386

MADAME LOFTY.

The parrot learned to call me "Fool!"
My life was like a London fog.

What d'ye think of that, my cat?
What d'ye think of that, my dog?
My Susan's taste was superfine,
As proved by bills that had no end;
I never had a decent coat,

I never had a coin to spend!
She forced me to resign my club,
Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog.
What d'ye think of that, my cat?
What d'ye think of that, my dog?

Each Sunday night we gave a rout
To fops and flirts, a pretty list;
And when I tried to steal away,
I found my study full of whist!
Then, first to come, and last to go,
There always was a Captain Hogg.

What d'ye think of that, my cat?
What d'ye think of that, my dog?

Now was not that an awful dream
For one who single is, and snug,
With pussy in the elbow-chair,
And Tray reposing on the rug?
If I must totter down the hill,
"Tis safest done without a clog.

What d' ye think of that, my cat?
What d' ye think of that, my dog?

MADAME LOFTY.

ADAME LOFTY keeps a carriage,

So do I;

She has dappled grays to draw it,
None have I.

She's no prouder of her coachman
Than am I,

MADAME LOFTY.

With my blue-eyed laughing baby
Trundling by.

I hid his face, lest she should see
The cherub boy, and envy me.

Her fine husband has white fingers,
Mine has not;

He can give his bride a palace,
Mine a cot.

Hers comes home beneath the starlight;
Ne'er cares she.

Mine comes in the purple twilight,
Kisses me,

And prays that he who turns life's sands,
Will hold his loved ones in his hands.

Madame Lofty has her jewels,
So have I;

She wears hers upon her bosom,
Inside I.

She will leave hers at death's portals,
By-and-by;

I shall bear the treasure with me
When I die.

For I have love and she has gold;

She counts her wealth, mine can't be told.

She has those who love her station,
None have I;

But I've one true heart beside me ;
Glad am I.

I'd not exchange it for a kingdom,
No, not I;

God will weigh it in the balance
By-and-by,

And then the difference he'll define

'Twixt Madame Lofty's wealth and mine.

387

388

THE DYING BRIGAND.

THE DYING BRIGAND.

HE stood before the dying man,

Sand her eye grew wildly bright

"Ye will not pause for a woman's ban,
Nor shrink from a woman's might;
And his glance is dim that made you fly,
As ye before have fled:

Look, dastards!-how the brave can die-
Beware!-he is not dead!

"By his blood you have tracked him to his lair!—
Would you bid the spirit part?-

He that durst harm one single hair
Must reach it through my heart.
I cannot weep, for my brain is dry—
Nor plead, for I know not how;

But my aim is sure, and the shaft may fly,--
And the bubbling life-blood flow!

"Yet leave me, while dim life remains,

To list his parting sigh;

To kiss away those gory stains,
To close his beamless eye!

Ye will not! no-he triumphs still,
Whose foes his death-pangs dread-
His was the power-yours but the will:
Back-back-he is not dead!

"His was the power that held in thrall,
Through many a glorious year,
Priests, burghers, nobles, princes, all
Slaves worship, hate, or fear.
Wrongs, insults, injuries thrust him forth.

A bandit-chief to dwell;

How he avenged his slighted worth,

Ye, cravens, best may tell!

"His spirit lives in the mountain breath,
It flows in the mountain wave;

THE GLADIATOR.

Rock-stream-hath done the work of death

Yon deep ravine—the grave!—

That which hath been again may be !—

Ah! by yon fleeting sun,

Who stirs, no morning ray shall see—
His sand of life has run!"

Defiance shone in her flashing eye,

But her heart beat wild with fear-
She starts-the bandit's last faint sigh
Breathes on her sharpened ear—
She gazes on each stiffening limb,

And the death-damp chills her brow ;-
"For him I lived-I die with him!
Slaves, do your office now!"

THE GLADIATOR.-JONES.

HEY led a lion from his den,

THE

The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain;

And there he stood, stern foe of men,

And shook his flowing mane.
There's not of all Rome's heroes, ten
That dare abide this game.

His bright eye nought of lightning lacked;
His voice was like the cataract.

They brought a dark-haired man along,

Whose limbs with gyves of brass were bound;
Youthful he seemed, and bold, and strong,
And yet unscathed of wound.
Blithely he stepped among the throng,
And careless threw around

A dark eye, such as courts the path
Of him who braves a Dacian's wrath.

Then shouted the plebeian crowd,-
Rung the glad galleries with the sound;
And from the throne there spake aloud

A voice," Be the bold man unbound!

389

390

THE GLADIATOR.

And, by Rome's sceptre, yet unbowed,
By Rome, earth's monarch crowned,
Who dares the bold, the unequal strife,
Though doomed to death, shall save his life."

Joy was upon that dark man's face;

And thus, with laughing eye, spake he;
"Loose ye the lord of Zaara's waste,
And let my arms be free:

'He has a martial heart,' thou sayest ;-
But oh! who will not be

A hero, when he fights for life,

For home and country, babes and wife!"

And he has bared his shining blade,

And springs he on the shaggy foe;
Dreadful the strife, but briefly played ;-
The desert-king lies low :

His long and loud death-howl is made;
And there must end the show.
And when the multitude were calm,
The favorite freed man took the palm.

"Kneel down, Rome's emperor beside!"

He knelt, that dark man;-o'er his brow Was thrown a wreath in crimson dyed; And fair words gilt it now:

"Thou art the bravest youth that ever tried To lay a lion low;

And from our presence forth thou go'st

To lead the Dacians of our host."