"And didst thou deem the barren isle, or ocean waves, could bind The master of the universe--the monarch of mankind? I tell thee, fool! the world itself is all too small for me; I laugh to scorn thy bolts and bars--I burst them, and am free. "Thou thinkst that England hates me! Mark!--This very night my name Was thundered in its capital with tumult and acclaim! They saw me, knew me, owned my power--Proud lord! I say, beware! There be men within the Surrey side, who know to do and dare! "To-morrow in thy very teeth my standard will I rear-- Ay, well that ashen cheek of thine may blanch and shrink with fear! To-morrow night another town shall sink in ghastly flames; And as I crossed the Borodin, so shall I cross the Thames! "Thou'lt seize me, wilt thou, ere the dawn? Weak lordling, do thy worst! These hands ere now have broke thy chains, thy fetters they have burst. Yet, wouldst thou know my resting-place? Behold, 'tis written there! And let thy coward myrmidons approach me if they dare!" Another pinch, another stride--he passes through the door-- "Was it a phantom or a man was standing on the floor? And could that be the Emperor that moved before my eyes? Ah, yes! too sure it was himself, for here the paper lies!" With trembling hands Lord Castlereagh undid the mystic scroll, With glassy eye essayed to read, for fear was on his soul-- "What's here?--'At Astley's, every night, the play of MOSCOW'S FALL! NAPOLEON, for the thousandth time, by Mr GOMERSAL!'" The Lay of The Lovelorn. Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair, I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air. Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer, Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer. Let me go. Nay, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad! When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I'm to be had. Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock; Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock. In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes-- Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely there's a brace of moons! See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare, Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair. Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it! I must wear the mournful willow,--all around my heart I've bound it. {117} Falser than the bank of fancy, frailer than a shilling glove, Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love! Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could you ever Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half a liver? Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day, Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay. As the husband is, the wife is,--he is stomach-plagued and old; And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of his gold.