THE GODDESS OF SLANG. 111 I THE GODDESS OF SLANG. WAS courting a beautiful girl one night, Whom I worshipped as nearly divine, And longed to hear breathed the sweet little word, To tell me that she would be mine. I was praising the wealth of her chestnut hair, When she laid her cheek on my shoulder, and said, I started in terror, but managed to keep From showing my intense surprise, And pressed my lips lightly on brow and on cheek, I told her my love was as deep as the sea, (As I felt her heart going pit-patter!) And would worship her always if she would be mine; I told her, her cheek would the rose put to shame, And the ocean's rich coral could never compare That her voice was like music that comes to the ear In the night-time, and sweet was her smile As that of an angel; and softly she breathed, "On that you can just bet your pile!” In the hush of the starlight I still whispered on, And pressed her more close to my breast; Talked sweeter than "Romeo," dearer than "Claude," Of bliss in a cottage, of flowers and birds, (Though I felt the times strange out of joint,) When she looked up with a smile, and daintily lisped In my ear, "I can't see the point! I pressed her still closer, I talked still more sweet, 112 HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP. Made kiss rhyme to bliss, and love rhyme to dove, I'd be constant and true if she'd only be mine— What a fall for a lover! I left in disgust My angel had faded away; My dream was dispelled, my love had grown cold, And two hearts were parted to meet nevermore Oh, why will rare beauty her rosy lips stain HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.-SHAKESPEARE. Y liege, I did deny no prisoners. MY But I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reaped, Showed like stubble-land at harvest home. He was perfumed like a milliner; And, 'twixt his finger and his thumb, he held A pouncet-box, which, ever and anon, He gave his nose. And still he smiled, and talked, And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, With many holiday and lady terms He questioned me; among the rest, demanded I then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled EVA. To be so pestered with a popinjay, Answered negligently-I know not what He should, or should not; for he made me mad, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds--heaven save the mark— And that it was great pity-so it was— This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, And I beseech you, let not his report Betwixt my love and your high majesty. ΟΝ EVA. N the white hawthorn's bloom, in purpling streak, On the green valley's brow she golden glows, In whom I live, forsake the down of rest. Lovelier than morn, carnationed in soft hues, 113 More modest than the morning's blushing smile. Thy breath is sweeter than the apple-bloom, And from thy bosom, the soft throne of bliss, From the tall crag, aspiring to the skies, Queen of the smile of joy! shall I not kiss SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. Eva! why stay so long? why leave me lone And didst thou hear my melancholy lay? 115 SCOTT AND THE VETERAN.-BAYARD TAYLOR. AN old and crippled veteran to the War Department came, He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of fame— The Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose, And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. "Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, "The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side? Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane? 'Tis true, I'm old and pension'd, but I want to fight again." "Have I forgotten?" said the Chief; "my brave old soldier, no! And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and gray, And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." |