An Alb.u.m is a Banquet: from the store, In his intelligential Orchard growing, Your Sire might heap your board to overflowing; One shaking of the Tree--'twould ask no more To set a Salad forth, more rich than that Which Evelyn[12] in his princely cookery fancied: Or that more rare, by Eve's neat hands enhanced, Where, a pleased guest, the angelic Virtue sat.

But like the all-grasping Founder of the Feast, Whom Nathan to the sinning king did tax, From his less wealthy neighbours he exacts; Spares his own flocks, and takes the poor man's beast.

Obedient to his bidding, lo, I am, A zealous, meek, _contributory_

LAMB.

[Footnote 12: Acetaria, a Discourse of Sallets, by J.E., 1706.]

IN THE ALb.u.m OF ROTHA Q[UILLINAN]

A pa.s.sing glance was all I caught of thee, In my own Enfield haunts at random roving.

Old friends of ours were with thee, faces loving; Time short: and salutations cursory, Though deep, and hearty. The familiar Name Of you, yet unfamiliar, raised in me Thoughts--what the daughter of that Man should be, Who call'd our Wordsworth friend. My thoughts did frame A growing Maiden, who, from day to day Advancing still in stature, and in grace, Would all her lonely Father's griefs efface, And his paternal cares with usury pay.

I still retain the phantom, as I can; And call the gentle image--Quillinan.

IN THE ALb.u.m OF CATHERINE ORKNEY

Canadia! boast no more the toils Of hunters for the furry spoils; Your whitest ermines are but foils To brighter Catherine Orkney.

That such a flower should ever burst From climes with rigorous winter curst!-- We bless you, that so kindly nurst This flower, this Catherine Orkney.

We envy not your proud display Of lake--wood--vast Niagara: Your greatest pride we've borne away.

How spared you Catherine Orkney?

That Wolfe on Heights of Abraham fell, To your reproach no more we tell: Canadia, you repaid us well With rearing Catherine Orkney.

O Britain, guard with tenderest care The charge allotted to your share: You've scarce a native maid so fair, So good, as Catherine Orkney.

TO T. STOTHARD, ESQ.

_On His Ill.u.s.trations of the Poems of Mr. Rogers_

(1833)

Consummate Artist, whose undying name With cla.s.sic Rogers shall go down to fame, Be this thy crowning work! In my young days How often have I with a child's fond gaze Pored on the pictured wonders[13] thou hadst done: Clarissa mournful, and prim Grandison!

All Fielding's, Smollett's heroes, rose to view; I saw, and I believed the phantoms true.

But, above all, that most romantic tale[14]

Did o'er my raw credulity prevail, Where Glums and Gawries wear mysterious things, That serve at once for jackets and for wings.

Age, that enfeebles other men's designs, But heightens thine, and thy free draught refines.

In several ways distinct you make us feel-- _Graceful_ as Raphael, as Watteau _genteel_.

Your lights and shades, as t.i.tianesque, we praise; And warmly wish you t.i.tian's length of days.

[Footnote 13: Ill.u.s.trations of the British Novelists.]

[Footnote 14: Peter Wilkins.]

TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE

(1833)

What makes a happy wedlock? What has fate Not given to thee in thy well-chosen mate?

Good sense--good humour;--these are trivial things, Dear M----, that each trite encomiast sings.

But she hath these, and more. A mind exempt From every low-bred pa.s.sion, where contempt, Nor envy, nor detraction, ever found A harbour yet; an understanding sound; Just views of right and wrong; perception full Of the deformed, and of the beautiful, In life and manners; wit above her s.e.x, Which, as a gem, her sprightly converse decks; Exuberant fancies, prodigal of mirth, To gladden woodland walk, or winter hearth; A n.o.ble nature, conqueror in the strife Of conflict with a hard discouraging life, Strengthening the veins of virtue, past the power Of those whose days have been one silken hour, Spoil'd fortune's pamper'd offspring; a keen sense Alike of benefit, and of offence, With reconcilement quick, that instant springs From the charged heart with nimble angel wings; While grateful feelings, like a signet sign'd By a strong hand, seem burnt into her mind.

If these, dear friend, a dowry can confer Richer than land, thou hast them all in her; And beauty, which some hold the chiefest boon, Is in thy bargain for a make-weight thrown.

THE SELF-ENCHANTED

(1833)

I had a sense in dreams of a beauty rare, Whom Fate had spell-bound, and rooted there, Stooping, like some enchanted theme, Over the marge of that crystal stream, Where the blooming Greek, to Echo blind, With Self-love fond, had to waters pined.

Ages had waked, and ages slept, And that bending posture still she kept: For her eyes she may not turn away, 'Till a fairer object shall pa.s.s that way-- 'Till an image more beauteous this world can show, Than her own which she sees in the mirror below.

Pore on, fair Creature! for ever pore, Nor dream to be disenchanted more; For vain is expectance, and wish is vain, 'Till a new Narcissus can come again.

TO LOUISA M[ARTIN], WHOM I USED TO CALL "MONKEY"

(1831)

Louisa, serious grown and mild, I knew you once a romping child, Obstreperous much and very wild.

Then you would clamber up my knees, And strive with every art to tease, When every art of yours could please.

Those things would scarce be proper now.

But they are gone, I know not how, And woman's written on your brow.

Time draws his finger o'er the scene; But I cannot forget between The Thing to me you once have been Each sportive sally, wild escape,-- The scoff, the banter, and the j.a.pe,-- And antics of my gamesome Ape.

CHEAP GIFTS: A SONNET

(1834)

[In a leaf of a quarto edition of the 'Lives of the Saints, written in Spanish by the learned and reverend father, Alfonso Villegas, Divine, of the order of St. Dominick, set forth in English by John Heigham, Anno 1630,' bought at a Catholic book-shop in Duke Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, I found, carefully inserted, a painted flower, seemingly coeval with the book itself; and did not, for some time, discover that it opened in the middle, and was the cover to a very humble draught of a St. Anne, with the Virgin and Child; doubtless the performance of some poor but pious Catholic, whose meditations it a.s.sisted.]