Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems by the late Thomas Haynes Bayly; Edited by his Widow. With A Memoir of the Author. In Two Volumes |
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THE LAST SUMMER BONNET.
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 | Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems |  |
THE LAST SUMMER BONNET.
A NOVEMBER PASTORAL.
I
'Tis the last summer bonnet,The worse for the wear;
The feathers upon it
Are dimm'd by sea air:
Gay places it went to,
But lingers at last,
A faded memento
Of sunny days past.
II
The prejudice still isFor poets to moan,
When roses and lilies
Are going and gone.
But Fashion her sonnet
Would rather compose
On summer's last bonnet,
Than summer's last rose!
87
III
Though dreary NovemberHas darken'd the sky,
You still must remember
That day in July,
When after much roaming,
To Carson's we went,
For something becoming
To take into Kent.
IV
You, long undecidedWhat bonnet to choose,
At length chose, as I did,
The sweetest of blues.
Yours now serves to show, dear,
How fairest things fade;
And I long ago, dear,
Gave mine to my maid.
V
Oh, pause for a minute,Ere yours is resign'd;
Philosophy in it
A moral may find.
To past scenes I'm hurried,
That relic revives
The beaux we worried
Half out of their lives.
VI
'Twas worn at all placesOf public resort;
At Hogsnorton races,
So famous for sport.
That day, when the Captain
Would after us jog,
And thought us entrapt in
His basket of prog!
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VII
He gave me a sandwich,And not being check'd,
He offered a hand—which
I chose to reject!
And then you were teased with
The gentleman's heart,
Because you seem'd pleased with
His gooseberry tart!
VIII
'Twas worn at the ladies'Toxopholite fête,
(That sharp-shooting trade is
A thing that I hate;
Their market they mar, who
Attempt, for a prize,
To shoot with an arrow,
Instead of their eyes.)
IX
And don't that excursionBy water forget;
Sure, summer diversion
Was never so wet!
To sit there and shiver,
And hear the wind blow,
The rain, and the river,
Above, and below!
X
But hang the last bonnet,What is it to us,
That we should muse on it,
And moralise thus?
A truce to reflecting;
To Carson's we'll go,
Intent on selecting
A winter chapeau.
89
XI
Then let Betty take it,For Betty likes blue;
And Betty can make it
Look better than new.
In taste Betty's fellow
Was never yet seen;
She'll line it with yellow,
And trim it with green!
| Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems | |