Nor think, ye Fair! our Hornsey has denied The elegant repasts where you preside: Here, may the heart rejoice, expanding free In all the social luxury of Tea! Whose essence pure inspires such charming chat, With nods, and winks, and whispers, and _all that_; Here, then, while 'wrapt inspired, like Horace old, We chant convivial hymns to Bacchus bold; Or heave the incense of unconscious sighs, To catch the grace that beams from beauty's eyes; Or, in the winding wilds, sequester'd deep, Th' unwilling Muse invoking, fall asleep; Or cursing her, and her ungranted smiles, Chase butterflies along the echoing aisles: Howe'er employ'd, _here_ be the town forgot, Where fogs, and smoke, and jostling crowds, _are not_.
Oh! is there not in infant smiles A witching power, a cheering ray, A charm, that every care beguiles, And bids the weary soul be gay? There surely is--for thou hast been, Child of my heart, my peaceful dove, Gladdening life's sad and chequer'd scene, An emblem of the peace above. Now all is calm, and dark, and still, And bright the beam the moonlight throws On ocean wave, and gentle rill, And on thy slumbering cheek of rose. And may no care disturb that breast, Nor sorrow dim that brow serene; And may thy latest years be bless'd As thy sweet infancy has been.
Blue eyes and jet Fell out one morn, Azure cried in a pet, "Away, dark scorn!-- "We are brilliant and blue "As the waves of the sea-- "And as cold and untrue "And as changeable ye.
"We are born of the sky, "Of a summer night, "When the first stars lie "In a bed of blue light; "From the cloudy zone "Round the setting sun, "Like an angel's throne, "Are our glories won."
"Pretty ladies, hold," Cupid said to the eyes-- For beauties that scold "Are seldom wise; "'Tis not colour I seek "Love's fires to impart-- "Give me eyes that can speak "From the depths of the heart."
I knew a being once, his peaked head With a few lank and greasy hairs was spread; His visage blue, in length was like your own Seen in the convex of a table-spoon. His mouth, or rather gash athwart his face, To stop at either ear had just the grace, A hideous rift: his teeth were all canine, And just like Death's (in Milton) was his grin. One shilling, and one fourteen-penny leg, (This shorter was than that, and not so big), He had; and they, when meeting at his knees, An angle formed of ninety-eight degrees. Nature, in scheming how his back to vary, A hint had taken from the dromedary: His eyes an inward, screwing vision threw, Striving each other through his nose to view.