Imatges de pàgina
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Instead of cook'ry books and pies, of trains and highheeled shoes,

We've now some dozen foreign tongues, and bustles, and "bas-bleus;"

Our modern ladies scorn to study seas'ning and

ragouts ;

Politicians and astronomers have far more lofty views Than the fair and simple housewives of the merry olden time.

Our recreations e'en are changed;-the good old country-dance

No more may its far-lengthened lines on modern eyes advance!

The cold, coquettish, prim quadrille—the gallopade of France

With Germany's wild, whirling waltz, our giddy heads entrance;

No more majestic minuets-no dames of olden

time.

Now, though all this may be "reform," 'tis far from

good or wise;

And much more happy should we be if dames made shirts and pies,

Instead of scribbling odes and songs to love and butterflies,

And digging up queer fossils to astonish vulgar eyes, Unlike the fair good housewives of the simple olden time.

I hate the cupboards crammed with trash-tooth, skeleton, and bone;

Here, a fish's tail in lime-there, a goose's head in

stone,

Where cordial, jam, and pickle once in goodly order

shone:

My powdered locks grew thickly then, but ah! those days are flown,

And with them all the housewifery of bonny olden

times.

Ye beauteous dames of England, give up these mad

brained ways—

No more with Greek and Hebrew lore your pretty

noddles craze;

Shun crucible, and eke retort-seek no poetic bays, But spin and sew, knit, cook, and brew, as in the golden days,

When British dames were housewives good-alas!

the olden times!

I LOVED THEE ONCE.

I LOVED thee once,-I loved thee long -
And now I never hear thy name

Breathed even by a stranger tongue,
But my pale cheek is turned to flame.
I do not weep--but o'er my brow

The scathing hand of mem'ry burns ;-
I do not murmur- -for e'en now
My spirit's love to thee returns.

And thou-and thou art proud and gay,—
Proud that the heart thou gaind'st is breaking,
And soon from earth must fall away,
False hopes, and falser love forsaking!
Smile on, and bask in beauty's light,
And bid "thine own" to thee confide
A heart as pure, a faith as bright
As her's who lone and early died!

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MERRILY, merrily through the flowers

Trace we our mazy dance to night,

With the glow-worm's torch illume our bowers,
And revel in the clear moonlight.

Come, haste-then haste at your Queen's behest,

To our fairy banqueting come

On the bright star's glance, or the zephyr's breast,
Come, fairies, return to your home.

With flowers, gay flowers the earth is bright,
And the sweet incense now ascends;-

From their perfumed leaves to the breath of night,
Each bud its fragrant tribute sends.

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