606 Specimens of French Poetry. 



back in order to detail his adventures to his untravelled friends ; 

 Mrs. Dobson, because the jam and pickles were already there ; - 

 Julianna, because it was not half so romantic as she expected, since 

 she had neither been attacked by banditti, nor rescued by Count 

 Vandenesky on a white horse ; Emily, because there were not half 

 so many dukes, counts, and barons as she expected, and the few she 

 did meet seemed totally blind to her charms, an obscurity of vision 

 which she set down to national bad taste. Next morning then they 

 did embark ; nor did they stop, save to sleep, till they were again 

 established in Red Lion Street, where they still remain. 



Although this article may be considered by our readers as a cari- 

 cature, we once more assure them that we have met with many 

 Dobson families who have, like that which we have been describing, 

 travelled without seeing any thing that was really worth seeing. 

 Thus, in the short trip that we have taken with this unique coterie, 

 they have, as we see, stopped in Brussels without seeing the gallery, 

 left Belgium without going to Antwerp or Waterloo, passed 

 through Cologne without seeing its beautiful cathedral, spent a day 

 at Coblentz, and yet did not see its wonderful fortress Ehrenbretstein ; 

 and they at last returned to England to abuse those things they did 

 wofsee. THE IRISHMAN IN ITALY. 



SPECIMENS OF FRENCH POETRY. 



(Continued from our last.) 

 SONG. 



WHEN lately near thee seated in the bower, 

 Too quickly fled the dissipating hour ; 

 When, scarcely bold, my hand encountered thine, 

 Or when thy tender glance reflected mine ; 

 Or when, condemned to separate in sorrow, 



You fondly murmur'd, " Till to-morrow ! " 



When in the ball thou wouldst not join the dance, 

 Your smiles appear'd to welcome my advance ; 

 When on a flower your lips would leave a kiss, 

 And whisper in my ear, " For me keep this ! " 

 Then if I seem'd to slight the token dear, 



Your cheek was moisten'd with a tear : 



Didst thou not then my fervent passion know ? 

 Couldst thou not seal my bliss, or stamp my woe ? 

 Was not thy glance, reciprocally fond, 

 Enough to carry me the earth beyond, 

 And bear me to Elysium ? For that glance 

 Expressed not tenderness by chance ! 



Oh ! no for now thy retrospective thought, 

 Scanning the past, with bitterness is fraught ; 

 And still Imagination must review 

 Those joyous days when first my love was new : 

 Still must you see me present as before, 

 And all your faithlessness deplore ! 



