Song for The 14th Of February

SONG FOR THE FOURTEENTH
OF FEBRUARY
by a general lover

Apollo has peeped through the shutter
And wakened the witty and fair
The boarding school belle's in a flutter,
The two-penny post 's in despair;
The breath of the morning is flinging
A magic on blossom, on spray,
And cockneys and sparrows are singing
In chorus on Valentine's Day.

Away with ye, dreams of disaster,
Away with ye, visions of law,
Of cases 1 never shall master,
Of pleadings I never shall draw!
Away with ye, parchments and papers,
Red tapes, unread volumes, away!
It gives a fond lover the vapors
To see you on Valentine's Day.

I '11 sit in my night-cap, like Hayley,
1 '11 sit with my arms crost, like Spain,
Till joys which are vanishing daily,
Come back in their lustre again:
Oh ! shall I look over the waters,
Or shall I look over the way,
For the brightest and best of Birth's daughters,
To rhyme to, on Valentine's Day?

Shall I crown with my worship, for fame's sake,
Some goddess whom Fashion has starred,
Make puns on Miss Love and her namesake,
Or pray for a pas with Brocard?
Then 1 flirt, in romantic idea,
With Chester's adorable clay,
Or whisper in transport "Si mea"
Cum Vestris" - on Valentine's Day?

Shall I kneel to a Sylvia or Celia,
Whom no one e'er saw, or may see,
A fancy drawn Laura Amelia,
An ad libit, Anna Marie?
Shall I court an initial with stars to it
Go mad for a G. or a J.,
Get Bishop to put a few bars to it
And print it on Valentine's Day? 

I think not of Laura the Witty;
For, oh! she is married at York!
I sigh not for Rose of the City,
For, oh! she is buried at Cork!
Adtte has a braver and better
To say - what I never could say;
Louise cannot construe a letter
Of English, on Valentine's Day.

So perish the leaves in the arbor I
The tree is all bare in the blast;
Like a wreck that is drifting to harbor,
I come to thee, Lady, at last
Where art thou, so lovely and lonely?
Though idle the lute and the lay,
The lute and the lay are thine only,
My fairest, on Valentine's Day. 

For thee I have opened my Blackstone,
For thee I have shut up myself;
Exchanged my long curls for a Caxton,
And laid my short whist on the shelf;
For thee 1 have sold my old sherry,
For thee 1 have burnt my new play;
And 1 grow philosophical, - very!
Except upon Valentine's Day.

WlNTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.