[From _The Knickerbocker Magazine_ (August, 1838)]
I have no wife--and I can go
Just where I please, and feel as free
As crazy winds which choose to blow
Round mountain-tops their melody.
On those who have Love's race to run,
Hope, like a seraph, smiles most sweet--
But they who Hymen's goal have won,
Sometimes, 'tis said, find Hope a cheat.
I have no wife--young girls are fair--
But how it is, I cannot tell,
No sooner are they wed, than their
Enchantments give them the farewell.
The girls, oh, bless them! make us yearn
To risk all odds and take a wife--
To cling to one, and not to turn
Ten thousand in the dance of life.
I have no wife:--Who'd have his nose
Forever tied to one lone flower,
E'en if that flower should be a rose,
Plucked with light hand from fairy bower?
Oh! better far the bright bouquet
Of flowers of every hue and clime;
By turns to charm the sense away,
And fill the heart with dreams sublime.
I have no wife:--I now can change
From grave to joy, from light to sad
Unfettered, in my freedom range
And fret awhile, and, then, be glad.
I now can heed a Siren's tongue,
And feel that eyes glance not in vain--
Make love apace, and, being flung,
Get up and try my luck again.
I have no wife to pull my hair
If it should chance entangled be--
I'm like the lion in his lair,
Who flings his mane about him free.
If 'tis my fancy, I can wear
My boots unblessed by blacking paste,
Cling to my coat till it's threadbare,
Without a lecture on bad taste.
I have no wife, and I can dream
Of girls who're worth their weight in gold;
Can bask my heart in Love's broad beam,
And dance to think it's yet unsold.
Or I can look upon a brow
Which mind and beauty both enhance,
Go to the shrine, and make my bow,
And thank the Fates I have a chance.
I have no wife, and, like a wave,
Can float away to any land,
Curl up and kiss, or gently lave
The sweetest flowers that are at hand.
A Pilgrim, I can bend before
The shrine which heart and mind approve;--
Or, Persian like, I can adore
Each star that gems the heaven of love.
I have no wife--in heaven, they say,
Such things as weddings are not known--
Unyoked the blissful spirits stray
O'er fields where care no shade has thrown.
Then why not have a heaven below,
And let fair Hymen hence be sent?
It would be fine--but as things go,
_Unwedded, folks won't be content_!