For each man, who is fooled and shamed

By the smile of a flirty girl, The flash of an eye, or the fall Of an Alexandra curl,

Feels a grief and rage at his heart,
A black despair at his brain;
Life's sweetness is henceforth flown,
He never can trust again.

The softened breeze of eve,
The balmy air of May,
Told of bright hours in store,
Yet I turned to pass away.

To return to what? Despair!
To brood on broken faith,

To mourn on empty hearts,

To sigh for naught but death.

But yet the evening calm
Bade evil feelings fly.

Much is it mine to do,

Ere I know the bliss to die.

IV.

A hand on a window laid,

A glass flashing out in the sun,
A cloud of something white,
A noiseless step on the lawn.
Enough to grief I have paid,
Enough revenge is won,
My evil thoughts take flight,
And a new life seems to dawn.

A something fair has passed
Away to the gardens behind;
Why not go in and see

The parents of those young girls?
I remember our meeting last,
When cold blew autumn's wind,
And they were merry with me,
Those children with flowing curls.,

Will they know me again?
Their mother was always kind;

Ill health must excuse my neglect

In not calling to inquire.

They are honest people and plain,

With good hearts, by the times refined; A welcome I know to expect,

As hearty as one could desire.

с

Softly I ring the bell;

The parents were not at home.
Will I come in and wait?

The young ladies are somewhere about.
I am in now. Perhaps 'tis as well,
Yet I hardly know why I should come,
To meet with a similar fate;

I almost wish I were out.

An opening door I perceive,
I rise from the large armchair,

(It was scarcely polite to sit down),
In a moment erect I stand.

My senses did not deceive,

Some one has mounted the stair ;

Rustled a stiff silk gown,

There now! with my hat in my hand.

V.

'Twas the mother who entered the room, Dressed in a dark brown silk

One of Redmayne's best, and trimmed
With fringe, all ribbed and rimmed,

The pride of a Lyons' loom.

She was young, nice-looking, and fair,
Still in the bloom of life;

A British matronly grace

Just toned down a comely face, Framed in ringlets of nut-brown hair.

She received me kindly, and grieved To hear I had been unwell; Wondered I had not called before, Knew I was busy studying law, Hoped all wished-for success achieved.

It must be nearly a year

Since she had seen me there,

I replied lightly, and smiled;

Remarked that the weather was mild,

And summer probably near.

Would I stay and dine?

She felt sure I could not refuse.

In the park she had been for a drive ;
London was full and alive,

On an afternoon so fine.

Her horses looked well this spring;
A New Year's gift they had been
From her husband. He was well;
Had I no news to tell?

For refreshments she would ring.

I thanked her. I would stay,
On her kind invitation, to dine;
'Twas long since I had been out,
But now being more about,
Why not enjoy a fine day?

Well! had I anywhere been?
Were my family still in town?
Any matches this May?

Who had won the races to-day?
Which of the plays had I seen?

Oh! it was just half-past five,
She must retire to dress;

I had better enjoy the air

In the garden, blooming and fair,

A walk appetite would revive.

Her daughters were there, she believed, I should scarce know them again, They had grown so very tall;

Last year they were quite small,
But no other change she perceived.

Yes! they were there on the grass,
Amusing themselves with a game.
Of course I knew how to play
The fascinating croquêt ;
Soon a half-hour would pass.