'Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes, And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes, And merry little children's books at times. 'I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain; The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain ; The idle word that he'd wish back again. I've helped him to pen many a line for bread; To joke, with sorrow aching in his head; And make your laughter when his own heart bled. 'I've spoke with men of all degree and sort— Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court; Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport! 'Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago, Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow, Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low; 'Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball, Tradesman's polite reminders of his small Account due Christmas last-I've answered all. 'Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a halfGuinea; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph; So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh, 'Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff, Day after day still dipping in my trough, And scribbling pages after pages off. 'Day after day the labour's to be done, 'Go back, my pretty little gilded tome, To a fair mistress and a pleasant home, Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come! 'Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit, 'Kind lady! till my last of lines is penned, 'Not all are so that were so in past years; Voices, familiar once, no more he hears; Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears. 'So be it :-joys will end and tears will dryAlbum! my master bids me wish good-by, He'll send you to your mistress presently. 'And thus with thankful heart he closes you; Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew So gentle, and so generous, and so true. 'Nor pass the words as idle phrases by ; W. M. Thackeray. YOUTH AND AGE. WHEN all the world is young, lad, And round the world away; When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; C. Kingsley. STANZAS WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. I. FAREWELL Life! my senses swim, Colder, colder, colder still, II. Welcome Life! the Spirit strives! T. Hood. DAYBREAK. A WIND came up out of the sea, It hailed the ships, and cried, 'Sail on, And hurried landward far away, It said unto the forest, 'Shout! It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And o'er the farms, ' O chanticleer, It whispered to the fields of corn, It shouted through the belfry-tower, It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE. (Last Lines of Thomas Ingoldsby.) As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, With his hauberke shynynge brighte, Free and gaye; As I laye a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye. As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne, Ran free. As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see. |