKS. ACHILLES. Helena! 'tis here, Far from my birthplace, from my father's tomb, I die. So sang the three who sing but truth. HELENA. Wretched, thrice wretched me ! in this alone Are we alike. Thou art less stern, more calm, In speaking of that last sad hour. No word Of comfort hast thou for me "? ACHILLES. I shall bring Comfort to those who bore thee truer love Than thou hast borne to others. HELENA. Spare me ! spare me ! To whom that comfort ? ACHILLES, To thy brethren : they Have heard my name among the Blest above, Or they shall hear it. I will tell them age And royalty have loved and pitied thee. That Priam held thee dearer to his heart Than his own daughters, that thy tears have washt DRY STICKS. 189 Thy stains away ; then, that Achilles turned His face aside ashamed of grief for thee. HELENA. Stay, stay one instant. Is this too a dream? Who lifts my feet from earth and whirls me roimd ? Children ! fan me with your wings again ; I sink ; I fall ; help ! Aphrodite ! help ! FEOM THE PEESIAN. The following were pretended as Poems from the Persian and Arabic. A hundred copies were printed for friends. One of these caused them to be written, by remarking to the author, who perhaps undervalued the Orientals, that "he should be glad to see how any one would suc- ceed in an attempt to imitate themr What now appear, after sixty years' occultation, were preceded by the words below. [Preface. Some poems have lately reached the continent, in number not exceeding nine, represented as translations from the Arabic and Persian. The few that I ever have met with are chiejiy the odes of Hafez, in which the final stanza contains the poet's name. If this be peculiar to the Persian, as I think it is said to be, these are not genuine.] No. 315. TO THE VINE. THOU that delightest in the gardens of Schiraz, And bathest with coyness in her canopied streams ! Daughter of Beauty, favorite of Nature ! Where she is beneficent thou art her handmaiden, Thy voice is transport, thy bosom peace. Taper is the Palm and stately, distinguished afar by his crown ; Thou turnest away ; thou regardest and listenest not. vine, unrivalled in praise, how affable have I beheld thee ! DRY STICKS. 191 I have seen thee, in sympathy with thy admirers round, Half inclined to wantonness, half to repose : I have stroked the tender cheeks of thy infants, Tinged sweetly with red, and reposing in down, And thinkest thou I perceive not the slyness of thy tendrils, With their flexible crooks and their sleek-sprouting horns 1 Come, nestling thee yonder ! raise prythee thy head from the path : Ah, hope not, tripping me up, to inveigle me now, little minion ! Too soon may I blush with the warmth of thy blushes, I may yield to thy blandishments too soon. No. 316. TO ABEA. Abra! Beauty's bondmen are stricken with blue eyes : Thine, when I first beheld thee, were black, Abra. I admired their silken lashes, like the cedars and cypresses On the edge of those hills afar off there, white with snow. The dimple of thy lips, half shaded by ever-bloom- ing roses. Open and distinct, showed candor and hospitality. I looked again on thy eyes, Abra, Til mine became dim and thine hlue. 192 DRY STICKS. No. 317. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Candid with thy modesty, resolute with thy shyness, Sweet nightingale, soon may thy passion prosper. I heard thee repeatedly call the Faeries, And saw them array with pearls the eyelashes of Abra, For she pitied thy plaint from the shadiness of our loves. I said to Abra, these are ray pearls. She smiled, and showered them into my bosom : The dove was over her, the rainbow on her cheek. The pearls of Abra are now my pearls. Sweet nightingale, soon also may thy passion prosper. No. 318. PEAISES OF ABU-SAID. DULCIMER, wake from thy sunshiny sleep, Arise and prepare for the battle. Far more compliant art thou, sweet seducer. And livelier than the lonely-one in the '"' rosebrakes of the moon. dulcimer, art thou not the breeze of Samarcand ? Thou art pleasanter than Samarcand in her vallies of jonquils, * Of the evening. DRY STICKS. 193 Thou inspirest fresh airiness through the dizzy dance, Thou sprinklest the arcade on the sultriest side, Thou beckonest the rays that intrude, thou chidest and biddest them go. But behold ! who descends from the mountains ! Awake, golden -hair d from thy sunshiny sleep, Arise and prepare for the battle. His elephant moves the earth with his horn, Abu-Said turns the horn of his elephant. He hath indeed two horns, elephant as he is of Abu-Said : Famine breathes forth from one in the dogdays of war. The other holds manna for the friends of Abu, The beloved of Abu reel with its fragrance. Arise then, arise ; but with reverence. Thro' the dust of the valley I discover our lord ; I distinguish the trappings, green like the ocean When the tempest hangs over the gulf of Hormuz. FEOM THE AEABIC. No. 319. THE SON OF SHEIK DAHEK, ON LEAVING SYRIA AFTER THE MURDER OF HIS FATHER. God ! how painful are the chains that oppress the flying exile. Son of Daher ! thou lookest from thy mule on the running ground, N 194 DRY STICKS. Thou beholdest thy feet, and they are veined with tears, Can they carry thee from thy country, will they carry thee to thy father '? One step may restore thee to his lost embraces. Slave ! dastard ! infidel ! thou art pardoned, thou art pitied ! How cursed is the bondage that witholds thee from revenge. My sword is not impotent like the sword of the poet ^' Pharesdak ; No rust can discolor its blade, no scabbard can hide its refulgence. It shaU wound when my arm is withered, when my fingers are whitened in the sand. I have another which will serve me with the same fidelity As the jewelled slave of Cambyses served his master. The enemy has sheathed it against himself for ever, But there remains the piercer of t hearts, whose realm is beyond the grave. Eeceive it, my daughter and my mother ! Eeceive it, Vengeance and Eternity \\ * His cowardice will never be forgotten by the warlike wits of Arabia. t " The piercer of hearts " is what the reader has now in his hand. :|: The son of Sheik Daher calls Vengeance and Eternity so, led by the customs of his country to cherish them. DRY STICKS, 195 No. 320. AGAINST JEZZAE. In the Egyptian well of thy folly, Sclavonian, Thou hast shown me unguardedly the direct ray of wisdom. I never received it from my father whom thou murderedst. Nor delivered in the proverbs of any more antient sage, That the pillars which point to hatred point also to contempt. When thy slaves would flatter thee, thou art de- ceived, not flattered ; Their songs admire thee, and people admire their songs, But thou art as far as ever from admiration. Tis the flowers they wear in their bosom that breathe so sweetly, 'Tis not the heart within ; the careless heart lies sleeping, A hollow melon on a sunny bank. The head of the peacock "^^ is the head of the serpent. And the finest of his feathers are trailed in ordure. No. 321. ON HIS WIFE'S AFFLICTION. Misfortune ! thou demon of a thousand forms ! What star in the firmament shall bruise thy head, * In color and form. 196 DRY STICKS. What amulet avert, what prayer disarm, thy sting ? A fountain of bitter tears is my beloved : Her father is slain by the robbers of the desert : The column is shivered that sustained my cottage. And pointed out the hours with pleasant shade. I prayed to the Almighty ; I whirled myself round in phrenzy : I staggered ; passion fixed me ; I strained my throat back to the noon : My swollen tongue was rougher than the tiger's ; The bowers of mine eyes are withered stil. I wept. boundless deluge of divine devotion, That dashes, but supports, my solitary ark ! I wept, and she listened not ; I paused, and she spake not ; I hightened with fast-falling tears the bright-flowing veins of her feet ; I spanned as it rose from the cushion her neck's pale crescent, And fastened it to mine with the enchanted rings of her hair. Thy father is slain by the robbers of the desert ! The blow hath recoiled on thy bosom, my beloved ! They have wounded thee, flower, and broken the spell of thy sweetness. If you bruize the hyacinth, where is its fragrance. And where, if you bruize it, the rose 1 Son of Daher ! thou wilt sink also ! there is not a breeze in the waste, Thy vallies are pointed flints and heated rocks, The waters thy portion are salt and bitter, Those vallies of airiness ! those living waters ! DRY STICKS. 197 No acacia shades thee, no tamarisk feeds thy camel; The tamarisk eaten to its heart, the acacia stifled with dust. No. 322. ON HIS WIFE'S DEATH. Her voice was sweeter than the sound of waters. Of waters afar from cataracts, Sweeter was the voice of my beloved. The storm descends and the tent flutters, ^^ The tent so dark by day, so musical by star-light. The tent where my bosom hath ever found repose. Bed of bright yellow, had I left thee at Damascus Thou needest not have adopted cares and disquiet. Surrounded with dreams of gain and vows of sus- pended silk. Dyed in the gall of serpents, in the wine of un- believers. Thou writhest with pain or creakest with restless- ness, t More tiresome than bird, more incessant than jackal. * The exclusion of light iu Arabia is in some degree the exclusion of heat. t Birds in the desert are unmusical and harsh. 198 DRY STICKS, Fed on the milky neck of my beloved, And dizzy with the fragrance of her flowering lips, I beheld and I resembled the light impassive sky. Was it thou, unfortunate ? was thine this happiness 1 hug not the remembrance, beat it from thy bosom, It may be thy enemy's, it is no longer thine. God is great ! repine not, child and mourner of dust ! The Prophet, who could summon the future to his presence, Could the Prophet himself make the past return ? No. 323. TO KAHDI. Eahdi, where is happiness 1 Look from thy arcade, the sun rises from Busrah; Go thither, it rises from Ispahan. Alas, it rises neither from Ispahan nor Busrah, But from an ocean impenetrable to the diver, Eahdi, the sun is happiness ! No. 324. UBBEDIENZA. Che cosa mai, che cosa Davanti agli occhi vedo 1 Per ubbedire a Eosa lo breve tempo cbiedo. Leva una sua parola Tutta mia dappocaggine, E crea versi sola Sua invocata immagine. No. 325. EISPOSTA ALLE PAEOLE. MI VIEN DA RIDERE. Ml vien da piangere qualor rammento La voce tremolante, il passo lento, L'angelica (pareva allora !) f^ Quando te andare, andare si lontano, Tua lagrima mi disse, sulla mano Eapita, strinta, baciata . . perchfe 1 '*. 200 DRY STICKS. Perchfe, se adesso ridi de' costanti, Se Tanno nuovo mena nuovi amanti, Se il cuore al primo quale ih. non e 1 Eidi, Bettina ! quel ridente viso Mai piil ritroverk ronesto riso Ch' Iddio per fior da coronarti di^. Mi vien da perdere ogni mio contento, Anche rimmagine fuggirmi sento Di queir amor che mi venik da te. TKANSLATION. How can I but weep when I think of the day When your voice was so faltering, your step was so slow. When you clung to my hand, and tears only could say (EoUing down it) how soon and how far you must go. Ah why all this sorrow, for sorrow it was, And another had then never taught you to feign? Before the year passes shall memory pass And only one heart true and constant remain ? I was happy ; so happy no other could make me ; I was proud ; and the pride of my soul was in you ; But now you withdraw what you gave, and forsake me ; May my love, tho' it weeps and yet Hngers, go too ! DRY STICKS. 201 Bettina ! smile on ! bright as ever the smile, But where is its candor ? it vanishes now ; The moment a beauty allures to beguile That crown of all loveliness falls from the brow.* No. 326. AccANTO al fonte del mio duol piangevo, Piangevo poi per esser piu lontano. Gridb ; tornai : poco trovai sollievo : Or guarda il pianto e tace . . non h vano. • Mi vien da piangere was written by me at the desire of a lady, the translation for another. A score of Sonnetti were thrown away as soon almost as written. LATINA QUiEDAM. No. 327. POET^ LATINI POST OVIDIUM. Post triste exilium Nasonis quaeque Camoena Fugit ab Ansonia, nee redeunte pede. Audivere tubam civilia bella sonantem Et siluere omnes et posuere lyras. Viderunt juvenem Thebano sanguine foedum, Et sine Mede4 vellus inane rapi. Ssecula post terquina semel voluere reverti, Monstrantes Veneto moenia rupta Eemi. Nulla dehinc facies quam Gratia novit, imago Nulla venustatis, nulla leporis erat. Cuncta vetusta situ steterunt cooperta recenti, Obducta est scissse barbara palla togse ; Mimi nil veriti verba invertere Maronis, Urbanee scabiem Tityrus unxit ovis : Circumstant miserse turpi pallore puellse ; Improba quadriviis Lesbia plorat anus. Delia quercetis abcedit moesta Pedanis, Et vocat, heu frustra, Cynthia casta procum ; Nee minus infelix est debiliore vocata Nocte brevi novies laeta Corinna suo. DRY STICKS. 203 Ereptam antiquis cursores lampada tradunt, At quot humi lapses increpat ultus Amor ! Bembus, nee salibus nee amoribus aptus hiabat Multa, sed abnuerat semisopita Venus. " Tu eane natalem, nam nemo est aptior, urbem " Dixit ; uti decuit paruit ille dese. Suave susurravit Kheno plaudente Seeundus Id " desiderium flebile suavioli/^ Quo Charites omnes adsurrexere Venusque, Et Verona suum eredidit esse melos. Cami inter salices juvenem invenere sedentem Quae fugerant fontes et nemora Egeriae : Auribus applieuere labra ; insonuere Luereti Forte quid ; extemplo eessit avena tubse. Culmina turritae tremuere tonitrua Calpes, Et data Neptuno fulmina sensit Atlas. Carmen tale olim, neque ssepius, audiit Elis, Sed lyra post ilium nulla aliunde diem. Magno instans operi, nullisque prioribus impar, Desertum coluit vir Latialis agrum : Vir Latialis erat ; sed vernam horrebat agrestem, Et squalorem et rus et tumida ora gelu. Interiit : Musas dedueere conor easdem Gressibus ineertis vixque tenente manu. No. 328. DOLENDUS. DoLENDUS ille qui dolenter dixerit Erat olim amieus, esse nune indignus est. 204 DRY STICKS. No. 329. AD JUVENTAM. Revocare te, Juventa, nequaquam licet, At sponte cum Somno redis ; Quotiesque virga leniter papaverem Spirante sopito adstitit Adstas et ipsa : turn labella, olim meis Aptata, rident cominus : Signum silenter interim Somnus dedit Et avolant ambo simul. No. 330. AD SENECTAM. UisfA, Senecta, viximiis multos dies, Un^ atque amic^ viximus : Quietiorem in veneris siquem locum, Id die in aure, tunc abi. No. 331. SORORE AMISSA. Haud iterum tardos gressus ducente sorore Antiquum ingredior, quum vocat hora, nemus. Sub sole omnis ibi tepet arbor rore maligno, Omnis ibi cantat funebre carmen avis. DRY STICKS. 205 No. 332. DOMINUS. Placere, uti scis ipse, perduellibus Curavimus semper pariim, Sed expulisti siquid est perjuriis In orbe foedius tuis, Et illatrantes arce clausisti canes ; Quapropter ignosco tibi, Virtutibusque gentis unum Gallicae Praeesse comprecor deos. No. 333. HESPEEUS. Egressi Latio non sine carmine, Quamvis illepido carmine agrestium, Spicas exiguo condimiis horreo. Jam ducens tenebras advenit Hesperus, lUo despiciens lumine quo solet Tardos, difficiles inerepitans moras. Accedas aliquid lenior, Hespere ! Nee vocis fueris illius immemor Quam quondam audieris, cum dominam prece Vidi flexanimam sub radiis tuis. No. 334. QUID IN VITA. JucuNDUM in vit^ nihil est nisi amare et amari. 206 DRY STICKS. No. 335. MULIERUM INDOLES. NoN tantum sterile est virtutum, sed muliebre Pectus alit virus quum desinit esse fidele. No. 336. DEFUNCTUS LOQUITUR Nos ultra tumulum requiescimus inter amieos, Cis fruere, hospes, dum sinit hora, tuis. No. 337. CAPSULA EX MORO FABRICATA. Oltm infelices Babylonica flevit amores, Nunc celebrat Isetas morus amicitias, Inque silente sinu, quae fidit epistola, servat, Et doming castd digna viroque pio. DRY STICKS. 207 No. 338. AMIGA AMICO. Da quod potes, quod non potes Morpheus dabit. No. 339. AD POETAS. Flores Aoniis in vallibus attenuantur Luxurie mimi^ ; ferro putentur acuto, Et veterem agnoscet cultorem vivida radix. No. 340. TUEEES HEIDELBUEG^. PULCHRE DEPICTiE. DoNA paras (ea dona mihi I) quse Ehenus eunti Obtulit, baud ali4 sic referenda manu. Explicuit veteres arces turresque rubentes Sole cadente tibi ; sol tibi sistit iter. Sistit iter tibi sol ; sistet fugitiva juventus ; Credo equidem tecum cuncta manere velint. Quae quondam adspexi, optavique revisere nunquam, Aspiciam his oculis, Eosa, teque simul. Siquid erat vitse quod amem meminisse peractse, Non sinis immemorem; non sinis esse senem. 208 DRY STICKS. No. 341. BENEFACTA. Ut cit5 sopitse menti benefacta recedunt ! Quid faceres '? restat quid 1 Eevocare novis. No. 342. QUO DOKMITUM lEE. Si vellent Superi me dormitum ire, juvaret Qua crispis foliis incana susurrat oliva Miraturque supra veteres Florentia muros, Cyclopum manibus structos dominisque Pelasgis. Diis aliter visum : procul his solusque jacebo Quk sedi juvenis non solus; ibique quiescam Inter eos flores quos dextera capsit lanthes Sedulaque inseruit comptis utrinque capillis . . Heu ! periere illi ; periitque fidelis lanthe ! No. 343. VEESUS IMPETEATI IN PUELLiE OBITUM. Abriperis fato quod nulla mereris acerbo, Vix etiam matri quam mihi cura minor. Tu lenimen eras desertee sola senectse, Pamphila ! sed tantiim quale decebat eras. Jam gravis est vita, et Mors aversata vocanti, Quippe tuis lacrymis jam caritura fugit. DRY STICKS. 209 No. 344. LIBEK QUANDO. " Liber eris " Homini Spes perfida dixit iu aurem : De coelo auditur vox altera, " Desine falli : Praetereunda prius tibi sunt mortalia secla, Tunc sperare licet cum libertate quietem." No. 345. IN SCYTHAM SAKMATAEUM TYKANNUM. Vivis adhuc, Scytha! vivis: in li4c tibi, perfide, vit4 Est timor, est odium; quumque sit acta . . Deus. No. 346. AD ROSAM DE NATALI. In caput infantis vergebat Aquarius urnam, Et violam cunis sseva negabat Hyems : Sed quo flore caret tua lustrans ora Juventus ? Quo Venus ornatu '? qua face mutus Amor "? o 210 DRY STICKS. No. 347. DE PIO NONO. ExciPE fortem animum neqiie falli aut fallere pro- num, Excipe digna deo pectora, digna viro ; Excipe justitiseque et libertatis amorem, Promissaiuqiie fidem, cfetera crede Pio. No. 348. AD NAPOLEONEM IMPEEATOEEM. . NuNQUAM sponte virum quassantem sceptra videbo ; Thura ferant alii, non ego thura feram ; Sed foribus propero vivacem obducere laurum, Verbaque (diis rata sint !) scribere pauca super. Tolle oculos, lege, Napoleo ! confide fideli . . Unicuique suum redde ; suum patria est. Eedde quod abstuleris ; da fortibus esse beatis. Nee fueris magno Napoleone minor. Deme sacerdotum dextris infame flagellum, Decute anhelanti Norica frsena Pado ; Haud detrita gemat raptoris curribus Enna, Haud timeat domini verbera Partlienope. Die, Trana maria, Europe ! die, Roma, resurge ! Homideceque dom4s Dacia vive memor. DRY STICKS. 211 No. 349. AD POMEEONEM. Veni, atque laudes accipe, Pomero, Quales mereris ; quotquot enim canes Usquam fueruut Transpadan^ Aut ali4 regione creti, Primum obtinebis tu merit o locum, Fortis, fidelis, respiciens herum Solum, neque incertos amicos Aut nimis immemores parentes. Ornare coUum Julia floribus Solebat, atqui non placuit jocus Quandoque, ridentique nodum Prsepropero pede veUicabas : Tunc obvenebant et pudor et metus Ne diceremus gratum ideb parum, Sed palma permulcens utrosquu Solicito capite amovebat. No. 350. AD NOKAM NAPIEEAM NUPTAM Sis laeta natis, laeta nepotibus, Nora ! fractis filia voculis Deos biennis comprecata Te pietate pari osculetur ! 212 DRY STICKS. Futura sunt haec, nee simul omnia. Labuntur amnes sub plaeido Jove Cursu quieto, pleniores Floriferis nocuere pratis. Immitibus qua lassa caloribus Tellus fatiscit non venit Hesperus, Sed rura pontumque infrementem Nox operit subitis tenebris. Profusa nunquam, nunquam inhibens manum, Fortuna vobis munera conferat. Kores minutatim cadentes Lsetificant sata, laedit imber. Nos vota ad aram qua steteras heri Velata virgo (sint rata !) vovimus, Ut dextra quae te duxit illuc Ne doleat digito annulari. Vir, quum senectus attenuet manum Tarn moUicellam, vix gracilem putet, Ori-que subridens venusto Innocuis benedicat annis ! DRY STICKS. 213 No. 351. AD DOMINAM. Sis memor absentis, caste dilecta puella ! Nee pigeat manes voce ciere meos. Si qua genas lacryma irroret, detergeat illam Hand iterum flentis flente premenda manus. Insolitum niilli est, doleat neque dicere, verbum ; Dixisti sero vespere ssepe vale. No. 352. CANIS AMISSUS. SiQUEM sequntus sit canis Italus Cervice cujus stramineus color Albescit infra, suavis hospes Kedde meum mihi Pomeronem. Furatus ilium siquis habes domi, MoUi catena restituas bero, Mercede pro pacto recept4, Quam mereare, duum aureorum. No. 353. AD MELITTAM. Abesse dicis te dolere plurimum : Abesse si dolet, Melitta, non abes ; Unk dolentes areta constringit fides. 214 DRY STICKS. No. 354. SOMNIA ET INSOMNIA. Vatum somnia sunt, et sunt insomnia vatiim, Ista mihi veniunt utraque parte tua. No. 355. SERTOEUM VARIETAS. Serta micant pueris Hyblseo flore Cyprique, Serta nigrante viris pendula felle tument. No. 356. FORTASSE. Inter trecentos quos putaveris probos Tres selige, et fortasse non fallendus es. No. 357. VIRGO ROMANA QUOMODO TRACTATA. Res baud nova est : nam more patrum carnifex Vitiavit ante quam cecidit virginem. DRY STICKS. 215 No. 358. GLOEI^ CONTEMPTOR. Qui gloriam se praedicat contemnere, Solusque triixque more rustic! domo Suapte delitescit, ille fallitur : Sorex e^dem glorietur gloria. Nomen futurum est unico magni viri Qui gloriam, sed nactus, aspernatus est. No. 359. EPITAPHUM PAULI QUI EXERCITA TIONES SCRIPSIT ET UXOREM DUXIT. Heic Paulus impiger senex, Amoris ictus spiculo, Cunctis quieturus vacat Exercitationibus. No. 360. INSULSUS. Sunt qui carere nos putant sale : id quidem Non diffitebor ; purum enim atque candidum Lacrymis liquere sensimus : restat domi Quo defricandi sunt ii aemuli nigrum. 216 DRY STICKS. No. 361. MOES miQUA. Pro meritis cuj usque ferocius invida Mors est ; Vita homini brevis est, vita cani brevior. No. 362. GALLIA VINCTA. SuAVES fraude nov4, firmata fraude feroees, Haud alios peperit Gallia vincta viros. No. 363. AD PHILIPPUM KEGEM, DE NUPTIIS HISPAN : PATRE nequam gnate (siquis) nequior, Philippe, quorsum te petat sicarius '? Probi-ne sunt in Gallia sicarii Soli 1 aequitatis unici satellites 1 At casta certe contigit tibi soror, Gnatseque castae, nee caret conjux fide, Utcunque mater esset infami domo : Atqui neque illud pessimi scortum domiis Neptem alligaret conjugi haudquaquam viro Adulteramque nuptiis compelleret Ut furtim Iberum clauderet septo pecus. DRY STICKS. 217 No. 364. DE KUINIS LANTONIANIS PULCHEE DEPICTIS. Labuntur anni : quicquid amavimus Labetur : agros et nemora, et domum Vix inchoatam, cum ruinis Kestitiiit Eosa pervetustis. Eeferre tali non ego gratiam Spero ; deorum est ; unius est dei : Accede, sis tandem benignus Ingenio, et tua sit, Cupido ! No. 365. BEATIOE. QuANTO omnibus mortalibus beatior Tuam ille qui dextram tenet, Projectus ante non recedentes pedes, Cervicibus fultis genu ! Qukm dulce quod supervenit silentium ! Nos impari silebimus. No. 366. SPEEANDA PAUCA. Speranda pauca, multa perferenda sunt Etiam beatioribus. 218 DRY STICKS. No. 367. QUALIS VITA SIT BEATA. MuLTOS perdidimus, paucos retinemiis amicos, Jam que rogas quae sit vita beata 1 Brevis. No. 368. BEITANNIA. Ubicunque pontus est ibi Britannia est. No. 369. AD LYCEN. LiQUiT me juvenis tibi Dilectus nimium, Lyce ! Et tecum introiit casam ! Ecquando est rediturus ? Clausae jam strepitum foris Rumoremque sedilium Stans extra procul audio Attractseque fenestras. Et nunc forsitan osculis Heu ! labro insatiabili Percurrit facilem genam ! Ecquando est rediturus ? DRY STICKS. 219 No. 370. VIRGINIS CAPILLI. Promiss^ precibue toties, totiesque moratse, Exuviae suaves virginei capitis ! Venistis tandem ; haud fugientes oscula, collo Haeretis, nullo tempore deciduae. Qui nostrum haud metuent olim violare sepulchrum Cassa viri invenient ossa, caputque viri, Atque hos foemineos, ubi colla fuere, capillos . . His pascant oculos abstineantque manus. No. 371. AD HJEDUM. HiEDE ! si vetitus tibi Sylvis est aditus meis, Ne balatibus obstina -^gris pulsa vocare Cognata agmina montibus, Inter quae tua forsitan Mater exulet, exulet Et pater gravis aevo. Vatibus patula arborum Umbra gratior incubat ; Sit capris statio altior, Sit jugis in apricis. 220 DRY STICKS. Do tibi in stabulis locum In quo candidulum latus Est et projicere et novum Cornu poste polire. Splendidus prope rivulus Labitur . . Tremor artubus Cur obrepit 1 . . Ut inscius Splendidum memoravi ! Per me salvus es, hsedule ! Nulli Bandusise cruor Manabit tuus ; alteri Cinctum ilore dicabo : lUi nempe puellulae Cujus nomen amat nemus Audire, atque ideo silet Concors ingredient!. Ad sinum arctius attrahens Blanda, naribus bumidis Si genam tepidam applicet Disce morigerari. Hand unam auriculam vibra Ambas strictiils erige ; Namque, dum docilis manet -^tas, pauca monerem. Hsede ! sis aliquantulum Castus quando adoleveris ! Ne genam inficiat rubor Arcebo ipse capellas. DRY STICKS. 221 Interim tenerae genu Noli Isedere, namque cms Duriuscula si ferit Lseserit, neque praesto Forsan obstiterit malo lUe ssepe salutifer, lUe carminibus catus Caeterisqiie mederi. No. 372. AD GKAIUM. PuDiCE Grai ! videris impudicior Scatere qui Nympham facis."^^' No. 373. DIFFICILE OPES DISTKIBUEEE. Egenus baud sum ; dives esse non velim. Difficile namque est ista partiri bona Quae non mibi sed alteri deus dedit Et ire tantilm per meas jussit manus. * Doctus atque elegans poeta scripsit " Felix in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha, sentit." Etiam lymphd non absolutus est. 222 DRY STICKS. No. 374. QUIS TURPIOE ? Rege Borussorum quis turpior '? Ecce Borussos Ipsos ! perfidiam non renuere pati. Vis alios digito monstrem tibi '? Eespice Gallos, Omnia quos pariter, prseter honesta, juvant. Ecce peregrino qui succubuere tyranno Et vinxere sacrum deditione ducem, Quo nemo probior, quo nemo fortior, ergo Dignus erat manicis, perfide Galle, tuis. Tali a religio suadet Eomana, caten4 Thuribuli long4 fasque nefasque ligat. Sed cultrum fugiamus : adest plus iste subulcus Qui veterem putri glande replevit haram. No. 375. AD AMISSAM. Inter coelicolas . . quare ploramus ademptam . . Lsetior esse potes, purior esse nequis. Respice amicitiam veterem, renovata sit opta, Nee sine fida tibi corda dolere diu. Saepe meam dextram, neque erat rejecta, tetendi, Ultro tu mihi da, sit mora nulla, tuam. DRY STICKS. 223 No. 376. PAX LATEONIBUS A LATKONIBUS DATA. AD DUDLEIUM STUARTUM. Desiderandus perpetuo bonis, Cur urbem adisti verberibus nivis Crebris gementem, amnesque canas Et pelagus glacie subactum '? Eheu ! minores obstiterint domi Quocunque tendas : gemmea vincula Ligant potentes, barbanisque Obtinuit procerum favorem. Plorent crematas agricolae casas, Plorent inulti pectora fortium Trajecta ferro ; nonne pactum est Ut quod habent habeant latrones '? Inter loquaces curia seligit Loquaciorem : quid probitas valet ? Abite, vos rerum scientes ! Ejiciunt dominos ministri. 224 DRY STICKS. No. 377. AMICUS MEUS, STEENUUS MILES, VULNEEATUS. Perfusa quanto sanguine Hyems tepet Britannico de fonte ! Virilium Semper fuisti victimarum Prodiga, Taurica Chersonese ! Quis vulneratum deferet auribus Nuper relictse celsum animi virum "? PaUebit ut conjux sub Hsemo Vipereo moritura morsu. Spes insusurret credula credulse Jam jam reversurum edomito Scytli4, Jam jamque sanandum ; salutem Contulerit popularis aura. Equus sed idem non revehet domum, Discerptus ille est sulphureo globo, Restabat ante atque inter hostes Solus eques, medius suorum. Plerosque mortis perpetuus sopor Pressit : quibusdem cara parentium, Quibusdam et ipsis cariora, Nomina eontremuere labro. Sublimiore, Anglia, anhelitu Nunquam attigisti culmina glorise, Nee fortiores milit^runt Sub ducibus magis imperitis. DRY STICKS. 225 No. 378. DE KUFA IN NOVO-COMO. EsuRiENS quondam puer usserat ora polenta, Inque rotundo oculo salsa micabat aqua. Nequicquam indomitos expirat hiatque vapores, Nequicquam baud uno volvitur esca loco : Kideri metuens " Quoties meminisse parentis Cogor, ait " lacrymis lumina nostra madent." Sic Kufa horrifico quam siphilis ederat igne, " Cur moreris nobis, filia cara, procul ! Filia ! te duri non cessant flere Britanni, Indignisque modis me pepulere foras !" Flet vetula ; et videas triginta flere ministros, Estque, decens luctum, sordida cuique cutis. Quae venerem toties jecisse superbiit unam Ut male damnosum jecerit ilia canem ! Ploratus causam nemo dubitavit candem Omnibus esse domi : naribus ille dolet ; Cruribus ille tumet mediis ; hie fronte laborat, Hie melius fixo vulnere cantor erit. Tot quis tamque acres luctum producere morbos Crederet '? at multo teste paratus adest. Cuinam ade5 vebemens excanduit ira deorum Ut tot mactatos jusserit esse sues 1 Cujus amant tanto placari numina lardo Ut vix invenias rure vel urbe satis ? At tacit a observet veteres reverentia ritus, Parcite, sitque piis baud ita puUa domus ! 226 DRY STICKS. No. 379. PAX HONESTA AUT NULLA. HoNORE dignam qui patriam velit, Leges tueri juraque gentium Certet, tyrannorum omne foedus Kumpat amicitiasque temnat. Germaniarum discite principes, Quanquam benigne accepimus hospitem, Haud exteris nostri domandi Sunt juvenes : catuli ligentur Venaticorum qua sua pascua Percurrit Albis ; quserite ibi domum ; Herc3niia expectat, luporum Vestraque, mox repetenda, nutrix. Parum decori si redeant duces. At (clara quondam syrmate candido) Pullata, deplorata, nunquam Pax fragilem induerit coronam ! No. 380. QUI NON INVENTUS. Qui patriam sibi praetulerit, qui publica jura Eegibus, inventus non est, ser5 inveniendus. DRY STICKS. 227 No. 381. EUGENIA NAPOLEONIS. EuGENiAM semel adspexi, crystallina tecta Subter, ubi Ars varias contulit orbis opes. Incessit pudibunda, silens ; plebs ipsa silenti Conticuit, steterat capta decore novo. Anne adeb felix solium partita manebit 1 Semper erit felix, nam proba semper erit. Napoleo baud aliud pro fatis consulat astrum, Hand alio Euxinas lumine lustret aquas. Pro populis circ^ plorantibus, exule multo, Altus Justitiae verba loquatur Amor ! Materno hospitio nostri potiuntur amici Et rure ante oculos quam venerentur habent ; Interea mihi Musa venit, placidamque puellam Ut fuit, utque aderit ssepe videnda, refert. No. 382. AD COSSUTHUM ET BEMUM. Gens clara ripas Danubii colit, Semper fidelis regibus, imperj Hand semper aequi ; nunc resurgit Impatienter avita virtus. Quicunque laudes diceret omnium Quot extiterunt nobilioribus Ibi triumpbis, ante parcas Prseferet Historiam Camsenas : 228 DRY STICKS. Vix ipsa largis claudere paginis Sperabit omnes. Huniadem unicum Inter trecentos Musa amanter Ausonise pavitans seqnetur. At non minores jam video aggredi Eegem insolentem ; jam video supra Victoriam cristas volare, Sistere jam video, duorum. Cossutlie ! primus jure locus tibi Haud imperito milite cernitur Et cive, nee longe remotum Adspiciunt equitare Bemum. Valete, fluctus clara nigros super, Fraterna belli sidera ! gloriam Qui contulerunt, dent utrique Munera Dii meliora pacis ! No. 383. IN IMAGINEM BATTHIANII. CossuTHO minor unico inter omnes Omni Istri regione, Batthiani I Vultus obtueor tuos dolenter. Sed qui sculptor imaginem excitavit ? Idem qui Periclem Jovemque finxit, Et domtis decus Atticse Minervam 1 Quali morte, vir inclyte, occidisti I Dedit carnifici nimis pudicum Falsi Csesaris impudica conjux. DRY STICKS. 229 No. 384. CANIS UENA. URNA ! nunquam sis tuo eruta hortulo Fidele quae pectus tenes, Nunquam excitandum blandientis vocibus Aut flebili concors hero. Acuta lingua quum puella intrat forem Silere non docebitur, Neque oricillam, duplici incurvus genu Planoque acutam subriges, Saliens-ve post sedile, et inde porrigens Trans colla narem frigidam, Dabis oscula ilia, nunc volenti, quae prius Aliquantulum invito dabas. Duse sepulchrum populi canae tegunt Simul susurrantes super; At, Pomero, harum lenia nulla murmura Somnos uti prius juvant : Id baud necesse est ; altior somnus premit Quern Isetus ignorat dies; Nee mane nee meridie nee vesperi Pellendus aut movendus est. Nil aura verna, nil vox una blandior, Nil proficit carmen meum. Vale, hortule ! seternumque, Pomero, vale ! Sed, si datur, nostri memor ! 230 DRY STICKS. No. 385. DE TEIBUS PE^CIPUIS OEATOEIBUS. Mercueius fuit usque suis malefidus alumnis ; Eloquium haud valuit cum probitate pari. Aurea fracta vides ferro Demosthenis arma ; Pro rostris Tulli lingua cruenta silet. Cossuthum patrio rex perfidus expulit Istro, Angliaque ignavo suscipit hospitio. Lingua diserta suas poenas dedit, altaque virtus Addidit. M vetitum est, Mc quoque, vera loquil No. 386. CONSOLATIO. Noli flere ; resuscitare noli, Etsi jam licitum. esset ingementi. Si quseris, quid agat, quia absit, edam. Hunc adspexit Amor : tuo jacentem In sinu ; aggrediens repente, prima Inter oscula Somnus occupavit. Deterget lacrymas Amor, sepulchro Per noctem gelido accubans, aitque Quanquam hie possidet, ipse non relinquam. No. 387. SATIS. Id satis est, placuisse tibi, te semper amdsse ; Si possim, haud alio nomine clarus ero. The following friendly notices were sent to the publisher in the original handwriting : the merit of them gives value to the praise. TO WALTEE SAVAGE LANDOR Oh, wise in youtli, and young in wisest age, Landor, true prince ! on whom thy royal rights Laid royal duties in thine heritage Of soft Thessalian vales and Alpine heights ! The generations of the just shall be More brave, more blest, for thine heroic reign ; Thy hills are calm with castles for the free. Thy vales are rich with roses, grapes, and grain ! A fairer Athens and a freer Eome Thou bidst us rear : and when this age is old, A statelier than the high Augustan dome. Thy venerable memory shall hold ! Wherever Freedom, Truth, and Beauty build, God's gladdening light thy marble fane shall gild. ESPERANCE. Boston, U.S., March 30, 1854. TO WALTEE SAVAGE LANDOE, ESQ. Thou who hast made the ancient world thy own. And Eloquence hath rais'd upon her throne. To chase the vermin through our streets give o'er, And leave the carrion on the stable-door. Bath, July 27. 232 DEY STICKS. LANDOR Angels, they say, are with us unawares. Earth's noblest elbow those who know them not. — I went — a pilgrim to no nameless spot — And amidst up-piled terraces and squares, And wood-clad hills and pleasantest parterres, Held in my soul but one pervading thought — Even here has England's greatest cast his lot. Eyeing the world for which he thinks and cares. The Sage — whence flows the wisdom that exalts '( The Poet — whence the splendours that illume '? The Man — who cheers the virtues, chides the faults, Where's "the old garden" which his thoughts perfume, His path who in his proud course never halts 1 None know — and humbled, I my way resume. J. W. Dalby. SONNETS TO WALTEK SAVAGE LANDOR. I. How nobly sits old age upon the brave. Whose falling years preserve the hopes of youth ! Its early love of liberty and truth ; When genius all its treasures gladly gave To raise up the oppressed, to free the slave ; DRY STICKS. 233 To make mankind live purely, god-like, free 1 And such, Landor, do we find in thee ! Our memories will " garner up'' thy name, As one who battled bravely for the right ; Who never stooped to thought or deed of shame. But walked the earth in rare unsullied might ; In strength and purity aye winning fame. We mourn the world no more will hear thy voice, But in thy great achievements we rejoice. II. How shall we weave a wreath for thy broad brow 1 Words are but feeble instruments to prove How much we feel for thee, how deeply love Thy solitary nobleness, and how In thy declining years we would avow The gratitude whose fragrant word might cheer Thy present hour. But why '? thou needest not Such utterances. Serene, sublime, and clear Must be the thoughts which bless thy honoured lot ; Pure thoughts and noble deeds attend on thee ; Thy past hath nothing thou hast need to blot ; And this, in truth, thy epitaph might be : "He scorned the lures of power, and pomp, and pride. And for the right he lived, and for the right he died." John Alfred Langford. Birmingham, June 1855. 234 DRY STICKS. A SONNET. TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, ESQ. By the Authoress of " St Sylvester's Day,'' &g. If in some vision that deep dyes the soul In its own heaven-tints, you should haply see Angels or gods, or godlike company Of Poets gone from earth ; — should one unroll His glorious thoughts in speech ; (while the controul Of eyes mild-lidded, bending shadedly On yours, though keen to pierce infinity, Informs your spirit, till you grasp the whole Of his grand converse ;) unamazed you stand. And talk with him as with some school-day friend. Was it in dreams I stood thus at the hand Of Landor, master genius, who doth send From his still hearth strong voices through the land, That echoing to far ages shall descend '? ON MR LANDOE'S POEM ENTITLED INGRATITUDE. Sometimes may we poor ladies fear A very close examiner ; We also are inclined to pry In trinket-box for jewelry. And every now and then would have A short flirtation with the brave. DRY STICKS. 235 I too, among the rest, have been In London, at the solemn scene, And sadly wanted you to say Why Austria's Envoy kept away. At last we learn by Landor s mouth Why came foul weather from the South, And kiss his rapier sharp and bright, And truncheon always leading right. Ah Landor, what a joy were mine To blend my humble wreath with thine Of sempiternal bay ; Could I but deftly interfuse The accents of thy Eoman muse With my untutored lay ! On Fairfield, my Soracte's brow, The snows lie wreathed ; and keen winds plough The mere, my Larian lake ; But bending o'er thy classic page, I heed not though the tempest's rage My mountain-cottage shake, I seem to stand in Mincio's grove, And list how Pan with Cupid strove, While Virgil wakes the shell : Yet in thy varied verse I trace Something surpassing Maro's grace, — A power of deeper spell. 236 DRY STICKS. Beyond the bright Pierian fount, Above the old bi-forked mount Where Phoebus erst held sway, Thy muse can urge her daring course, And rise undazzled to the source Of empyrean day. Yet, Landor, thou wilt not disdain To list these echoes of thy strain, And teach my willing hand To strike the lyre I shaped from thine (Ah might I catch its fire divine 1) In my rude mountain-land. G. G. Cunningham. Jan. 31, 1857. TO WALTEE SAVAGE LANDOE. Thy radiant genius glances over all "With sunlike splendor. Sea, rock, waterfall. Or the shy brook creeping through tangled leaves, Or cottage lattice under trelaced eaves, All share those beams ; but brighter still they pause On warrior's steel unsheathed in Freedom's cause. G. S. H. DRY STICKS. 237 TO WALTEK SAVAGE LANDOE. The year goes out in storm. The sky is full Of vaporous turmoil ; the Atlantic waves, Convulsed and batter d into tawny froth. Welter upon the beach, or, thundering white, Scale the black cliff, and ever fall rebuffed. To-night the spirits of air rage round this house, And sometimes through the wafted curtain bow My taper's slender pyramid, whose light Flickers on names of power, that live emboss'd In jewels on great shrines (their wealthiest shrines And durablest are here), with others, too. This age keeps count of on her civic roll. Scarce proudly enough, and humbly not enough, — Amidst th' antique and new perennial peers, Thine, Landor. Kuffle not, ye wintry blasts. That brow beneath its coronal, for Time's Unwearied breath may never thin a bud The coronal upon that brow ! Blow soft AloDg the Yale of Springs whilst he is there ! Nor visit fiercely my unshelter'd door. Who from this utmost edge, remote and rude. Dare to that valley on your pinions waft A hymnal greeting — ah, too wildly dare ! Were not the lower still the harsher judge. Yet hear me, tempests ! — as ye drowu that toll, Time's footfall on the mystic boundary That severs year from year — could such a wind Blow out of any quarter of the heaven 238 DRY STICKS. As to lay ruin'd, worse than Nineveh, The thrones where men of serpent forehead sit, And eyes of smoky hell-spark, with their spur Firm in the people's neck ; nor less indignant, Shatter their chairs, whose white, angehc robes Drape the hog-pan nch, or lend the juggler sleeve- Swift purifier ! whirl them to the mud ! Ay, the Lord lives, and, therefore, down with ye 1 Eotten impostors, down ! Could such a wind Blow out of any quarter of the heaven. Content, my habitancy, like a twig, Torn in the mighty tempest, would I crawl, Shivering for shelter, or scoop out a cave Among the creatures in the benty sand, Or else need none. Dark clouds are taking wing Out of the wave continually. They fly Over those heaps of benty sand, and moor. And mountain, eastward, hurrying to the dawn ; There where a New Day and New Year roll up In misty light. Eastward I look and hail Thee, Landor, with the Year ; inscrutable In all its fates ; and over all its fates The throne of God, eternal, just, serene. William Allingham. QuAM bene sermones scripsisti ab imagine dictos. Vita in imaginibus sed patet usque tuis. C. Dela Pryme. DRY STICKS. 239 FoRTiOR est nemo quam tu, generose Savagl 1 Nemo est Eomano dignior ore loqui. Eugbseos igitur celebraberis inter alumnos Quot sacer Aonia proluit amnis aqua. S. B. AD ILLUSTEISSIMUM VIEUM SAVAGIUM LANDOE. QuALis procellis trux hiemalibus Adauctus amnis transilit aggeres ; Prorumpit, in lucemque honestus Grati animi rapiendus ardor. Nunc est canendum : sed potius tace ; Vel vela saltem turgida contrahe ; Nee lentus argumenta ducas Tanta modis tenuata parvis. grande munus ! jam videor mihi Flictus rotarum corripientium Cursus, et hinnitus equorum, Et cupida bibere aure plausus. Lyrseque vocem, quae trifidi jubar Extinguit ignis, quae Jovis alitem Sopore declinare suadet Lumina lucidiora sole. 240 DRY STICKS. grande munus ! carmina Pindari Poeta donat par mihi Pindaro ! Pro 1 gaudia insperata pectus CEstro agitant : — veniam, ruenti. Audaciores in numeros, date ! Satis superque est : pro ! pudor ! audeaut Garrire cornices, apertas Eege avium quatiente pennas ? J. Pitman. Urbes Sicanas ut lubenter viserim Amice Landor, et tecum et Theocrito, Theocritus nam solus sequis passibus Comes fuisset ; moUibus facetiis, Captis, receptis, invicem fallens viam " Per litus illud, ilia aperta pascua, " Et nemora, et alta rupium cacumina, " Quae quondam amabat pervagari vesperi ; " Neque ipse Cymodameiam, ut unice tuam Aut ausus aut permissus esset insequi. Francis Hare. INDEX TO FIRST LINES. A COWARD ! who dares call Sir James p. 47. A crunching bear inopportunely bit p. 57, A fox, to Castlecombe pursued p. 119. A most puissant picture-scouring Prince, p. 35. Abesse dicis te dolere plurimum : p. 213. Abra! Beauty's bondmen are stricken with blue eyes: p. 191. Abriperis fato quod nulla mereris acerbo, p. 208. Accanto al fonte del mio duol piangevo, p. 201. Acute in later as in earlier days p. 85. Afar our stormy vessel flies p. 74. Afar was I when thou wast born, p. 27. Again the rocks and woodlands of Torbay p. 54. Ah ! do not drive off grief, but place your hand p. 160. Ah Landor, what a joy were mine p. 235. Ah Mela ! pleasant art thou to behold p. 55. Ah Nugent! are those days gone by p. 161. Ah Southey ! how we stumble on thro' life p. 111. Altho' against thee, George the Third ! p. 24. Among the foremost of Earth's freeborn men p. 133. Angels, they say, are with us unawares, p. 232. Around the child bend all the three p. 72. At every step of life expect p. 41. At the cart's tail, some years ago, p. 38. Auckland, Dalhousie, Canning! shall we ever p. 177. Away with tears and sorrows ! bid them cease p. 88. Barbarians must we always be ? p. 106. Bear it, O matcht unequally, you must, p. 112. Become a matron^ grave and sage, p. 63. Bees on imperial mantle Louis bears, p. 29. Before another season comes p. 76. Bloom, my rose ! p. 59. Q 242 INDEX. Cadmus ! if you should want again p. 78. Candid with thy modesty, resolute with thy shyness, p. 192, Canidia shared her prey with owls and foxes, p. 168. Canning, in english and in latin strong, p. 147. Captain ! we often heretofore p. 68. Catch her and hold her if you can . . p. 17. Che cosa mai, che cosa p. 199. Children ! be not too proud, altho' the man p. 37. Children, keep up that harmless play ; p. 73. Close as we may our eyes against the truth, p. 180. Come, Dante ! virtuous, sage, and bold, p. 116. Confession soon would be discarded p. 37. Constancy has one bright day, p. 47. Cool-smelling Oleander loves the stream p. 163. Cossutho minor uniuo inter omnes p. 228. Da quod potes, quod non potes Morpheus dabit. p. 207. Daisy ! thy life was short and sweet ; p. 26. Damcetus is a boy as rude p. 165. Daughter ! why roamest thou again so late p. 2. Death of the year ! wilt thou be also mine, p. 149, Deem me not sad and sorrowful p. 63. Derby ! we read, a noble dame p. 22. Desiderandus perpetuo bonis, p. 223. Disposer of our fleet is Croker, p. 23. Do and permit whate'er you will p. 24. Dolendus ille qui dolenter dixerit p. 203. Dona paras (ea dona mihi !) quse Rhenus eunti p. 207. Each year bears something from us as it flies, p, 117. Egenus baud sum ; dives esse non velim, p 221. Egressi Latio non sine carmine, p, 205, England ! well done ! you strike at last, p. 101. Esuriens quondam puer usserat ora polentfi, p. 225, Eugeniam semel adspexi, crystallina tecta p. 227, Excipe fortem animum neque faUi aut fallere pronum, p, 210. Fair maiden ! when I look at thee p. 23. Fair spinsters ! be ye timely wise, p. 48. Fanny would flatter me : she said p. 162, Fast fall the leaves : this never says p. 69. Few have been better, braver none have been, p. 110, Few, I believe (but can not say p. 85. INDEX. 243 Few the years that wait for me p. 143. Firmer the tree when winter whirls the leaves ; p. 83. Flannel, and potted meat, and rum, p. 106. Flatter me not with idle tales of youth, p. 72. Flores Aoniis in vallibus attenuantur p. 207. Flowers may enjoy their own pure dreams of bliss, p. 22. Flowers wounded may recover breath, p. 172. Force me (and force me you must if I do it) to write in heroics, p. 62. Fortior est nemo quEim tu, generose Savagl ! p. 239. Friend of my age ! to thee belong p. 1. Friends ! hear the words my wandering thoughts would say, p. 84. Gaffer Lockhart ! Gaffer Lockhart ! p. 95. Gaze not ! By those heavens above ! p. 46. Gaze not at the lights that shine p. 46. Gens clara ripas Danubii coHt, p. 227. Gibbon ! if sterner patriots than thyself p. 120. Go on ! go on ! and love away ! p. 171. God made his likeness, Man : when this was done p. 175. Good people ! I wonder now what ye are a'ter, p. 79. Gracefully shy is yon Gazelle : p. 25. Grasshopper ! thou art not the same p. 142. Graver songs I fain would sing : p. 28. HiEDE! si vetitus tibi p. 219. Hail, ye indomitable heroes, hail ! p. 105. Happy the man for whom arose that sigh, p. 30. Has there been all the year one day p. 177. Hand iterum tardos gressus ducente sorore p. 204. He who, raised high o'er war's turmoils, p. 127. He who would wish his country great p. 39. Health, strength, and beauty, who would not resign, p. 129. Heic Paulus impiger senex, p. 215. Hellen was once as fair, p. 33. Her voice was sweeter than the sound of waters, p. 197. Hide not that book away, nor fear p. 154. High as the sofa Daisy's head p. 26. Home ! I have changed thee often : on the brink p. 188. Honore dignam qui patriam velit, p. 226. How calm, O hfe, is thy decline ! p. 80. How can I but weep when I think of the day p. 200. How few there are who live content p. 156. 244 INDEX. How gladsome yet how calm are ye p. 62. How is it that the loveliest lands p. 145. How little have the powerful of the earth p. 135. How many verses have I thrown p. 142, How nobly sits old age npon the brave, p. 232. How shall we weave a wreath for thy broad brow ? p. 233. How soon, alas, the hours are over, p. 65. I AM a dreamer both by night and day. p. 158. I am not learned in such lore divine ; p. 41. I can not give much time to you ; p. 26. I come to visit thee agen, p. 66. I do believe a drop of water p. 74. I do remember when each stride p. 48. I do think it quite a pity p. 77. 1 fear a little girl I know; p. 29. I hardly know one flower that grows p. 128. I have but little wit, all they p. 57. I hold it unlawful p. 65. I leave the table : take my place, p. 153. I live among the Pigmies and the Cranes, p. 67. I may not add to youth's brief days p. 126. I never thought to see thee end in blanks p. 132. I see in you not greatly more p. 72. I was not young when first I met p. 102. I will not depose p. 31. Id satis est, placuisse tibi, te semper am^sse ; p. 230. If flowers could make their wishes vocal, they p. 45. If in some vision that deej) dyes the soul p. 234. If the Khsetian Alps of old p. 92. If thou wert only foul and frowsy, p. 157. If you design p. 48. If your heart is warm, come hither, j). 81. In caput infantis vergebat Aquarius urnam, p. 209. In first position I can stand no longer ; p. 93. In my opinion, rulers judge ill p. 94. In the Egyptian well of thy folly, Sclavonian, p. 195. In verse alone I ran not wild p. 44. In youth, it is true, when my heart was o'erladen, p. 1 75. Inter ccelicolas . . quare ploramus ademptam . . p. 222. Inter trecentos quos putaveris probos p. 214. Interminable undulating weeds p. 166, Is it that Care p. 55. INDEX. 245 Isabella spits at Spain, p. 36. It is deplorable to fear an enemy, p. 126. It is not envy, it is fear p. 129. It was a cruel hand that tore p. 144. It was because the seat was dry, p. 169. It would give me rheumatics, and so it would you, p. 82. JucuNDUM in vit^ nihil est nisi amare et amari. p. 205. Julius ! how many hours have we p. 54. Just as opposite in merit p. 132. Know me better. Do you think p. 21. Labuntur anni : quicquid amavimus p. 217. Ladies of Leeds ! the arts of peace p. 53. Lady ! whose hand is now about to part p. 1 78. Landor ! what is best to bring p. 174. Laugh, honest Southey ! prithee come p. 89. Laura ! the chords of your guitar, p. 94. Leave me alone / the pettish school-boy cries, p. 58. Let Freedom on thy breast descend, p. 117. Let pity and compassion be outspred, p. 98. " Liber eris " Homini Spes perfida dixit in aurem : p. 209. Life hurries by, and who can stay p. 116. Life's rugged rocks burst thro' its flowery plain ; p. 68. Life's torne Eomance we thumb throughout the day : p. 99. Lightly you run thro' years ; stop ! stop ! p. 43. Lips ! that were often prest on mine, p. 49. Liquit me juvenis tibi p. 218. Little do they who glibly talk of verse p. 113. Little have you to learn from me, p. 32. Lords of the Adriatic, shores and iles, p. 20. Loved when my love from all but thee had flown, p. 174. Macaulay is become a peer ; p. 64. Maidens are timid ; were they bolder p. 99. Mama ! we both are quite agreed p. 164. Manin ! thy country mourns thee ; but afar p. 131. Many may yet recall the hours p. 173. Mark ! always, always watchful, here I stand, p. 54. Men always hate p. 69. Mercurius fuit usque suis malefidus alumnis ; p. 230. Merle ! cushat ! mavis ! when but young p. 1 14. 246 INDEX. Mi vien da piangere qualor rammento p. 199. Middle-sized men live longest, but soon dies p. 45. Mine fall, and yet a tear of hers p. 176. Misfortune ! thou demon of a thousand forms ! p. 195. Mother Pestcome ! none denies p. 70. Mountains are less inert than men. p. 148. Multos perdidimus, paucos retinemus amicos, p. 218. My dear friend Barry! p. 17. My hopes and glories all go down, p. 31. My Kenyon ! who would live away p. 160. My little flower of stem so tall, p. 32. My little kid ! if I forbid p. 167. My pictures blacken in their frames p. 64. My serious son ! I see thee look p. 170. Napier ! I am too prompt to cry p. 27. Never yet was poet wanting p. 80. No Goddess is but seventeen; p. 35. No, I have never feard that age p. 28. No less than either who have borne the name p. 87, Noli flere ; resuscitare noli, p. 230. Non tantiim sterile est virtutum, sed muliebre p. 206. Nos ultra tumulum requiescimus inter amicos, p. 206. Not the last struggles of the Sun p. 98. Not that the Muse with brow benign p. 96. Now thou hast left this friendly shore, p. 107. Now yellowing hazels fringe the greener plain, p, 15. Nunquam sponte virum quassantem sceptra videbo; p. 210. O Death! thou must have lost thy wits p. 151. O dulcimer, wake from thy sunshiny sleep, p. 192. O God! how painful are the chains p. 193. Goddess of heroes and sages ! I know thee p. 178. Idleness ! enchanting Idleness ! p. 93. O patre nequam gnate (siquis) nequior, p. 216. O Eahdi, where is happiness 1 p. 198. O thou on whom Eubens had revel'd ! O fatter p. 169. O thou that delightest in the gardens of Schiraz, p. 190. O urna ! nunquam sis tuo eruta hortulo p. 229. Of all the saints of earth or aii p. 86. Of Hell and Heaven we Poets hold the keys, p. 6. Of two Field-marshals there is one p. 15. Oh wise in youth, and young in wisest age, p. 231. INDEX. 247 Old Dervish ! how good you are ! p. 25. Olim infelices Babylonica flevit am ores, p. 206. On perjurer and plunderer turn no more, p. 45. Once I would bid the man go hang, p, 33. One brother closed the Scindian war, p. 176. Our brother we beheve we must not slay; p. 21. Palmerston lies and gives the he p. 57. Peace ! fly to Heaven ; and righteous war ! come down. p. 130. People like best the patriots who betray 'em; p. 41. Perfusa quanto sanguine Hyems tepet p. 224. Philosopher and poet you shall find p. 1 50. Placere, uti scis ipse, perduellibus p. 205. Pleasure and Pain, p. 42. Poet ! too trustful and too tender, p. 16. Poets had kept the Long Vacation p. 143. Poor Somerset ! 'twas safer work p. 14. Pope, tho' his letters are so civil, p. 79. Post triste exilium Nasonis quseque Camoena, p. 202. Praiser of Milton ! worthy of his praise ! p. 135. Prelates and Judges ! Privy-Councillors ! p. 152. Pro meritis cujusque ferocius invida Mors est; p. 216. Promissse precibus toties, totiesque morat8e,p. 219. Pudice Grai ! videris impudicior p. 221. QuALis procellis trux hiemalibus p. 239. Quam bene sermones scripsisti ab imagine dictos, p, 238. Quanto omnibus mortalibus beatior p. 217. Qui gloriam se prsedicat contemnere, p. 215. Qui patriam sibi prsetulerit, qui pubhca jura p. 226. Rege Borussorum quis turpior ] Ecce Borussos p. 222. Repentance hastens if forbearance halts, p. 1 79. Res baud nova est : nam more patrum carnifex p. 214. Revocare te, Juventa, nequaquam licet, p. 204. Rosina ran down Prior-park, p. 42. Saint Peter could fish up p. 46. See how this paper, pure no more, p. 161. " See the conquering hero comes,''' p. 50. Send me such poems as a treat ! p. 109. Serta mi cant pueris Hyblseo flore Cyprique, p. 214. Sharp crocus wakes the fro ward Year ; p. 51. 248 INDEX. Si vellent Siiperi me dormitum ire, juvaret p. 208. Silly one ! do you think it strange p. 86. Siquem sequntus sit canis Italus p. 213. Siren of high Siena ! thine p. 13. Sis Iseta natis, Iseta nepotibus, p. 211. Sis memor absentis, castd dilecta puella! p. 213. Sitting up late, incautious Love takes cold, p. 82. Sixty the years since Fidler bore p. 59. Sleep, my sweet girl ! and all the sleep p. 78. So fierce and vengeful who was ever known ? p. 94. Soldier and Saint ! go forth. A groan of pain p. 134. Some are fanciers in religions, p. 82. Some dress in marten, some in vair, p. 71. Sometimes may we poor ladies fear p. 234. Sometimes the brave have bent the head p. 24. Somewhere in youth I think I heard p. 80. Sophy looks grave nor says one word, j). 164. Sounder, sweeter, be your sleep p. 40. Southey and I have run in the same traces, p. 19. Speranda pauca, multa perferenda sunt p. 217. Standing with courtiers, princes, Tzars, p. 172. Stately step, commanding eye, p. 34. Strachey ! now may'st thou praise thy God p. 133. Stranger! who art thou 1 why approachest thou p. 180. Suaves fraude novS-, firmat^ fraude feroces, p. 216. Summer is come, and must I never see p. 131. Sunt qui carere nos putant sale : id quidem p. 215, Sure 't is time to have resigned p. 75. Sweet is the Morn where'er it shines, p. 56. Sweet odors and bright colors swiftly pass, p. 119. Taking my walk the other day p. 52. Tears ! are they tears indeed ? p. 118. The Bible is the Earth ; and we begin p. 111. The breath five hundred haggards breathe p. 84. The camel at the city-gate p. 83. The day of brightest dawn (day soonest flown !) p. 18. The fires of love are pure in just degree, p. 154. The fur you gave me I'll take care p. 76. The Goddess of beauty, who loves early hours, p. 29. The grateful heart for all things blesses; p. 79. The hay is carried ; and the Hours p. 141. The honey-moon is very strange, p. 163. INDEX. 249 The horn-eyed, cold, constrictor Tzar, p. 16. The house of mourning in a foren land p. 108. The jewel that is absent from the ring p. 102. The mountain ash before my pane, p. 67. The mountains bow'd and trembled as he came, p. 134. The pillow is too soft ; my head sinks in ; p. 137. The poet sleeps : at every wheeze, p. 69. The rule of Justice hath returned again, p. 65. The scrapes of youth and maladies of age p. 115. The shadows deepen round me ; take p. 117. The shell assuaged his sorrow : thee he sang, p. 123. The snows have fallen since my eyes were closed p. 155. The soft I own to ; then of fun p. 113. The Swain and Nymph went out together, p. 81. The tears that rise p. 30. "'The year goes out in storm. The sky is full p. 237. The year lies waste ; November's rain p. 155. There are some tears we would not wish to dry, p. 147. There is a flame that flickers over us, p. 112. There is a flower I wish to wear, p. 167. There is a power, itself immovable, p. 128. There may be scornfulness, there may be wrong p. 153. There 's no hypocricy in being civil p. 109. These, madam, may perhaps be jokes p. 7. This is my faith. I do believe p. 89. Tho' the good luck I 've often had p. 70. Thou Cyclamen of crumpled horn p. 81. Thou who hast made the ancient world thy own, p. 231. ITiy radiant genius glances over all p. 236. Thy skin is like an unwasht carrot's, p. 43. Time ! seated on thy hoary rock, p. 105. 'Tis pleasant to behold p. 93. To bring is better than to cause p. 58. To love and to be loved the wise would give p. 83. To the tender and pensive I make my Appeal, p. 19. To turn my volumes o'er nor find p. 173. Tories don't like me, Whigs detest ; p. 40. Triumphant Demons stand, and Angels start, p. 25. Troublesome child ! do let that youth alone ; p. 30. True, ah too true ! the generous breast p. 94. 'Twas at the royal feast for Kars p. 100. Ubicuxqite pontus est ibi Britannia est. p. 218. 250 INDEX. Un^, Senecta, viximus multos dies, 204. Under the grate the ashes he p. 75. Under the hlacs we shall meet no more, p. 91. Under the lindens lately sat p. 38. Unless my senses are more dull p. 120. Upon the bark of this old tree p. 159. Urbes Sicanas ut lubenter viserim, p. 240. Ut cit5 sopitse menti benefacta recedunt ! p. 208. Vatum somnia sunt, et sunt insomnia vatum, p. 214. Veni, atque laudes accipe, Pomero, p. 211. Virtue and Vice look much the same ; p. 45. Vivis adhuc, Scytha ! vivis : in h^c tibi, perfide, vit^ p. 209. We drive the hoop along the green of life p. 73. We have outhved low Creeds ; the high remains, p. 149. What bitter flowers surround the fount of Pleasure, p. 31. What has prince * * done that he p. 159. What right have I to hold back Love so late, p. 34. What thousands, Law, thy handywork deplore ! p. 34. When Honor once hath shut the door p. 44. When I gaze upon the sky p. 84. When our eyes melt not with another's woes p. 111. When the buds begin to burst, p. 115. Where are the brave ? p. 118. Where are the royal beagles so high-fed ? p. 103. Whether a span above ground or below p. 39. While we are frolicking with Flaccus p. 64. Whiskered Furies! boy -stuft blouses, p. 171. Why back to verse 1 p. 95. Why should not Albert meet the Tzar p. 50. Why should sorrow darken over p. 92. Wishes are by-paths to unhappiness, p. 154. With fitful step unsteddily the soul p. 176. With much ado you fail to tell p. 177. Wonder not, stranger, coming from the dome p. 104. Wonders, 'tis true, I leave behind, p. 156. Worth is rewarded, even here, p. 128. Ye brave old fig-trees ! worthy pair ! p. 150. Ye native gems of beauty ! golden hairs p. 1 70. Ye springs of Malvern, fresh and bright, p. 49. Ye who are belted and alert to go p. 71. INDEX. 251 You ask me why I'm " never seen." p. 148. You ask me, will I come to Stowe; p. 18. You in good blinkers can see nothing shocking, p. 112. You say my brow is stern and yet my smile p. 127. You think Injustice is a curse, p. 43. You want a powerful lens to see p. 66. Youngster of Coburg ! thou hast found a throne p. 51. Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass, p. 160. BALUINTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBUROH. Tytj^ ^ '■] s ■■-■,, THE UNrVERSlTV OF CAUFORNIA UBRARY ' J -< ' / J . •. ^ .v^;, .'^ , '* W