Classic Poem

I am jealous! I am jealous! which I ne'er have been before;
And I trust by all I suffer, I shall never be so more;
For all the petty pangs of pain ne'er gave me half the smart
That this young, green-eyed viper does, now nibbling at my heart.

Full many trying moments have I passed through in my life,
While swallowing the bitter herbs that stir the blood of strife;
I've lost my place at spelling-class, to some still younger dunce,
And seen my cobbled fancy-work outrivalled more than once.

I've heard the dancing-master say the cruellest of things,
Declaring Miss Rosina was a fairy without wings;
While, as for me, he scarcely knew to what he could compare
My awkward steps in " Lady's chain," excepting to a bear.

I have been doomed to hear the praise of fairer skins than mine:
And listened while my neighbour's eyes were mentioned as divine —
While my poor cheeks and orbs were left unnoted in their hue,
And slighted, since they did not shine in brilliant pink and blue.

I've had a " very, nice young man" keep flitting at my side,
And talking to me with a deal of eloquence and pride,
Till really, 'twixt the music and a little, iced champagne,
The nice, young man appeared to be my most devoted swain,

But some young lady-friend appeared, with sweet and gracious smile.
She wooed him with the softness of a tender flirting guile;
I stood alone, my beau had gone to join the balancez , —
My lady friend with wicked might, had carried him away.

And yet, amid these trials, I have stood with unmoved breast,
Not even having lovers pilfered, broke my spirit's rest;
And verily I have declared, with honest, upturned brow,
That never was my nature tinged with jealousy till now.

But only think, for some two hours have I been dreaming here,
Where summer trees are all full dressed, and summer skies are clear.
Without one line of carol song outpouring from my lyre,
Although I've asked, and begged, and prayed Apollo to inspire.

And all at once a Nightingale has perched above my head;
And burst into a strain that might almost arouse the dead.
So loud, so full, so exquisite, so gushing, and so long;
O! can I hear the lay, and not be jealous of the song?

So free, so pure, so spirit-filled, so tender, and so gay;
I do feel jealous; yes I do; and really, well I may,
When I have sought such weary while to breathe a few, choice notes
And find myself so mocked at by the tiniest of throats.

Now listen to that " jug, jug, jug;" did ever jug pour out
Such liquid floods of ecstasy, in rapid streams about?
And now, that hissing, trembling tone, in one, long earnest shake;
Like quenching hosts of fiery stars in some ambrosial lake.

Again, that whistle did you hear? — that warble, now this trill?
See, it has made the ploughman and the gipsy-boy stand still!
Again, and louder, sweeter too; just hearken to its pipe;
And wonder not that I'm within the green-eyed monster's gripe.

I'm jealous! yes, indeed, I am! I'm pale with angry rage!
I almost wish the merry thing were trammelled in a cage!
But, stay, I'll have still more revenge, in evil thought, at least;
And wish him worse than ever fell to lot of bird or beast.

I'll wish he had to write his song beneath a midnight taper;
On pittance that would scarcely pay for goose-quill, ink, and paper;
And then, to crown his misery, and break his heart in splinters;
I'll wish he had to see his proofs, his publishers, and printers.