l skipper,
Who, during his buccaneering search,
Would as soon engage a hand in church
As a hand on board his clipper!

CCXXXIX.

And how did the Bride perform her part?
Like any bride who is cold at heart.
Mere snow with the ice's glitter;
What but a life of winter for her!
Bright but chilly, alive without stir,
So splendidly comfortless,--just like a Fir
When the frost is severe and bitter.

CCXL.

Such were the future man and wife!
Whose bale or bliss to the end of life
A few short words were to settle--
"Wilt thou have this woman?"
"I will"--and then,
"Wilt thou have this man?"
"I will," and "Amen"--
And those Two were one Flesh, in the Angels' ken,
Except one Leg--that was metal.

CCXLI.

Then the names were sign'd--and kiss'd the kiss:
And the Bride, who came from her coach a Miss,
As a Countess walk'd to her carriage--
Whilst Hymen preen'd his plumes like a dove,
And Cupid flutter'd his wings above,
In the shape of a fly--as little a Love
As ever look'd in at a marriage!

CCXLII.

Another crash--and away they dash'd,
And the gilded carriage and footmen flash'd
From the eyes of the gaping people--
Who turn'd to gaze at the toe-and-heel
Of the Golden Boys beginning a reel,
To the merry sound of a wedding peal
From St. James's musical steeple.

CCXLIII.

Those wedding bells! those wedding bells!
How sweetly they sound in pastoral dells
From a tow'r in an ivy-green jacket!
But town-made joys how dearly they cost;
And after all are tumbled and tost,
Like a peal from a London steeple, and lost
In town-made riot and racket.

CCXLIV.

The wedding peal, how sweetly it peals
With grass or heather beneath our heels,--
For bells are Music's laughter!--
But a London peal, well mingled, be sure,
With vulgar noises and voices impure,--
With a harsh and discordant overture
To the Harmony meant to come after!

CCXLV.

But hence with Discord--perchance, too soon
To cloud the face of the honeymoon
With a dismal occultation!--
Whatever Fate's concerted trick,
The Countess and Count, at the present nick,
Have a chicken, and not a crow, to pick
At a sumptuous Cold Collation.

CCXLVI.

A Breakfast--no unsubstantial mess,
But one in the style of Good Queen Bess,
Who,--hearty as hippocampus,--
Broke her fast with ale and beef,
Instead of toast and the Chinese leaf,
And--in lieu of anchovy--grampus.

CCXLVII.

A breakfast