« ForrigeFortsett »
Or in cold sheets thy sprite perchance is flying
The world about-
Dele,—the Evil out!
Before sweet sleep drew down
Oblivion won thee !
In the waves of woe; .
Heaven forgive me! I
“ To murder thee”Methinks—" will never harm my precious headFor what can chance me, when the Devil is dead ?” But when I look on thy serene repose, Hear the small Satan dying through thy nose, My thoughts become less dangerous and more
deep; I can but wish thee everlasting sleep!
Sleep free from dreams Of type, and ink, and press, and dabbing-ball
Sleep free from all That would make shadowy, devilish slumber
- darker, Sleep free from Mr. Baldwin's Mr. Parker!
Oh! fare thee well!
Young thing of darkness, seeming
Full is thy little cup
And bear thee, Black-boy, to a whiter state !
· FOR THE NEW YEAR.
Come, fill up the Bowl, for if ever the glass
Found a proper excuse or fit season,
Sure, this hour brings an exquisite reason : For, hark! the last chime of the dial has ceased,
And Old Time, who has leisure to cozen, Having finished the months, like the flasks at a
feast, Is preparing to tap a fresh dozen !
Hip! Hip! and Hurrah !
Then fill, all ye Happy and Free, unto whom
The past Year has been pleasant and sunny ; Its months each as sweet as if made of the bloom
Of the thyme whence the bee gathers honeyDays ushered by dew-drops, instead of the tears,
Maybe, wrung from some wretcheder cousin
Then fill, and with gratitude join in the cheers
Hip! Hip! and Hurrah !
And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast,
And been bowed to the earth by its fury; To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently
passed, Were as harsh as a prejudiced juryStill, fill to the future! and join in our chime,
The regrets of remembrance to cozen, And having obtained a New Trial of Time, Shout, in hopes of a kindlier dozen !
Hip! Hip! and Hurrah!
ON THE DEPRECIATED MONEY.
They may talk of the plugging and sweating
Of our coinage that's minted of gold, But to me it produces no fretting
Of its shortness of weight to be told : All the sov’reigns I'm able to levy
As to lightness can never be wrong, But must surely be some of them heavy
For I never can carry them long.
TO C. DICKENS, ESQ.,
ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA.
Pshaw! away with leaf and berry,
And the sober-sided cup!
And a bumper fill me up!
And the longest ever was ! Ere his vessel leaves our river,
I would drink a health to Boz!.
Here's success to all his antics,
Since it pleases him to roam, And to paddle o’er Atlantics,
After such a sale at home! May he shun all rocks whatever,
And each shallow sand that lurks, And his passage be as clever
As the best among his works.