Jane Austen Poems

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 Happy the lab'rer in his Sunday clothes!
In light-drab coat, smart waistcoat, well-darn'd hose,
Andhat upon his head, to church he goes;
As oft, with conscious pride, he downward throws
A glance upon the ample cabbage rose
That, stuck in button-hole, regales his nose,
He envies not the gayest London beaux.
In church he takes his seat among the rows,
Pays to the place the reverence he...Read more of this...

 'I've a pain in my head' 
Said the suffering Beckford; 
To her Doctor so dread. 
'Oh! what shall I take for't?'

Said this Doctor so dread 
Whose name it was Newnham. 
'For this pain in your head 
Ah! What can you do Ma'am?'

Said Miss Beckford, 'Suppose 
If you think there's no risk, 
I take a good Dose 
Of calomel brisk.'--

'What...Read more of this...

 Miss Lloyd has now sent to Miss Green,
As, on opening the box, may be seen,
Some years of a Black Ploughman's Gauze,
To be made up directly, because
Miss Lloyd must in mourning appear
For the death of a Relative dear--
Miss Lloyd must expect to receive
This license to mourn and to grieve,
Complete, ere the end of the week--
It is better to write than...Read more of this...

 In measured verse I'll now rehearse 
The charms of lovely Anna: 
And, first, her mind is unconfined 
Like any vast savannah.

Ontario's lake may fitly speak 
Her fancy's ample bound: 
Its circuit may, on strict survey 
Five hundred miles be found.

Her wit descends on foes and friends 
Like famed Niagara's fall; 
And travellers gaze in wild amaze, 
And listen, one...Read more of this...

 My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane.--
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love!--
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see!--
Thy infant days may he inherit,
THey warmth, nay...Read more of this...

 1

Ever musing I delight to tread 
The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove 
Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed 
On disappointed Love. 
While Philomel on airy hawthorn Bush 
Sings sweet and Melancholy, And the thrush 
Converses with the Dove. 

2

Gently brawling down the turnpike road, 
Sweetly noisy falls the Silent Stream-- 
The Moon emerges from behind...Read more of this...

 Of a Ministry pitiful, angry, mean,
A gallant commander the victim is seen.
For promptitude, vigour, success, does he stand
Condemn'd to receive a severe reprimand!
To his foes I could wish a resemblance in fate:
That they, too, may suffer themselves, soon or late,
The injustice they warrent. But vain is my spite
They cannot so suffer who never do right....Read more of this...

 Oh! Mr. Best, you're very bad
And all the world shall know it;
Your base behaviour shall be sung
By me, a tunefull Poet.-- 
You used to go to Harrowgate
Each summer as it came,
And why I pray should you refuse
To go this year the same?-- 

The way's as plain, the road's as smooth,
The Posting not increased;
You're scarcely stouter than you were,
Not younger...Read more of this...

 See they come, post haste from Thanet,
Lovely couple, side by side;
They've left behind them Richard Kennet
With the Parents of the Bride! 
Canterbury they have passed through;
Next succeeded Stamford-bridge;
Chilham village they came fast through;
Now they've mounted yonder ridge. 

Down the hill they're swift proceeding,
Now they skirt the Park around;
Lo! The Cattle sweetly feeding
Scamper, startled at the sound! 

Run, my Brothers,...Read more of this...

 This little bag I hope will prove
To be not vainly made--
For, if you should a needle want
It will afford you aid. 
And as we are about to part
T'will serve another end,
For when you look upon the Bag
You'll recollect your friend...Read more of this...

 The day returns again, my natal day;
What mix'd emotions with the Thought arise!
Beloved friend, four years have pass'd away
Since thou wert snatch'd forever from our eyes.-- 
The day, commemorative of my birth
Bestowing Life and Light and Hope on me,
Brings back the hour which was thy last on Earth.
Oh! bitter pang of torturing Memory!-- 

Angelic Woman! past my power to...Read more of this...

 When stretch'd on one's bed 
With a fierce-throbbing head, 
Which preculdes alike thought or repose, 
How little one cares 
For the grandest affairs 
That may busy the world as it goes!

How little one feels 
For the waltzes and reels 
Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball! 
How slight one's concern 
To conjecture or learn 
What their flounces or hearts...Read more of this...

 When Winchester races first took their beginning
It is said the good people forgot their old Saint
Not applying at all for the leave of Saint Swithin
And that William of Wykeham's approval was faint. 

The races however were fixed and determined
The company came and the Weather was charming
The Lords and the Ladies were satine'd and ermined
And nobody saw any future alarming.--...Read more of this...