And artificial flowers, rose, leaf, and bud,
Such sable lilies

And grim daffodilies

Drooping, but not for drought, O Lud! O Lud!

I may as well, while I'm inclined,
Just go through all the faults I find:

Oh Lud! then, with a better air, say June,
Could'st thou not find a better tune

To sound with trumpets, and with drums,
Than "See the Conquering Hero comes,'

When he who comes ne'er dealt in blood?
Thy May'r is not a War Horse, Lud,
That ever charged on Turk or Tartar,
And yet upon a march you strike
That treats him like-

A little French if I may martyr –
Lewis Cart-Horse or Henry Carter !

O Lud! I say

Do change your day

To some time when your Show can really show; When silk can seem like silk, and gold can glow. Look at your Sweepers, how they shine in May!

Have it when there's a sun to gild the coach, And sparkle in tiara bracelet brooch Diamond-or paste-of sister, mother, daughter; When grandeur really may be grandBut if thy Pageant's thus obscured by land O Lud! it's ten times worse upon the water!

Suppose, O Lud, to show its plan,

I call, like Blue Beard's wife, to sister Anne,
Who's gone to Beaufort Wharf with niece
and aunt,

To see what she can see- and what she can't;
Chewing a saffron bun by way of cud,
To keep the fog out of a tender lung,
While perched in a verandah nicely hung
Over a margin of thy own black mud,
O Lud!

Now Sister Anne, I call to thee,
Look out and see:

Of course about the bridge you view them rally
And sally,

With many a wherry, sculler, punt, and cutter The Fishmongers' grand boat, but not for butter, The Goldsmiths' glorious galley,

Of course you see the Lord Mayor's coach aquatic, With silken banners that the breezes fan, In gold all glowing,

And men in scarlet rowing,

Like Doge of Venice to the Adriatic

Of course you see all this, O Sister Anne?

"No, I see no such thing!

I only see the edge of Beaufort Wharf,
With two coal lighters fastened to a ring;
And, dim as ghosts,

Two little boys are jumping over posts;
And something, further off,

That's rather like the shadow of a dog,
And all beyond is fog.

If there be any thing so fine and bright,
To see it I must see by second sight.
Call this a Show? It is not worth a pin !
I see no barges row,

No banners blow;

The Show is merely a gallanty-show,
Without a lamp or any candle in."

But sister Anne, my dear,

Although you cannot see, you still may hear? Of course you hear, I'm very sure of that,

The "Water parted from the Sea" in C, Or "Where the Bee sucks," set in B; Or Huntsman's chorus from the Freyschutz frightful,

Or Handel's Water Music in A flat.

O music from the water comes delightful!

It sounds as nowhere else it can :

You hear it first

In some rich burst,

Then faintly sighing,

Tenderly dying,

Away upon the breezes, Sister Anne.

"There is no breeze to die on;

And all their drums and trumpets, flutes and harps, Could never cut their way with ev'n three sharps Through such a fog as this, you may rely on.

I think, but am not sure, I hear a hum, Like a very muffled double drum,

And then a something faintly shrill,

Like Bartlemy Fair's old buzz at Pentonville.

And now and then hear a pop,

As if from Pedley's Soda Water shop.
I'm almost ill with the strong scent of mud,
And, not to mention sneezing,

My cough is, more than usual, teasing;
I really fear that I have chilled my blood,
O Lud! O Lud! O Lud! O Lud! O Lud!

RONDEAU.

[EXTRACTED FROM A WELL-KNOwn annual.]

O CURIOUS reader, didst thou ne'er
Behold a worshipful Lord May'r

Seated in his great civic chair

So dear?

Then cast thy longing eyes this way,
It is the ninth November day,

And in his new-born state survey

One here!

To rise from little into great
Is pleasant; but to sink in state
From high to lowly is a fate

Severe.

Too soon his shine is overcast,
Chilled by the next November blast;

His blushing honors only last

One year!

He casts his fur and sheds his chains,
And moults till not a plume remains
The next impending May'r distrains
His gear.

He slips like water through a sieve
Ah, could his little splendor live
Another twelvemonth

he would give
One ear!

SYMPTOMS OF OSSIFICATION.

"An indifference to tears, and blood, and human suffering, that could only belong to a Boney-parte."-LIFE OF NAPO

LEON.

TIME was, I always had a drop
For any tale or sigh of sorrow;
My handkerchief I used to sop
Till often I was forced to borrow;