I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN.

Scribblers unwed, with little head,

May eke it out with heart,

And in their lays it often plays

A rare first-fiddle part.

They make a kiss to rhyme with bliss,

But if I so began,

I have my fears about my ears

I'm not a single man.

Upon your cheek I may not speak,
Nor on your lip be warm,

I must be wise about your eyes,
And formal with your form,

Of all that sort of thing, in short,
On T. H. Bayly's plan,

I must not twine a single line—

I'm not a single man.

A watchman's part compels my heart

To keep you off its beat,

I'M NOT A SINGLE man.

And I might dare as soon to swear

At you as at your feet.

I can't expire in passion's fire

As other poets can

My life (she's by) won't let me die

I'm not a single man.

Shut out from love, denied a dove,

Forbidden bow and dart,

Without a groan to call my own,
With neither hand nor heart,

To Hymen vow'd, and not allow'd

To flirt e'en with your fan,

Here end, as just a friend, I must

I'm not a single man.

64

"PLEASE TO RING THE BELLE."

'LL tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore.

I'LL

Young Love likes to knock at a pretty girl's

door:

So he call'd upon Lucy-'twas just ten o'clock— Like a spruce single man, with a smart double knock.

Now a hand-maid, whatever her fingers be at, Will run like a puss when she hears a rat-tat: So Lucy ran up-and in two seconds more Had question'd the stranger and answer'd the door.

The meeting was bliss; but the parting was woe; For the moment will come when such comers must

go.

So she kiss'd him, and whisper'd-poor innocent

thing

"The next time you come, love, pray come with a

ring."

THE WATER PERI'S SONG.

AREWELL, farewell to my mother's own

FA

daughter,

The child that she wet-nursed is lapp'd in the

wave!

The Mussel-man coming to fish in this water,

Adds a tear to the flood that weeps over her

grave.

This sack is her coffin, this water's her bier, This greyish Bath cloak is her funeral pall, And, stranger, O stranger! this song that you hear Is her epitaph, elegy, dirges, and all!

Farewell, farewell to the child of Al Hassan,

My mother's own daughter-the last of her

race

She's a corpse, the poor body! and lies in this basin,

And sleeps in the water that washes her face.