1831.] 





.-,' 



7 9 

 BW ^fli 



918 



PalLMall Poetry. 



'Tis of a lady, who was, by-the-by, 



Above the middle size, well made and pretty, 

 With sparkling eyes, an eyebrow arched and high, 

 Lively as one could wish, and sometimes witty ; 

 Which latter quality and perhaps a sly 



Expression lurking, which I'm prone to pity- 

 Made many a ball-room dangler reckon twice, 

 When nearing her, before he broke the ice. 



Her name she had a name was classic STELLA, 

 Called STEL., for shortness, by her nearer friends, 



Who thought her vain, but did not dare to tell her, 

 As such proceeding frequently offends. 



In every thing she was a perfect belle her 

 Beaux at least said so which discussion ends 



Upon that point ; and, for this simple fact, 



They spoke with more sincerity than tact. 



Of perfect form, she danced well, sung, and played, 

 Spoke French and Spanish fluently, and drew, 



Not inferences for she was afraid 



Of them but flowers of every kind and hue ; 



Sketched landscapes, and, in doing so, arrayed 

 The scene in loveliness so bright and true, 



That, gazing there, you hardly could restrict your 



Wishes, that Nature was herself a picture. 



Feeling she had, but no susceptibility 

 Her style of education had destroyed it 



And this, well managed, gave her a facility 



To touch the heart, and more than that decoyed it. 



Nerves she nicknamed sensation's imbecility ; 

 And never fainted if she could avoid it; 



An interesting languor and dejection 



Being more adapted to a clear complexion. 



A mother's gentle voice, to guide or cheer, 



She never knew. A stranger's hand conducted 



Her youthful steps, and trained from year to year 

 Her opening mind. Of this I'm well instructed, 



And probably, although it is not clear, 



If what her governess by lure or luck did, 



A mother's kindling eye had overlooked, 



She might a little hastiness have brooked. 



But she (we mustn't grow pathetic) smiled 

 Upon the babe, and died. Her father felt, 



And wept, no doubt, o'er the unconscious child. 

 He should the circumstance would make me melt, 



Albeit my eyes but seldom are beguiled. 

 However, as he should do, so he dealt 



Procured a nurse, and then a governess, 



Who taught her how to choose a phrase or dress. 



But all at once she changed to grief and gloom, 



Shunned all society, and gradually 

 Lost her lips' tinge and cheeks' engaging bloom. 



Her friends and she had many grieved to see 

 So sad a change. Some bolder would presume 



And gently hint the cause ; others made free 

 And questioned her. To all those she accorded 

 Kind words, but nothing of the grief she hoarded. 



615 



