POETS of Italy, I love you well!
Whether you sing in your immortal strains
Of wars and warriors, or you joy to tell
Of gentle maidens and of faithful swains:
Whether I list to thee, whose mighty pow'r
Bade the dark house of Woe her guests display;
Or thee, who in the solitary hour
Hast won my ear with many a love-lorn lay. My heart is so deceiv'd, that it prefers
E'en to the majesty of classic song
Your wilder notes. Yet half the charm is her's
Who taught me what you are.
My thanks to her my gratitude is due;
WHEN twilight's sombrous tints o'erspread the scene, And Cynthia's silvery orb, in solemn state,
Rides in the blue expanse, I love to stray,
Where its rich foliage hangs the darksome beach
Over the dusky stream.-The eddying water
Plays round yon moss-grown stone, with trembling light,
While its soft plaintive murmurs meet the ear,
In dying cadence-From the mouldering tower,
Whose shadow rests upon the broken wave,
Forth flits the leathern bat-Now while I list
To the soft tinkling of the distant bell,
My soul, attuned to harmony and peace,
Learns to forget its cares.-'Tis the still hour
Of sweet serenity and tranquil joy.
BY THE LATE REV. W. B. STEVENS,
NORWICH, with thee my sojourn long I close!
Thy proud Cathedral, with its numerous fanes
Encircled, as a hen amidst her brood;
Thy castled cliff with conscious terror view'd
By Caitiff eye from thy meandering lanes;
Thy Tragic belles; and Metaphysic beaux,
Humeites, Berkleyans, and I know not what;
And O! o'er all thy Turkey-crowded mart,-
Mother of feasts prolific, sad at heart,
And with slow step, I leave! My uncouth lot
Calls to a different scene, and distant far;
There, while Trent glides my sequestered spot,
Fancy full oft shall haunt the banks of Yar,
Or waft my absent friend to bless my cot.
O YEZ! This is, that all may learn,
Whom it may happen to concern,
Το any lady, not a wife,
Upon a lease, to last for life,
By auction will be let this day,
And entered on some time in May,
A vacant heart; not ornamented
On plans by Chesterfield invented,
A plain, old-fashioned habitation,
Substantial without decoration,
Large, and with room for friends to spare;
Well-situate, and in good repair.
Also the furniture; as sighs,
Hopes, fears, oaths, prayers, and some few-lies,
Odes, sonnets, elegies, and songs,
With all, that to the above belongs.
Also, what some might have been glad,
Tho' in a separate lot, to have had,-
A good rich soil of hopeful nature,
Six measured acres (feet) of stature.
Likewise, another lot-an heap
Of tattered modesty, quite cheap.
These verses, with many similar advertisements in prose, were spoken at a private Masquerade, in the character of a Town-Cryer.
This with the rest would have been sold;
But that by several we were told,
If put up with the heart, the price
Of that it much might prejudice.
Note well; the estate, if managed ably,
May be improved considerably;
Love is our money, to be paid
Whenever entry shall be made;
And therefore have we fixed the day
For entering, in the month of May.
But if the buyer of the above,
Can on the spot pay ready love,
Hereby the owner makes profession,
She instantly shall have possession.
The highest bidder be the buyer,
You may know further of the Cryer,
TO CERTAIN FASHIONABLES.
You who, on coach-box mounted, whirl along
With four in hand, and smack the sounding throng,
Who think to drive is wit, and sense, and grace,
What shall we call you? in what station place?
You're not, 'tis plain, true gentlemen-for those
Who bear that name to mean pursuits are foes;
You're not good coachmen-for each Whip that passes
Views with a sneer, and calls you clumsy asses.
So the hermaphodite, that thing uncommon,
Scorn'd by each sex, is neither man nor woman!
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