Chapter I: COULD not bear to see those eyes

On all with wasteful largess shine,
And that delight of welcome rise
Like sunshine strained through amber wine,
But that a glow from deeper skies,
From conscious fountains more divine,
Is (is it?) mine.

Be beautiful to all mankind,
As Nature fashioned thee to be;
’Twould anger me did all not find
The sweet perfection that’s in thee;
Yet keep one charm of charms behind,—
Nay, thou ’rt so rich, keep two of three
For (is it?) me!
_James Russell Lowell._

SCHERZO

WHEN the down is on the chin
And the gold-gleam in the hair,
When the birds their sweethearts win
And champagne is in the air
Love is here, and Love is there,
Love is welcome everywhere.

Summer’s cheek too soon turns thin,
Day grows briefer, sunshine rare;
Autumn from his cannikin
Blows the froth to chase Despair:
Love is met with frosty stare,
Cannot house ’neath branches bare.

When new life is in the leaf
And new red is in the rose,
Though Love’s Maytime be as brief
As a dragon-fly’s repose,
Never moments come like those,
Be they Heaven or Hell: who knows?

All too soon comes Winter’s grief,
Spendthrift Love’s false friends turn foes;
Softly comes Old Age, the thief,
Steals the rapture, leaves the throes:
Love his mantle round him throws,—
“Time to say good-bye; it snows.”
_James Russell Lowell._

THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ROOM

I’VE always been told that I’m pretty
(And really I think so myself),
I’m accomplished, good-tempered, and witty,
And papa has got plenty of pelf.
My teeth, eyes, and curls, I won’t mention,
My shape, nor my delicate bloom;
But I’m sure I deserve the attention
Of “the handsomest man in the room.”
Yes, I know I deserve the attention,
Of the “handsomest man in the room.”

When I met that sublimest of fellows,
The sight really made my heart jump;
Other men shrank to mere punchinellos,
As he towered like a pine in a clump.
So noble and classic each feature,
With a touching expression of gloom,
That I said to myself—“The dear creature!
He’s the handsomest man in the room!”
“Yes!” I said to myself,—“The dear creature!
He’s the handsomest man in the room!”

He asked me if I’d walk a measure,
(When he came it was nearly midnight)—
I said—“With a great deal of pleasure,”
For he danced like a perfect delight.
So in waltzing and polking we sported,
Till supper sent forth its perfume,
And I went down to table, escorted
By “the handsomest man in the room”—
Yes, I went down to table, escorted
By “the handsomest man in the room.”

I thought ’twas a nice situation,
So snugly together we sat,
And in hopes of a pleasant flirtation,
I tried to engage him in chat.
But, to talk of himself never backward,
He strove modest airs to assume,
For he told me, he felt very awkward
As “the handsomest man in the room”—
Really, really, one does feel so awkward,
As “the handsomest man in the room!”

Thought I—“This is really too stupid!
Your good looks are very well known,
But you ought to know, Grenadier Cupid,
That I’d much rather hear of my own.”
Yet should he reform in this one thing
(Of which there are hopes, I presume),
We still may contrive to make something
Of the handsomest man in the room,
Yes, we still may contrive to make something
Of the handsomest man in the room.
_William Macquorn Rankine._

THE LAWYER’S INVOCATION TO SPRING

WHEREAS, on certain boughs and sprays
Now divers birds are heard to sing,
And sundry flowers their heads upraise,
Hail to the coming on of Spring!

The songs of those said birds arouse
The memory of our youthful hours,
As green as those said sprays and boughs,
As fresh and sweet as those said flowers.

The birds aforesaid—happy pairs—
Love, ’mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines
In freehold nests; themselves their heirs,
Administrators, and assigns.

O busiest term of Cupid’s Court,
Where tender plaintiffs actions bring,—
Season of frolic and of sport,
Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring!
_Henry Howard Brownell._

A TERRIBLE INFANT