A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker Part 7

To hint at an infantine frailty is scandal; Let bygones be bygones--and somebody knows It was bliss such a Baby to dance and to dandle, Your cheeks were so velvet--so rosy your toes.

Ay, here is your Cradle, and Hope, a bright spirit, With Love now is watching beside it, I know.

They guard the small nest you yourself did inherit Some nineteen or twenty short summers ago.

It is Hope gilds the future,--Love welcomes it smiling; Thus wags this old world, therefore stay not to ask-- "My future bids fair, is my future beguiling?"

If masked, still it pleases--then raise not the mask.

Is Life a poor coil some would gladly be doffing?

He is riding post-haste who their wrongs will adjust; For at most 'tis a footstep from cradle to coffin-- From a spoonful of pap to a mouthful of dust.

Then smile as your future is smiling, my Jenny!

Though blossoms of promise are lost in the rose, I still see the face of my small Pic-a-ninny Unchanged, for these cheeks are as blooming as those.

Ay, here is your Cradle! much, much to my liking, Though nineteen or twenty long winters have sped; But, hark! as I'm talking there's six o'clock striking, It is time JENNY'S BABY should be in its bed!

TO MY MISTRESS.

O Countess, each succeeding year Reveals that Time is wasting here: He soon will do his worst by you, And garner all your roses too!

It pleases Time to fold his wings Around our best and brightest things; He'll mar your damask cheek, as now He stamps his mark upon my brow.

The same mute planets rise and s.h.i.+ne To rule your days and nights as mine, I once was young as you,--and see...!

You some day will be old as me.

And yet I bear a mighty charm Which s.h.i.+elds me from your worst alarm; And bids me gaze, with front sublime, On all these ravages of Time.

You boast a charm that all would prize, This gift of mine, which you despise, May, like enough, still hold its sway When all your boast has pa.s.sed away.

My charm may long embalm the lures Of eyes, as sweet to me as yours: And ages hence the great and good Will judge you as I choose they should.

In days to come the count or clown, With whom I still shall win renown, Will only know that you were fair Because I chanced to say you were.

Fair Countess--I wax grey--awhile Your youthful swains will sigh or smile; But should you scorn, for smile or sigh, A grey old Bard--as great as I?

KENWOOD, _July 21, 1864_.

TO MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS

They nearly strike me dumb, And I tremble when they come Pit-a-pat: This palpitation means That these boots are Geraldine's-- Think of that!

Oh, where did hunter win So delicate a skin For her feet?

You lucky little kid, You perished, so you did, For my sweet.

The faery st.i.tching gleams On the toes, and in the seams, And reveals That Pixies were the wags Who tipped these funny tags, And these heels.

What soles! so little worn!

Had Crusoe--soul forlorn!-- Chanced to view _One_ printed near the tide, How hard he would have tried For the two!

For Gerry's debonair, And innocent, and fair As a rose: She's an angel in a frock, With a fascinating c.o.c.k To her nose.

Those simpletons who squeeze Their extremities to please Mandarins, Would positively flinch From venturing to pinch Geraldine's.

Cinderella's _lefts and rights_ To Geraldine's were frights: And, in truth, The damsel, deftly shod, Has dutifully trod From her youth.

The mansion--ay, and more, The cottage of the poor, Where there's grief, Or sickness, are her choice-- And the music of her voice Brings relief.

Come, Gerry, since it suits Such a pretty Puss-in-Boots These to don, Set your little hand awhile On my shoulder, dear, and I'll Put them on.

ALBURY, _June 29, 1864_.

THE ROSE AND THE RING.

(Christmas 1854, and Christmas 1863.)

She smiles--but her heart is in sable, And sad as her Christmas is chill: She reads, and her book is the fable He penned for her while she was ill.

It is nine years ago since he wrought it Where reedy old Tiber is king, And chapter by chapter he brought it-- And read her the Rose and the Ring.

And when it was printed, and gaining Renown with all lovers of glee, He sent her this copy containing His comical little _croquis_; A sketch of a rather droll couple-- She's pretty--he's quite t'other thing!

He begs (with a spine vastly supple) She will study the Rose and the Ring.

It pleased the kind Wizard to send her The last and the best of his toys, His heart had a sentiment tender For innocent women and boys: And though he was great as a scorner, The guileless were safe from his sting,-- How sad is past mirth to the mourner!-- A tear on the Rose and the Ring!

She reads--I may vainly endeavour Her mirth-chequered grief to pursue; For she hears she has lost--and for ever-- A Heart that was known by so few; But I wish on the shrine of his glory One fair little blossom to fling; And you see there's a nice little story Attached to the Rose and the Ring!

TO MY OLD FRIEND POSTUMUS.

(J. G.)

My Friend, our few remaining years Are hasting to an end, They glide away, and lines are here That time will never mend; Thy blameless life avails thee not,-- Alas, my dear old Friend!

From mother Earth's green orchard trees The fairest fruit is blown, The lad was gay who slumbers near, The la.s.s he loved is gone; Death lifts the burthen from the poor, And will not spare the throne.

And vainly are we fenced about From peril, day and night, The awful rapids must be shot, Our shallop is but slight; So pray, when parting, we descry A cheering beacon-light.