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And the calceolaria's dew-steep'd woof,
Were I of the milliner craft, I ween,
I might the trinkums all explain, Nor refer to the Ladies' Magazine
For the fashions that enter damsels' brain; But I know of gowns there were fifty-three, Besides a bright green from the tulip-tree.
And of every texture they were made,
Mosselin, and velvet, and gros-de-Naples ;
Now perhaps you marvel all the while,
But I've learnt their lore, and boldly state,
And suppose they had furnish'd sweet Mary's dress,
But Fairies must work like other folk,
Though with spells over water, earth, and air,
That can change them to things most strange and rare.
But there must be the seeds, as the syrup laid
Has been ta'en from the fragrance of true-love bowers, And gentle thoughts from sunny looks,
And the soul of music from running brooks.
You cannot pick love from a pavement-stone,
Yet these are but mysteries and cabala,
If Thetis brought to her mortal son,
All nicely pack'd in her own sweet arms,
An armoury suit that might weigh a ton
You have learn'd very little of spells and charms, Not to know that a box of Millinerie,
Might drop at the foot of a Wishing-Tree.
And Thetis she was but a nymph marine,
But Englonde, and Scotland, and Erin-go-BraghWhy shouldn't our own good Fairy Queen
Do much better things for Mary M'Gragh? And the Elves work harder there and then, Than ever could fifty milliner men.
MARY M'GRAGH was still bending her head,
For I saw it myself through her drooping curls;
Not the fam'd fingers of rosy Morn,
Nor of Iris, that with one touch of joy Old Somnus awak'd at his gates of horn, Nor the fairer fingers of Helen of Troy, When she pointed from tower of Pergama, Were at all like those of Mary M'Gragh.
She was a beauty of such degree!
As a vision seen in a pleasant trance,
But Chivalry's gone,-monies and rents
Are the only things" to have and to hold;" And unless it brings lands and tenements,
Beauty's scarce worth its weight in gold. Now Mary bent down, with a wond'ring look, Like a wood-nymph over a glassy brook.
O but it was the pleasantest sight,
And many the pleasant sights are seen,
But the Fairy gave to the Maiden a rose,
The which in her bosom she must wear;
That did an invisible Sprite enclose;
"And be this," quoth she, " thy special care,
"Oh! guard it sure, 'tis a precious flower,
And the fiddlers wink'd as the music rose,
But when Mary encounter'd that fatal dance,
Did the maiden unto the warning cast-
Ah! Mary, why didst thou so dance and spin,
Or why didst thou go to the Ladies' Bazaar,For, oh, it was that fatal pin,
That toy with its flimsy faithless star— Was it such vile thing as this you chose, To hold that precious enchanted Rose?
The star it snapt from the brittle pin,
At the very last turn of a pirouette; And the shock was felt by Sprite within, Who boldly the moment of peril met: For he threw his weight and clung with his might, On the mosselin that edged her bosom white.