I had a Gig-Horse, and I called him Pleasure, Because on Sundays, for a little jaunt, He was so fast and showy, quite a treasure; Although he sometimes kicked, and shied aslant. I had a Chaise, and christened it Enjoyment, With yellow body, and the wheels of red, Because ’twas only used for one employment, Namely, to go wherever Pleasure led. I had a wife, her nickname was Delight; A son called Frolic, who was never still: Alas! how often dark succeeds to bright! Delight was thrown, and Frolic had a spill, Enjoyment was upset and shattered quite, And Pleasure fell a splitter on _Paine’s Hill_! A SOMNAMBULIST. “A change came o’er the spirit of my dream.”--BYRON. Methought--for Fancy is the strangest gadder When sleep all homely Mundane ties hath riven-- Methought that I ascended Jacob’s ladder, With heartfelt hope of getting up to Heaven: Some bell, I knew not whence, was sounding seven When I set foot upon that long one-pair; And still I climbed when it had chimed eleven, Nor yet of landing-place became aware; Step after step in endless flight seem’d there; But on, with steadfast hope, I struggled still, To gain that blessed haven from all care, Where tears are wiped, and hearts forget their ill, When, lo! I wakened on a sadder stair-- Tramp--tramp--tramp--tramp--upon the Brixton Mill! TO VAUXHALL. “The English Garden.”--MASON. The cold transparent ham is on my fork-- It hardly rains--and hark the bell!--ding-dingle-- Away! Three thousand feet at gravel work, Mocking a Vauxhall shower!--Married and Single Crush--rush;--Soak’d Silks with wet white Satin mingle. Hengler! Madame! round whom all bright sparks lurk, Calls audibly on Mr. and Mrs. Pringle To study the Sublime, &c.--(vide Burke) All Noses are upturn’d!--Whish--ish--! On high The rocket rushes--trails--just steals in sight-- Then droops and melts in bubbles of blue light-- And Darkness reigns--Then balls flare up and die-- Wheels whiz--smack crackers--serpents twist--and then Back to the cold transparent ham again! TO A SCOTCH GIRL, WASHING LINEN AFTER HER COUNTRY FASHION. Well done and wetly, thou Fair Maid of Perth, Thou mak’st a washing picture well deserving The pen and pencilling of Washington Irving: Like dripping Naiad, pearly from her birth, Dashing about the water of the Firth, To cleanse the calico of Mrs. Skirving, And never from thy dance of duty swerving As there were nothing else than dirt on earth! Yet what is thy reward? Nay, do not start! I do not mean to give thee a new damper, But while thou fillest this industrious part Of washer, wearer, mangler, presser, stamper, Deserving better character--thou art What Bodkin would but call--“a common tramper.”