Though on such scenes the fancy loves to dwell,
The stomach oft a different tale will tell;
Then, leave the wood, and seek the shelt’ring roof,
And put the pantry’s vital strength to proof;
The aerial banquets of the tuneful nine
May suit some appetites, but faith! not mine;
For my coarse palate coarser food must please,
Substantial beef, pies, puddings, ducks, and peas;
Such food the fangs of keen disease defies,
And such rare feeding Hornsey-house supplies: 
Nor these alone the joys that court us here,
Wine! generous wine! that drowns corroding care,
Asserts its empire in the glittering bowl,
And pours Promethean vigour o’er the soul. 
Here, too, that bluff John Bull, whose blood boils high
At such base wares of foreign luxury;
Who scorns to revel in imported cheer,
Who prides in perry, and exults in beer: 
On these his surly virtue shall regale,
With quickening cyder, and with fattening ale.

Nor think, ye Fair! our Hornsey has denied
The elegant repasts where you preside: 
Here, may the heart rejoice, expanding free
In all the social luxury of Tea! 
Whose essence pure inspires such charming chat,
With nods, and winks, and whispers, and all that;
Here, then, while ’wrapt inspired, like Horace old,
We chant convivial hymns to Bacchus bold;
Or heave the incense of unconscious sighs,
To catch the grace that beams from beauty’s eyes;
Or, in the winding wilds, sequester’d deep,
Th’ unwilling Muse invoking, fall asleep;
Or cursing her, and her ungranted smiles,
Chase butterflies along the echoing aisles: 
Howe’er employ’d, here be the town forgot,
Where fogs, and smoke, and jostling crowds, are not.

TO MARY.

WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.

Oh! is there not in infant smiles
  A witching power, a cheering ray,
A charm, that every care beguiles,
  And bids the weary soul be gay? 
There surely is—­for thou hast been,
  Child of my heart, my peaceful dove,
Gladdening life’s sad and chequer’d scene,
  An emblem of the peace above. 
Now all is calm, and dark, and still,
  And bright the beam the moonlight throws
On ocean wave, and gentle rill,
  And on thy slumbering cheek of rose. 
And may no care disturb that breast,
  Nor sorrow dim that brow serene;
And may thy latest years be bless’d
  As thy sweet infancy has been.

BLACK EYES AND BLUE.

FROM THE ITALIAN.

Blue eyes and jet
  Fell out one morn,
Azure cried in a pet,
  “Away, dark scorn!—­
“We are brilliant and blue
  “As the waves of the sea—­
“And as cold and untrue
  “And as changeable ye.

“We are born of the sky,
  “Of a summer night,
“When the first stars lie
  “In a bed of blue light;
“From the cloudy zone
  “Round the setting sun,
“Like an angel’s throne,
 “Are our glories won.”