03c. 1820 ADI remember, I remember How my childhood fleeted by,— The mirth of its December And the warmth of its July.W. M. Praed / quote ↗
04c. 1820 ADI saw her at the County Ball: There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle Gave signal sweet in that old hall Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Of all that set young hearts romancing; She was our queen, our rose, our star; And then she danced—O Heaven, her dancing! Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal: My mother laugh’d: I soon found out That ancient ladies have no feeling; My father frown’d: but how should gout See any happiness in kneeling?... She smiled on many, just for fun,— I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first—the only one Her heart had thought of for a minute.— I knew it, for she told me so, In phrase which was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand,—and oh! How sweetly all her notes were folded! ... We parted; months and years roll’d by We met again four summers after: Our parting was all sob and sigh; Our meeting was all mirth and laughter: For in my heart’s most secret cell There had been many other lodgers; And she was not the ball-room’s Belle, But only—Mrs. Something Rogers!W. M. Praed / quote ↗
05c. 1820 ADOnce on a time, when sunny May Was kissing up the April showers, I saw fair Childhood hard at play Upon a bank of blushing flowers; Happy—he knew not whence or how— And smiling,—who could choose but love him? For not more glad than Childhood’s brow, Was the blue heaven that beamed above him. Old Time, in most appalling wrath, That valley’s green repose invaded; The brooks grew dry upon his path, The birds were mute, the lilies faded. But Time so swiftly winged his flight, In haste a Grecian tomb to batter, That Childhood watched his paper kite, And knew just nothing of the matter.... Then stepped a gloomy phantom up, Pale, cypress-crowned, Night’s awful daughter, And proffered him a fearful cup Full to the brim of bitter water: Poor Childhood bade her tell her name; And when the beldame muttered, “Sorrow,” He said, “Don’t interrupt my game; I’ll taste it, if I must, to-morrow.” ... Then Wisdom stole his bat and ball, And taught him with most sage endeavour, Why bubbles rise and acorns fall, And why no toy may last for ever. She talked of all the wondrous laws Which Nature’s open book discloses, And Childhood, ere she made a pause Was fast asleep among the roses. Sleep on, sleep on! Oh! Manhood’s dreams Are all of earthly pain or pleasure, Of Glory’s toils, Ambition’s schemes, Of cherished love, or hoarded treasure: But to the couch where Childhood lies A more delicious trance is given, Lit up by rays from seraph eyes, And glimpses of remembered Heaven!W. M. Praed / quote ↗
06c. 1820 ADFair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path, Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle; And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray, Upon the parlour steps collected, Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say,— “Our master knows you—you’re expected.”W. M. Praed / quote ↗
