ROMEO'S DESCRIPTION OF AN APOTHECARY.
I Do remember an old bachelor
And hereabouts he dwells-whom late I noted
In suit of sables with a care-worn brow
Conning his books; and meagre were his looks—
Celibacy had worn him to the bones;-
And in his silent parlour hung a cloak
The which the moths had used not less than he!
Four chairs, one table, and an old hair-trunk
Made up the furniture, and on his shelves
A grease-clad candlestick, a broken mug,
Two tumblers, and a box of strong cigars,
Remnants of volumes, once in some repute
Were thinly scattered round to tell the eye
Of prying stranger—this man had no wife-
His tattered elbow gaped most piteously,
And ever as he turned him round, his skin
Did through his stockings peep upon the day.—
Noting his gloom, unto myself I said,
An if a man did covet single life,
Reckless of joys which Matrimony gives,
Here lives a lonely wretch would show it him
In such most dismal colours, that the shrew
Or slut, or idiot, or the gossip spouse,
Were each a Heaven, compared with such a life
But this same thought does not forerun my need
Nor shall this bachelor tempt me to wed-
As I remember this should be the house;
Being sabbath noon, the outer door is shut.-
CELEBS.
ROMEO'S DESCRIPTION OF AN APOTHECARY.
I Do remember a precise old maid And hereabout she dwells-whom late I noted In rustling gown, with wan and withered lips, Demure and formal, dusting-cloth in hand, Rubbing her chairs, and meagre were her looks. Envy had worn her to the very bones! And in her shining parlour, flower pots stood, Decked with geranium, and jessamine, And orange trees, and roses, pinks and lilies, "Bachelor's buttons," crisp as she herself,
And lowly passion-flower, the type of love!
Six chairs, two tables, and a looking glass,
Were burnished bright and oft; and round the
room,
On wall, in closet, or on mantle-piece,
An old work-basket, sal-volatile,
Portraits of maiden aunts, in ball-room suit, With lamb or lap dog hanging on their arms, Novels from Circulating Library,
"Law's Serious Call to unconverted folks," Love elegies, a Bible, and a cat,
Were duly ranged, for ornament or use,
As spleen prevailed or visiters came in. List'ning, as through the house her shrill voice screamed,
Scolding the servants, to myself I said,
An if a man did wish to gain a wife,
With show of courtship, here's an ancient maid,
Whose lips have practised long before the glass,
The faint refusal, and the eager yes
Following as quick as echo to the sound!
And this same thought does but forerun my need,
I'll instant seek-some younger maid to wed!
As I remember this should be the house.
Being twilight-hour, she's out upon the trot
To barter scandal for a dish of tea.
The following tremendous curses, supposed to proceed from the most austere misanthropy, are highly characteristic. The author appears to have studied diligently the character of Timon of Athens. He has caught the spirit of Shakspeare's manhater, and, faithful to preserve the poet's energy and grace, is no servile imitator.
Он! for another flood, to drown the race
Of Vipers that assume the form of Man,
And no kind ark, to carry o'er the waves
One solitary soul! save those whom long
Life's ills have wearied out, and those who joy
To mix in social converse with their kind,
And those alone! but scattered as the sands
In whirpools twining, may those last be found,
That not one gleam of hope may cheer the gloom
Which mists them round! Care! with thy leaden
hand,
Press, ceaseless, and upon their aching brows
Make furrows deep! Discord and Strife! blow
Thy war-shell, and eternal, that the mind
May know no interval to taste the dream
Of hope! Soul-gnawing Envy! to thy aid
Call Jealousy! and with thy poisoned rust
(Yet slow as water wears the marble's face)
Corrode their very hearts, nor suffer e'er
That confirmation of the ills they dread
Should blunt the edge of doubt! Malice! black
fiend!
Ne'er slumber, but with secret step, and sure,
And patient as the ant, deep burrow on,
And clear a path for Slander's barbed darts!
Slander! array thy legions, ceaseless hiss
Thy tale, nor leave them, even in their dreams!
Fear! take such form as oft at midnight hour
Thou wear'st at Superstition's couch, just waked
From horrid dreams, and turn the big, cold
drop
That freezes on the brow when spectred forms,
Hideous and pale, o'er Fancy's mirror glide,
To a slow poison! Horror! chill their blood,
Seize on their trembling knees and creeping
And grate harsh discords on their chattering teeth!
Sands, such as Arab's deserts show, high piled
As Etna, let them travel o'er, while from
Above, the sun darts perpendicular
His hottest beam, and may the ardent prayer
Of some good Joshua at such hour be heard,
And stationary keep the noon-day sun,
Eternal! At their feet may riv❜lets run,
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