Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems [by N. T. H. Bayly] |
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LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING A WATERING PLACE. |
 | Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems |  |
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LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING A WATERING PLACE.
Adieu, gay scenes; and oh! adieu
Cheeks brown and fair, eyes black and blue:
And take a parting sigh from me,
Harper, and flute, and fiddlers three:
To sweet sequester'd shades I go,
But not on light fantastic toe;
With leaden footstep, I shall seek
Lanes long, and lonely;—this day week!
Cheeks brown and fair, eyes black and blue:
And take a parting sigh from me,
Harper, and flute, and fiddlers three:
To sweet sequester'd shades I go,
But not on light fantastic toe;
With leaden footstep, I shall seek
Lanes long, and lonely;—this day week!
Here all will then be fair and bright,
Beneath as soft a candlelight;
And beaus and belles will dance about,
A few with grace,—a few without;
Here tutor'd feet will lightly skip,
And rose bud lips weak tea will sip;
And fascinated eyes will seek
For pretty partners—this day week!
Beneath as soft a candlelight;
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A few with grace,—a few without;
Here tutor'd feet will lightly skip,
And rose bud lips weak tea will sip;
And fascinated eyes will seek
For pretty partners—this day week!
The kindling lamps will beam as soon,
The band will play as sweet a tune;
Delighted swains will rove about,
And lead delighted damsels out;
Beaus the fair hands of belles will touch,
And whisper nothings—meaning much;
And some in louder tone will speak,
Unmeaning somethings—this day week!
The band will play as sweet a tune;
Delighted swains will rove about,
And lead delighted damsels out;
Beaus the fair hands of belles will touch,
And whisper nothings—meaning much;
And some in louder tone will speak,
Unmeaning somethings—this day week!
And say will one remember then,
A man—the most forlorn of men;
Who goes upon four wheels away,
Because he must not—dare not stay?
Will some fair nymph with eager glance,
Search for his figure in the dance,
And then will sorrow shade her cheek
When he is absent—this day week?
A man—the most forlorn of men;
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Because he must not—dare not stay?
Will some fair nymph with eager glance,
Search for his figure in the dance,
And then will sorrow shade her cheek
When he is absent—this day week?
No—not a belle who then glides in,
Will make a point of looking thin;—
No hollow eyes of him bereft
Will turn aside from right and left;
No wasted form will steps forget,
And feebly totter through pousette,
Or for his sake with changing cheek,
Go to the bottom—this day week!
Will make a point of looking thin;—
No hollow eyes of him bereft
Will turn aside from right and left;
No wasted form will steps forget,
And feebly totter through pousette,
Or for his sake with changing cheek,
Go to the bottom—this day week!
No! not a charm will cease to be,
No ringlets will uncurl for me;
No form will shrivel for my sake,
No smile will fade, no heart will break:
Here all will then as lightly pass,
Though I shall be turn'd out to grass;
Oh! in the shades I'll die with pique,
I'll blow my brains out—this day week.
No ringlets will uncurl for me;
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No smile will fade, no heart will break:
Here all will then as lightly pass,
Though I shall be turn'd out to grass;
Oh! in the shades I'll die with pique,
I'll blow my brains out—this day week.
My head a green grass turf shall own,
And at my quiet heels a stone;
For on your head no rose I'll view,
And at your heels no satin shoe;
Then I shall have no power to steal
A look at your divine profile;
I shall not scent your huile antique,
Nor tie your cloak on—this day week!
And at my quiet heels a stone;
For on your head no rose I'll view,
And at your heels no satin shoe;
Then I shall have no power to steal
A look at your divine profile;
I shall not scent your huile antique,
Nor tie your cloak on—this day week!
My feet I shall not then inclose,
In dancing pumps, nor silken hose;
But muddy pathways I shall choose,
In most exceedingly thick shoes:
This waistcoat white as unsunn'd snow,
Shall to my old portmanteau go;
Another waistcoat I'll bespeak,
I'll buy a straight one—this day week.
In dancing pumps, nor silken hose;
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In most exceedingly thick shoes:
This waistcoat white as unsunn'd snow,
Shall to my old portmanteau go;
Another waistcoat I'll bespeak,
I'll buy a straight one—this day week.
I rave, I rave, just now I said
A green grass turf should grace my head;
And when men sleep in such a spot,
Waistcoats, and coats become them not:
But if you should forget me here,
My pallid phantom shall appear;
While lights burn blue, my voice shall speak
And scare your senses—this day week.
A green grass turf should grace my head;
And when men sleep in such a spot,
Waistcoats, and coats become them not:
But if you should forget me here,
My pallid phantom shall appear;
While lights burn blue, my voice shall speak
And scare your senses—this day week.
Just as the steward has call'd a dance,
My apparition shall advance;
While harmony forsakes each fiddle,
My bones shall rattle down the middle;
I'll lead you out!—each step we take,
The sea shall foam, the earth shall quake!
Tea cups shall crack, and glasses leak
Containing negus—this day week!
My apparition shall advance;
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My bones shall rattle down the middle;
I'll lead you out!—each step we take,
The sea shall foam, the earth shall quake!
Tea cups shall crack, and glasses leak
Containing negus—this day week!
August, 1820.
| Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems | |