Twin stars through my purpling pane,
The shriveling husk
Of a yellowing moon on the wane,—

In the busy streets, domains of trade,
Man is a surly porter, or a vain and hectoring bully,
Who can claim no nearer kindredship with me
Than brotherhood by law.

" 'Twas not so in my time," surly Grumio exclaims,
When our fancies, and fashions, and follies he blames:
But your times, and our times, and all times, old Bluff!
Can show fancies, and fashions, and follies enough!
Your taste was the formal, as ours is the flimsy:
You made wisdom grimace; we make elegance whimsy.
'Tis all the same foppery, dressed different ways!
Yours was yesterday's nonsense; and ours is today's!

I send this at nine
To know will you dine
On a beefsteak of mine.
As I'm a divine
I'll give you good wine,
Old, gen'rous and fine.
Till death I am thine,
Thomas Sheridine.

'Twas Fancy , first, made Caelia Fair:
'Twas Fancy gave her Shape and Air.
It robb'd the Sun, stripp'd every Star
Of Beauties, to bestow on Her.
And, when it had the Goddess made,
Down it Fell, and Worshipped.
Creator , first, and then a Creature!
Narcissus! and a Pail of Water!

'Twas but a single Rose,
Till you on it did breathe;
But since (me thinks) it shows
Not so much Rose, as Wreathe.

" FATHER! " (so The Word) He cried, —
" Son of Thine, and yet denied;
By my brothers dragged and tried,
Scoffed and scourged, and crucified,
With a thief on either side —
Brothers mine, alike belied, —
Arms of mercy open wide,
Father! Father! " So He died.

Turn, turn, unhappy souls, return,
Accept eternal peace; Why will you at the
Saviour spurn, Who of fers you his grace?

Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet;
Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a feared infection;
Yet scarecrow-like I'll walk, as one
Neglecting thy derision.

Truth, be more precious to me than the eyes
Of happy love; burn hotter in my throat
Than passion; and possess me like my pride;
More sweet than freedom; more desired than joy;
More sacred than the pleasing of a friend.