THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a love once, fairest among women; I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ; Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my chiidhood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert thou not born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. QUEEN ORIANA'S DREAM. On a bank with roses shaded, To the mighty Tamerlane, Thus far, in magnific strain, A young poet sooth'd his vein, But he had nor prose nor numbers To express a princess' slumbers.Youthful Richard had strange fancies, Was deep versed in old romances, And could talk whole hours upon The great Cham and Prester John,-Tell the field in which the Sophi From the Tartar won a trophyWhat he read with such delight of, Thought he could as eas'ly write of-But his over-young invention Kept not pace with brave intention. Twenty suns did rise and set, And he could no further get; Brother of Bacchus, later born, The old world was sure forlorn, Wanting thee, that aidest more The god's victories than before All his panthers, and the brawls Of his piping Bacchanals. These, as stale, we disallow, Or judge of thee meant: only thou His true Indian conquest art; And, for ivy round his dart, The reformed god now weaves A finer thyrsus of thy leaves. Scent to match thy rich perfume Chemic art did ne'er presume Through her quaint alembic strain. None so sov'reign to the brain. Nature, that did in thee excel, Fram'd again no second smell. Roses, violets, but toys For the smaller sort of boys, Or for greener damsels meant; Thou art the only manly scent. Stinking'st of the stinking kini, Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind, Africa, that brags her foyson, Breeds no such prodigious poison, Henbane, nightshade, both together, Hemlock, aconite Nay, rather, Plant divine, of rarest virtue ; Blisters on the tongue would hurt you. 'Twas but in a sort I blam'd thee; None e'er prosper'd who defam'd thee Irony all, and feign'd abuse, Such as perplext lovers use, At a need, when, in despair To paint forth their fairest fair, Or in part but to express That exceeding comeliness Which their fancies doth so strike, They borrow language of dislike; And, instead of Dearest Miss, Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss, And those forms of old admiring, Call her Cockatrice and Siren, Basilisk, and all that's evil, Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil, Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor, Monkey, Ape, and twenty more; Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe,Not that she is truely so, But no other way they know A contentment to express, Borders so upon excess, That they do not rightly wot Whether it be pain or not. Or, as men, constrain'd to part With what's nearest to their heart, While their sorrow's at the height, Lose discrimination quite, And their hasty wrath let fall, To appease their frantic gall, On the darling thing whatever. Whence they feel it death to sever, Though it be, as they, perforce, Guiltless of the sad divorce. For I must (nor let it grieve thee, Like glances from a neighbour's wife; A BALLAD: NOTING THE DIFFERENCE OF RICH AND POOR, IN To the Tune of the "Old and Young Courtier." Is a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold; In a costly palace, when the brave gallants dine, They have store of good venison, with old canary wine, With singing and music to heighten the cheer; Coarse bits, with grudging, are the pauper's best fare. In a costly palace Youth is still carest By a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord's jest ; In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails: Does Age begin to prattle?-no man heark neth to his tales. In a costly palace if the child with a pin Do but chance to prick a finger, straight the doctor is called in ; In a wretched workhouse men are left to perish For want of proper cordials, which their old age might cherish. In a costly palace Youth enjoys his lust; Thinks upon the former days, when he was well to do, Had children to stand by him, both friends and kinsmen too. In a costly palace Youth his temples hides With a new devised peruke that reaches to his sides; In a wretched workhouse Age's crown is bare. With a few thin locks just to fence out the cold air. In peace, as in war, 'tis our young gallants' pride, To walk, each one i' the streets, with a rapier by his side, That none to do them injury may have pretence Wretched Age, in poverty, must brook offence. TO T. L. H. A CHILD. MODEL of thy parent dear, In thy unfaultering visage well Have been to thee thy nursery door; But the clouds, that overcast Then wandering up thy sire's lov'd hill,* Of health and pastime. Birds shall sing * Hampstead. And on thy every look impress BALLAD. So shall be thy days beguil'd, THORNTON HUNT, my favourite child. LINES ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LEONARDO DA WHILE young John runs to greet The Mother standing by, with trembling passion Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty Nor knows as yet the full event Of those so low beginnings, From whence we date our winnings, But wonders at the intent Of those new rites, and what that strange childworship meant. But at her side An angel doth abide, With such a perfect joy As no dim doubts alloy, An intuition, A glory, an amenity, Passing the dark condition Of blind humanity, As if he surely knew All the blest wonders should ensue, Or he had lately left the upper sphere, FROM THE GERMAN. THE clouds are blackening, the storms threaten ing, And ever the forest maketh a moan: "The world is empty, the heart is dead surely, SONNETS I. TO MISS KELLY. You are not, Kelly, of the common strain, And had read all the sovran schemes and divine As tributes due unto your natural vein. riddles there. THE GIPSY'S MALISON. "SUCK, baby, suck, mother's love grows by giving, Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting; Black manhood comes, when riotous guilty living Kiss, baby, kiss, mother's lips shine by kisses, Your tears have passion in them, and a grace trace, That vanish and return we know not how- II. Choke the warm breath that else would fall in ON THE SIGHT OF SWANS IN KEN QUEEN-BIRD that sittest on thy shining nest, And bann'd the ungiving door with lips pro- Did heavenly creatures own succession's line, phetical. The births of heaven like to your's would shine. |