The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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MARRIAGE CHIMES. |
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 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
228
MARRIAGE CHIMES.
—“Go together,
You precious winners all.”
—Winter's Tale.
You precious winners all.”
—Winter's Tale.
Fair Lady, ere you put to sea,
You and your mate together,
I meant to hail you lovingly,
And wish you pleasant weather.
I took my fiddle from the shelf;
But vain was all my labour;
For still I thought about myself,
And not about my neighbour.
You and your mate together,
I meant to hail you lovingly,
And wish you pleasant weather.
I took my fiddle from the shelf;
But vain was all my labour;
For still I thought about myself,
And not about my neighbour.
Safe from the perils of the war,
Nor killed, nor hurt, nor missing—
Since many things in common are
Between campaigns and kissing—
Ungrazed by glance, unbound by ring,
Love's carte and tierce I've parried,
While half my friends are marrying,
And half—good lack!—are married.
Nor killed, nor hurt, nor missing—
Since many things in common are
Between campaigns and kissing—
Ungrazed by glance, unbound by ring,
Love's carte and tierce I've parried,
While half my friends are marrying,
And half—good lack!—are married.
229
'Tis strange—but I have passed alive
Where darts and deaths were plenty,
Until I find my twenty-five
As lonely as my twenty:
And many lips have sadly sighed—
Which were not made for sighing,
And many hearts have darkly died—
Which never dreamed of dying.
Where darts and deaths were plenty,
Until I find my twenty-five
As lonely as my twenty:
And many lips have sadly sighed—
Which were not made for sighing,
And many hearts have darkly died—
Which never dreamed of dying.
Some victims fluttered like a fly,
Some languished like a lily;
Some told their tale in poetry,
And some in Piccadilly:
Some yielded to a Spanish hat,
Some to a Turkish sandal;
Hosts suffered from an entrechat,
And one or two from Handel.
Some languished like a lily;
Some told their tale in poetry,
And some in Piccadilly:
Some yielded to a Spanish hat,
Some to a Turkish sandal;
Hosts suffered from an entrechat,
And one or two from Handel.
Good Sterling said no dame should come
To be the queen of his bourn,
But one who only prized her home,
Her spinning wheel, and Gisborne:
And Mrs. Sterling says odd things
With most sublime effront'ry;
Gives lectures on elliptic springs,
And follows hounds 'cross country.
To be the queen of his bourn,
But one who only prized her home,
Her spinning wheel, and Gisborne:
And Mrs. Sterling says odd things
With most sublime effront'ry;
Gives lectures on elliptic springs,
And follows hounds 'cross country.
230
Sir Roger had a Briton's pride
In freedom, plough, and furrow;—
No fortune hath Sir Roger's bride,
Except a rotten borough:
Gustavus longed for truth and crumbs,
Contentment and a cottage;—
His Laura brings a pair of plums
To boil the poor man's pottage.
In freedom, plough, and furrow;—
No fortune hath Sir Roger's bride,
Except a rotten borough:
Gustavus longed for truth and crumbs,
Contentment and a cottage;—
His Laura brings a pair of plums
To boil the poor man's pottage.
My rural coz., who loves his peace,
And swore at scientifics,
Is flirting with a lecturer's niece,
Who construes hieroglyphies:
And Foppery's fool, who hated Blues
Worse than he hated Holborn,
Is raving of a pensive Muse,
Who does the verse for Colburn.
And swore at scientifics,
Is flirting with a lecturer's niece,
Who construes hieroglyphies:
And Foppery's fool, who hated Blues
Worse than he hated Holborn,
Is raving of a pensive Muse,
Who does the verse for Colburn.
And Vyvyan, Humour's crazy child,—
Whose worship, whim, or passion,
Was still for something strange and wild,
Wit, wickedness, or fashion,—
Is happy with a little Love,
A parson's pretty daughter,
As tender as a turtle-dove,—
As dull as milk and water.
Whose worship, whim, or passion,
Was still for something strange and wild,
Wit, wickedness, or fashion,—
Is happy with a little Love,
A parson's pretty daughter,
As tender as a turtle-dove,—
As dull as milk and water.
231
And Gerard hath his Northern Fay—
His nymph of mirth and haggis;
And Courtenay wins a damsel gay
Who figures at Colnaghi's;
And Davenant now has drawn a prize,—
I hope and trust, a Venus,
Because there are some sympathies—
As well as leagues—between us.
His nymph of mirth and haggis;
And Courtenay wins a damsel gay
Who figures at Colnaghi's;
And Davenant now has drawn a prize,—
I hope and trust, a Venus,
Because there are some sympathies—
As well as leagues—between us.
Thus north and south, and east and west,
The chimes of Hymen jingle;
But I shall wander on, unblest,
And singularly single;
Light-pursed, light-hearted, addle-brained,
And often captivated,
Yet, save on circuit—unretained,
And, save at chess—unmated.
The chimes of Hymen jingle;
But I shall wander on, unblest,
And singularly single;
Light-pursed, light-hearted, addle-brained,
And often captivated,
Yet, save on circuit—unretained,
And, save at chess—unmated.
Yet oh!—if Nemesis with me
Should sport, as with my betters,
And put me on my awkward knee
To prate of flowers and fetters,—
I know not whose the eyes should be
To make this fortress tremble;
But yesternight I dreamt,—ah me!
Whose they should most resemble!
Should sport, as with my betters,
And put me on my awkward knee
To prate of flowers and fetters,—
I know not whose the eyes should be
To make this fortress tremble;
But yesternight I dreamt,—ah me!
Whose they should most resemble!
November 20, 1827.
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |