Her head is crown'd with pretty sea-wares, And all day long she combeth them well, And her mouth is just like a rose-lipp'd shell, And the Fishmonger, humble as love may be, She turn'd about with her pearly brows, And then she gave him a siren kiss, No honeycomb e'er was sweeter: Poor wretch! how little he dreamt for this And away with her prize to the wave she leapt, Not walking, as damsels do, With toe and heel, as she ought to have stept, But she hopt like a Kangaroo; One plunge, and then the victim was blind, One half on the sand, and half in the sea, For when he look'd where her feet should be, But a scaly tail, of a dolphin's growth, Like an oyster, and thus she spoke: "You crimpt my father, who was a skate,— For lost you are, and betray'd!" And away she went, with a seagull's scream, In a moment he lost the silvery gleam The sun went down with a blood-red flame, Ah me! it had been a beautiful scene, But the green water-hillocks all seem'd to him And Christians love in the turf to lie, And whilst he stood, the watery strife Encroach'd on every hand, And the ground decreased,-his moments of life Seem'd measured, like Time's, by sand; And still the waters foam'd in, like ale, He knew that Goodwin and Co. must fail, A little more, and a little more, The surges came tumbling in; Each flounder and plaice lay cold at his heart, As cold as his marble slab; And he thought he felt, in every part, The squealing lobsters that he had boil'd, All the horny prawns he had ever spoil'd, And the billows were wandering to and fro, And the glorious sun was sunk, And Day, getting black in the face, as though Of the night-shade she had drunk! Had there been but a smuggler's cargo adrift, One tub, or keg, to be seen, It might have given his spirits a lift, Or an anker where Hope might lean! But there was not a box or a beam afloat, Not a skiff, not a yawl, nor a mackerel boat, At last, his lingering hopes to buoy, And call'd "Ahoy!"—but it was not a hoy, And with saucy wing that flapp'd in his face. The wild bird about him flew, With a shrilly scream, that twitted his case, "Why, thou art a sea-gull too!" And lo! the tide was over his feet; Oh! his heart began to freeze, He was deafen'd amidst the mountain-tops, But just as his body was all afloat, And the surges above him broke, The skipper gave him a dram, as he lay And the Angel return'd that was flying away THE TERRIERS AND THE RATS AND THE MICE AND THE CATS. R. BROUGH. ONCE on a time-no matter how, They ate them up, when bones ran short; Leaving the Rats the loathsome drain- Coincidence is Hist'ry's joy: And while the Terriers fierce destroy, The Ancient, Warlike race of Cats And so the Rats and Mice are cow'd, The Terriers for the Rats make laws, Spite of the Terriers, throve the Rats; So long as Tripe and Lights galore The Rats might live, and welcome; Nay-(birds and coneys deft to chase)Their rulers gave them sun and space; Only in dearth and famine's case, Then would the subjects' knell come! Not so the Cats-not so the Mice. Were profanation hideous! |