A LETTER OF ADVICE.

I gave you a chain,-is it broken?

My own Araminta, say "No!"

O think of our favorite cottage,

And think of our dear Lalla Rookh !

How we shared with the milkmaids their pottage, And drank of the stream from the brook;

How fondly our loving lips falter'd,

"What further can grandeur bestow?"

My heart is the same;-is yours alter'd?

My own Araminta, say "No!"

Remember the thrilling romances

We read on the bank in the glen;

Remember the suitors our fancies

Would picture for both of us then.

They wore the red cross on their shoulder,

They had vanquish'd and pardon'd their foe,

Sweet friend, are you wiser or colder?

My own Araminta, say "No!"

A LETTER OF ADVICE.

You know, when Lord Rigmarole's carriage,

Drove off with your Cousin Justine,

You wept, dearest girl, at the marriage,

And whisper'd "How base she has been!" You said you were sure it would kill you,

If ever your husband look'd so;
And you will not apostatize,-will you?

My own Araminta, say "No!"

When I heard I was going abroad, love,

I thought I was

We walk'd arm in

going to die;

arm to the road, love,

We look'd arm in arm to the sky;

And I said "When a foreign postilion

Has hurried me off to the Po,

Forget not Medora Trevilian :

My own Araminta, say "No!'"

We parted! but sympathy's fetters
Reach far over valley and hill;

A LETTER OF ADVICE.

I muse o'er your exquisite letters,

And feel that your heart is mine still;

And he who would share it with me, love,

The richest of treasures below,

If he's not what Orlando should be, love,
My own Araminta, say "No!"

If he wears a top-boot in his wooing,
If he comes to you riding a cob,
If he talks of his baking or brewing,
If he puts up his feet on the hob,
If he ever drinks port after dinner,
If his brow or his breeding is low,
If he calls himself "Thompson" or "Skinner,"
My own Araminta, say "No!"

If he studies the news in the papers
While you are preparing the tea,

If he talks of the damps or the vapors

While moonlight lies soft on the sea,

A LETTER OF ADVICE.

If he's sleepy while you are capricious,

If he has not a musical "Oh !"

If he does not call Werther delicious,
My own Araminta, say "No!"

If he ever sets foot in the City

Among the stockbrokers and Jews,

If he has not a heart full of pity,

If he don't stand six feet in his shoes,

If his lips are not redder than roses,

If his hands are not whiter than snow,

If he has not the model of noses,

My own Araminta, say "No!"

If he speaks of a tax or a duty,

If he does not look grand on his knees,

If he's blind to a landscape of beauty,

Hills, valleys, rocks, waters, and trees,

If he dotes not on desolate towers,

If he likes not to hear the blast blow,

A LETTER OF ADVICE.

If he knows not the language of flowers,—

My own Araminta, say "No!"

He must walk-like a god of old story Come down from the home of his rest; He must smile-like the sun in his glory On the buds he loves ever the best; And oh! from its ivory portal

Like music bis soft speech must flow!-If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal,

My own Araminta, say "No!"

Don't listen to tales of his bounty,

Don't hear what they say of his birth, Don't look at his seat in the county,

Don't calculate what he is worth;

But give him a theme to write verse on,
And see if he turns out his toe;

If he's only an excellent person,

My own Araminta, say "No!"