496 ENGLISH CHARITY. Say, is there aught more sad than thus to see Though doomed to drudge through many a weary day, Till his fleet limbs have grown to strength and power,- So worn with sorrow, yet so young in years, To him, who, weary, lab'ring, day by day, Is it not insult-mockery--to behold Flung to the stranger's use the precious gold, Oh! for some hand to stop the reckless power That, reigning still, the idol of the hour, Insatiate, ever-craving, yet by stealth, Wrings from th' impoverish'd land her ill-spared wealth; And pleading for the savage, still will roami Abroad for want-too often found at home! Happy for him, if, peaceful as before, The white man's foot had never pressed his shore: Happy for England, if her gold atone For all the want and misery on her own! THE SWORD. "TWA THE SWORD.-MISS LANDON. WAS on the battle-field; and the cold, pale moon And the wind passed o'er with a dirge and a wail, Where the young and brave were lying. With his father's sword in his red right hand, And the hostile dead around him, Lay a youthful chief; but his bed was the ground, A reckless rover, 'mid death and doom, Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword, He wrenched the hand with a giant's strength, He loosed his hold, and his noble heart Took part with the dead before him; And he honored the brave who died sword in hand, As with softened brow he leaned o'er him. "A soldier's death thou hast boldly died, A soldier's grave won by it: Before I would take that sword from thine hand, "Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow, Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth, And he laid him there, in honor and rest, With his sword in his own brave keeping. 497 498 NOTHING TO WEAR. NOTHING TO WEAR. MISS ISS FLORA M'FLIMSEY, of Madison Square, Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping, At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather; For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls; In short, for all things that could ever be thought of, From ten-thousand-franc robes to twenty-sous frills; In all quarters of Paris, and to every store, While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore,- And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway, This same Miss M'Flimsey, of Madison Square, The last time we met, was in utter despair, Because she had nothing whatever to wear! NOTHING TO WEAR. NOTHING TO WEAR! Now, as this is a true ditty, Like Powers' Greek Slave, or the Medici Venus; I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's I had just been selected as he who should throw all On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections, Of those fossil remains which she called "her affections," Beneath the gas-fixtures we whispered our love. "You know, I'm to polka as much as I please, And flirt when I like-now stop, don't you speak And you must not come here more than twice in the week, Or talk to me either at party or ball, But always be ready to come when I call; So don't prose to me about duty and stuff, If we don't break this off, there'll be time enough 499 500 NOTHING TO WEAR. For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be Which is binding on you but not binding on me." Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey and gained her, With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her, I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder At least in the property, and the best right To appear as its escort by day and by night:. And, it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball- And see if Miss Flora intended to go. I found her as ladies are apt to be found, When the time intervening between the first sound She turned as I entered-" Why, Harry, you sinner, And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more, Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door. Your beauty, and graces, and presence to lend The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air, And answered quite promptly, "Why Harry, mon cher, 66 Nothing to wear! go just as you are; Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, |