University of Virginia Library

CHARADE.

Sordid and narrow and mean is my First,
Where in tenements rank with tobacco and gin,
Dwells the toiling mechanic with poverty cursed,
'Mid the breakers of law and the victims of sin.
'Tis gone!—a hall uprises,—view
Yon clamorous prize-fighting crew,
Wrangling, jangling, sense entangling,
Law new-fangling, justice mangling,—
'Tis not Bedlam, but as bad,
For money-mania makes them mad.
Hey presto pass! a graced saloon behold
Where to a brighter star bright stars repair
And beauties decked in jewelry and gold,
Curtsey to grace and beauty still more rare.
From each and all of these, at times,
Prison'd within my second's bound,
The sick—the sad—the doom'd for crimes,
The idle and the gay are found,
Swiftly their wingless flight is flown,
Their guide a lady's plaything, beckon'd
By hand unseen from spot unknown:—
What urges thee so fast my second?
What hurts the eye, yet mocks the sight,
Feels not, yet sighs and makes lament;—
As any floating feather light,
And yet at times omnipotent.
Guarded, my Second, thus, thy might
Would seem to challenge fate and death,
Yet doom and danger track thy flight,
Threat'ning around—above—beneath.
See, see, the lightning's angry flash;
Hark! what an elemental roar!
A shuddering cry—a thunder crash,—
My Second's gone—'tis seen no more!
Let none but pleasant sights appear,
Naught but the turtle-dove be heard,
Where Passion-flowers, to lovers dear,
Enwreathe an arbour for my Third.—
There the heart vents in tender sighs
The feeling that no words can reach,
Or makes the love-revealing eyes
More fond and eloquent than speech.
Fulfill'd be all the hopes ye raise,
Enamour'd inmates of the bower,
And oh! may all your future days
Be blissful as the present hour!—