'Tis everywhere! The babe that sees with pain The look of feign'd displeasure on the face Of doting mother; and the mother who Lays down the babe to rest--no more to wake; The youth and maiden fair who tempt the stream Of love that never brings them to the goal Their fancy pictured; hearts that droop and break: Upon life's thorny way; old age that sees Long-hoped for peace among the silent dead And deems it life to die. The shadow falls Athwart the sunny hopes of every heart, And shadowy most when gentle arms extend For love's embrace, and find it not--as night Is darkest near the dawn. Brighter the flame Of light celestial 'twixt which and our hearts The blessed Cross doth stand, sharper the shade That falls upon our lives, as greatest gains Involve the pains of great adventurings; Or, nearer Death, nearer eternal Life.
ON READING IN A COMIC PAPER VERY ABSURD COMPARISONS BETWEEN THE WAGES OF CURATES AND COLLIERS.
If colliers were curates, and curates were colliers, I wonder what price the best coal would be then; Whether meat would be dearer, or Heaven be nearer, Or truth be less earnestly preached among men.
I know that the incomes of curates are slender; But curates get luxuries colliers ne'er see, Which they don't have to pay for, nor work night and day for, In mines dark and slushy on back and bent knee.
Keep pulpits for curates--but pay them good stipends: Keep mines for the colliers--but pay colliers well: O, the Pit--no detraction--brings Pulpit reaction, For pulpits would sicken if collieries fell.
Then go, sneering cynic--write nonsense and fiction On champagne and velvet, on satin and sin; Though the joke may be able, 'tis false as a fable, And shows what a fog Fleet-street sometimes gets in.
Being a reply to "M. C. D.," who advertised in a Swansea Newspaper for a wife, 1856.
Deputed by some lady friends, Who think, with me, when ought offends, 'Tis best to have it out at once, Not nurse your wrath like moping dunce, I venture forth--(now don't be hard, And sneer, "Dear me, a female bard!" I'm not the only Bard that's seen Inditing verse in crinoline. (_a_) I say--deputed by a few Young ladies: 'tis no matter who: I come--(of vict'ry little chance)-- With "M. C. D." to break a lance; To intimate our great surprise To hear ourselves called--merchandise, To be obtained--(there's no disguising The fact)--obtained by advertising! Obtained for better or for worse, Just like a pony, pig, or horse. And now, Sir, Mister "M. C. D.," Pray, tell us, whomso'er you be, D'ye think a lady's heart you'll gain By such a process? O how vain!