XXIV. Her grief and gall meanwhile were quite extreme, Set in for singleness, tho' growing double. XXV. And here just here--as she began to heed That cried the hour from one to twenty-four; Of workmanship, it struck some dozens more ; A warning voice that clench'd Bianca's fears, Such strokes referring doubtless to her years. XXVI. At fifteen chimes she was but half a nun, To paint that ruin where her charms would run ; And thought no higher, as the late dream cross'd her, XXVII. And so Bianca changed;-the next sweet even, She sate with eyes turn'd quietly to heav'n, That veil'd her blushing cheek,-for Julio brought her, Of course to break the ice upon the water. XXVIII. But what a puzzle is one's serious mind And Julio felt the declaration stick XXIX. But love is still the quickest of all readers; XXX. "Be thou my park, and I will be thy dear, (So he began at last to speak or quote ;) Be thou my bark, and I thy gondolier, (For passion takes this figurative note ;) Be thou my light, and I thy chandelier; Be thou my dove, and I will be thy cote: XXXI. This, with more tender logic of the kind, Meanwhile her eyes glanced on the silver sphere That even now began to steal behind A dewy vapour, which was lingering near, Wherein the dull moon crept all dim and pale, Just like a virgin putting on the veil : XXXII. Bidding adieu to all her sparks—the stars, XXXIII. He took the hint full speedily, and, back'd By love, and night, and the occasion's meetness, Bestow'd a something on her cheek that smack'd (Tho' quite in silence) of ambrosial sweetness, That made her think all other kisses lack'd Till then, but what she knew not, of completeness: Being used but sisterly salutes to feel, Insipid things--like sandwiches of veal. XXXIV. He took her hand, and soon she felt him wring Anon his stealthy arm began to cling About her waist that had been clasp'd by none; Their dear confessions I forbear to sing, Since cold description would but be outrun : For bliss and Irish watches have the pow'r, In twenty minutes, to lose half an hour! In and-out Pensioners. A BALLAD SINGER S a town-crier for the advertising of lost tunes. Hunger hath made him a wind instrument: his want is vocal, and not he. His voice had gone a-begging before he took it up and applied it to the same trade; it was too strong to hawk mackerel, but was just soft enough for Robin Adair. His business is to make popular songs unpopular, he gives the air, like a weathercock, with many variations. As for a key, he has but one-a latch-key-for all manner of tunes; and as they are to pass current amongst the lower sorts of people, he makes his notes like a country banker's, as thick as he can. His tones have a copper sound, for he sounds for copper; and for the musical divisions he hath no regard, but sings on, like a kettle, without taking any heed of the bars. Before beginning he clears his pipe with gin; and he is always hoarse from the thorough draft in his throat. He hath but one shake, and that is in winter. His voice sounds flat, from flatulence; and he fetches breath, like a drowning kitten, whenever he can. Notwithstanding all this his music gains. ground, for it walks with him from end to end of the street. He is your only performer that requires not many entreaties for a song; for he will chaunt, without asking, to a street cur or a parish post. His only backwardness is to a stave after dinner, seeing that he never dines; for he sings for bread, and though corn has ears, sings very commonly in vain. As for his country, he is an Englishman, that by his birthright may sing whether he can or not. To conclude, he is reckoned passable in the city, but is not so good off the stones. |