Hey murmur'd Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them for the _Sunday Journal_. My mother laugh'd; I soon found out That ancient ladies have no feeling; My father frown'd; but how should gout See any happiness in kneeling? She was the daughter of a Dean, Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic; She had one brother, just thirteen, Whose color was extremely hectic; Her grandmother for many a year Had fed the parish with her bounty; Her second cousin was a peer, And lord lieutenant of the county. But titles and the three per cents, And mortgages, and great relations, And India bonds, and tithes and rents, Oh! what are they to love's sensations? Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks, Such wealth, such honors, Cupid chooses; He cares as little for the stocks, As Baron Rothschild for the Muses. She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach, Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading; She botanized; I envied each Young blossom in her boudoir fading; She warbled Handel; it was grand-- She made the Catalani jealous; She touch'd the organ; I cou
