“Not a man—nor a boy—
But a Hobbledehoy.”—Old Song.
Oh! there is a time, a happy time,
When a boy is just half a man;
When ladies may kiss him without a crime,
And flirt with him like a fan:—
When mammas with their daughters will leave him alone,
If he only will seem to fear them;
While were he a man, or a little more grown,
They never would let him near them.
These, Lilly!—these were the days when you
Were my boyhood’s earliest flame,—
When I thought it an honour to tie your shoe,
And trembled to hear your name:—
When I scarcely ventured to take a kiss,
Though your lips seemed half to invite me;
But, Lilly! I soon got over this,—
When I kissed—and they did not bite me!
Oh! these were gladsome and fairy times,
And our hearts were then in their Spring,
When I passed my nights in writing you rhymes,
And my days in hearing you sing:—
And don’t you remember your mother’s dismay
When she found in your drawer my sonnet;
And the beautiful verses I wrote, one day,
On the ribbon that hung from your bonnet!
And the seat we made by the fountain’s gush,
Where your task you were wont to say,—
And how I lay under the holly-bush
Till your governess went away:—
And how, when too long at your task you sat,
Or whenever a kiss I wanted,
I brayed like an ass—or mewed like a cat,
Till she deemed that the place was haunted!
And do you not, love, remember the days
When I dressed you for the play,—
When I pinned your kerchief, and laced your stays
In the neatest and tidiest way!—
And do you forget the kiss you gave
When I tore my hand with the pin;—
And how you wondered men would not shave
The beards from their horrible chin.
And do you remember the garden wall
I climbed up every night,—
And the racket we made in the servants’ hall
When the wind had put out the light;—
When Sally got up in her petticoat,
And John came out in his shirt,—
And I silenced her with a guinea-note,
And blinded him with a squirt!
And don’t you remember the horrible bite
I got from the gardener’s bitch,
When John let her out of the kennel, for spite,
And she seized me, crossing the ditch;—
And how you wept when you saw my blood,
And numbered me with Love’s martyrs,—
And how you helped me out of the mud,
By tying together your garters!
But, Lilly! now I am grown a man,
And those days have all gone by,—
And Fortune may give me the best she can,
And the brightest destiny;
But I would give every hope and joy
That my spirit may taste again,
That I once more were that gladsome boy,
And that you were as young as then.