260

THE CONTRAST.

In the country, what bliss, when it rains in the fields,

To live on the transports that shuttlecock yields;

Or go crawling from window to window, to see

A pig on a dunghill or crow on a tree.

In town, we've no use for the skies overhead,
For when the sun rises then we go to bed;
And as to that old-fashioned virgin the moon,
She shines out of season, like satin in June.

In the country, these planets delightfully glare,
Just to show us the object we want isn't there;
Oh, how cheering and gay, when their beauties arise,
To sit and gaze round with the tears in one's eyes!

But 'tis in the country alone we can find
That happy resource, that relief of the mind,
When, drove to despair, our last efforts we make,
And drag the old fish-pond, for novelty's sake:

THE CONTRAST.

261

Indeed I must own, 'tis a pleasure complete

To see ladies well draggled and wet in their feet;
But what is all that to the transport we feel

When we capture, in triumph, two toads and an eel?

I have heard though, that love in a cottage is sweet, When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet; That's to come—for as yet I, alas! am a swain, Who require, I own it, more links to my chain.

In the country, if Cupid should find a man out,
The poor tortured victim mopes hopeless about;
But in London, thank Heaven! our peace is secure,
Where for one eye to kill, there's a thousand to cure.

In town let me live then, in town let me die,
For in truth I can't relish the country, not I.
If one must have a villa in summer to dwell,
Oh, give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall!

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

A CONCEIT.

SIR J. NOEL PATON.

WEET! in the flowery garland of our love,
Where fancy, folly, frenzy, interwove
Our diverse destinies, not all unkind,

A secret strand of purest gold entwined.

While bloomed the magic flowers, we scarcely knew
The gold was there. But now their petals strew
Life's pathway; and instead, with scarce a sigh,
We see the cold but fadeless circlet lie.

With scarce a sigh !—And yet the flowers were fair, Fed by youth's dew and love's enchanted air;

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

263

Ay! fair as youth and love; but doomed, alas !
Like these and all things beautiful, to pass.

But this bright thread of unadulterate ore— Friendship-will last though love exist no more; And though it lack the fragrance of the wreath,— Unlike the flowers, it hides no thorn beneath.

YEARS AGO.

THOMAS L. PEACOCK.

PLAYED with you, 'mid cowslips blowing,

When I was six and you were four;

When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing,

Were pleasures soon to please no more.

Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather,
With little playmates, to and fro,

We wandered hand in hand together,-
But that was sixty years ago.

You grew a lovely roseate maiden,
And still our early love was strong;
Still with no care our days were laden,
They glided joyously along ;