"London's Summer Morning."
by Mary Darby Robinson (1758-1800)

Who has not waked to list the busy sounds
Of summer's morning, in the sultry smoke
Of noisy London? On the pavement hot
The sooty chimney-boy, with dingy face
And tatter'd covering, shrilly bawls his trade,
Rousing the sleepy housemaid. At the door
The milk-pail rattles, and the tinkling bell
Proclaims the dustman's office; while the street
Is lost in clouds impervious. Now begins
The din of hackney-coaches, waggons, carts;
While tinmen's shops, and noisy trunk-makers,
Knife-grinders, coopers, squeaking cork-cutters,
Fruit barrows, and the hunger-giving cries
Of vegetable venders, fill the air.
Now every shop displays its varied trade,
And the fresh-sprinkled pavement cools the feet
Of early walkers. At the private door
The ruddy housemaid twirls the busy mop,
Annoying the smart 'prentice, or neat girl,
Tripping with band-box lightly. Now the sun
Darts burning splendour on the glittering pane,
Save where the canvas awning throws a shade
On the day merchandize. Now, spruce and trim,
In shops (where beauty smiles with industry),
Sits the smart damsel; while the passenger
Peeps through the window, watching every charm. Now pastry dainties catch the eye minute
Of humming insects, while the limy snare
Waits to enthral them. Now the lamp-lighter
Mounts the tall ladder, nimbly venturous,
To trim the half-fill'd lamp; while at his feet
The pot-boy yells discordant! All along
The sultry pavement, the old-clothes man cries
In tone monotonous, the side-long views
The area for his traffic: now the bag
Is slily open'd, and the half-worn suit
(Sometimes the pilfer'd treasure of the base
Domestic spoiler), for one half its worth,
Sinks in the green abyss. The porter now
Bears his huge load along the burning way;
And the poor poet wakes from busy dreams,
To paint the summer morning.

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A Toyman's Address
(from The Lady's Magazine,
November, 1816

SMILING girls, rosy boys,
Here --- Come buy my little toys,
Mighty men of gingerbread
Crowd my stall, with faces red;
And melting maidens you behold
Lie about them, all in gold;
And see, the sun shines passing fair,
And breezes wanton with their hair.

Smiling girls, rosy boys,
Hasten --- buy my little toys.
Here are babiess ripe for play;
Pipes to warble care away;
Houses to be shifted hence;
And trunks to fill with weekly pence;
And plumed horses all a-row;
Was ever seen so fair a shew?

Smiling girls, rosy boys,
Hasten --- buy my little toys,
Now a windmill strikes your view,
Whose sails do split the air in two,
And go so gaily round and round,
The scene resembles fairy ground,
And lo! lie panting in the sun,
My troop of warriors, every one;
Rise men of might! behold they rise,
And wave their weapons in the skies!

Smiling girls, rosy boys,
Hasten --- buy my little toys,
Raised on high, above the rest,
See the eagle in his nest;
Among the stars --- you see them shine --
He builds his residence divine!
Oft his flaming eyes he raises
Where the sun obliquely blazes;
So bright they beam, I ween their ray,
Outvies the splendour of the day;
Now your languid eye reposes
On beds of artificial roses;
Steamy hues of red and white,
Laugh about them --- feast your sight.

Smiling girls, and rosy boys,
Hasten --- buy my little toys.
All my toys are not told o'er,
I could number thousands more;
See, lie sprinkled here and there,
Helmet, gaberdine, and spear;
And, swift as sunny sparkles lo!
Armed horsemen round them go.
It seems as if a fight had been
To dignify the mimic scene!
Here's a gun, that, with a spring,
Shoots bloodless bullets --- pretty thing!
And boist'rous drum, and dulcet lute,
Are spread about, but they are mute,
Buy them! Let their mingling sound
Cleave the air, and shake the ground!
Now in coaches you behold,
Ladies bright and barons bold.
See, the coachman waves his whip,
O'er each steed's far-spreading hip ---
It seems a snake, that coils about,
Or smoke, from chimney dancing out,
It crackles o'er them, now, like thunder,
And fierce they plunge in senseless
wonder;
Here are kings, high heaven raises,
Trumpets, too, to sound their praises,
Smiling girls, and rosy boys,
Hasten --- buy my little toys.

G. N.

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