II.

And such is she who sits beside me; fair
As her deportment; mine is not the pen
To paint the glory of her Saxon hair,

And eyes of heavenly azure! There are men
Who doat on raven tresses, and are fond

Of dark complexions,

-I adore a blonde!

III.

There sits a woman of another type;
Superb in figure and of stately size;
An Amazonian beauty round and ripe
As Cytherea, with delicious eyes
That laugh or languish with a shifting hue
Somewhat between a hazel and a blue.

IV.

Across the room to please a daintier taste
A slender damsel flits with fairy tread;
A lover's hand might span her little waist,

If so inclined, — that is, if they were wed.

Some youths admire those fragile forms, I've heard ; I never saw the man, upon my word!

V.

But styles of person, though they please me more, (As Nature's work) excite my wonder less

Than all my curious vision may explore

In moods and manners, equipage and dress;
The last alone were theme enough, indeed,
For more than I could write, or you would read.

VI.

Swift satirized mankind with little ruth,

And womankind as well; but we must own

His words of censure oft are very truth,

For instance, where the satirist has shown

How thankless for the gifts which they have got All strive to show the talents they have not!

VII.

Thus (it is written) Frederick the Great

Cared little for the battles he had fought,

But listened eagerly and all-elate

To hear a courtier praise the style and thought_ That graced his Sonnets; though in fact, his verse (I've tried to read it) could n't well be worse!

VIII.

The like absurd ambition you may note

In fashionable women. Look you there! Observe an arm which all (but she) must vote Extremely ugly, - so she keeps it bare

(Lest so much beauty should escape the light) From wrist to shoulder, morning, noon, and night!

IX.

Observe again (the girl who stands alone)

How Pride reveals what Prudence would suppress; A mere anatomy of skin-and-bone,

She wears, perversely, a décolleté dress! Those tawny angles seek no friendly screen, But court the day, and glory to be seen!

X.

O Robert Burns! if such a thing might be,
That all by ignorance or folly blind,
For once should 66 see themselves as others see,"

(As thou didst pray for hapless human kind,) What startled crowds would madly rush to hide The dearest objects of their fondest pride!

BOYS.

"THE proper study of mankind is man,”

The most perplexing one, no doubt, is woman, The subtlest study that the mind can scan, Of all deep problems, heavenly or human!

But of all studies in the round of learning,
From nature's marvels down to human toys,
To minds well fitted for acute discerning,
The very queerest one is that of boys!

If to ask questions that would puzzle Plato,
And all the schoolmen of the Middle Age,
If to make precepts worthy of old Cato,
Be deemed philosophy, your boy's a sage!

If the possession of a teeming fancy, (Although, forsooth, the younker does n't know it,) Which he can use in rarest necromancy,

Be thought poetical, your boy's a poet!

If a strong will and most courageous bearing,
If to be cruel as the Roman Nero;

If all that's chivalrous, and all that's daring,
Can make a hero, then the boy's a hero!

But changing soon with his increasing stature,
The boy is lost in manhood's riper age,
And with him goes his former triple nature, —
No longer Poet, Hero, now, nor Sage!

THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN.

"It is ascertained by inspection of the registers of many countries, that the uniform proportion of male to female births is as 21 to 20: accordingly, in respect to marriage, every 21st man is naturally superfluous."-TreaTISE ON POPULATION.

.

I

LONG have been puzzled to guess,

And so I have frequently said,

What the reason could really be

That I never have happened to wed;
But now it is perfectly clear

I am under a natural ban;

The girls are already assigned, –
And I'm a superfluous man!

Those clever statistical chaps
Declare the numerical run
Of women and men in the world,
Is Twenty to Twenty-and-one;
And hence in the pairing, you see,
Since wooing and wedding began,
For every connubial score,

They 've got a superfluous man!

By twenties and twenties they go,

And giddily rush to their fate,

For none of the number, of course,
Can fail of a conjugal mate;
But while they are yielding in scores
To Nature's inflexible plan,
There's never a woman for me,

For I'm a superfluous man!

It is n't that I am a churl,

To solitude over-inclined; It is n't that I am at fault

In morals or manners or mind; Then what is the reason, you ask,

I'm still with the bachelor-clan? I merely was numbered amiss, And I'm a superfluous man!

It is n't that I am in want

Of personal beauty or grace,
For many a man with a wife
Is uglier far in the face;
Indeed, among elegant men

I fancy myself in the van;
But what is the value of that,
When I'm a superfluous man?

Although I am fond of the girls,
For aught I could ever discern
The tender emotion I feel

Is one that they never return; 'Tis idle to quarrel with fate,

For, struggle as hard as I can, They're mated already, you know, — And I'm a superfluous man!

No wonder I grumble at times, With women so pretty and plenty, To know that I never was born

To figure as one of the Twenty; But yet, when the average lot With critical vision I scan, I think it may be for the best That I'm a superfluous man!