A LONG WAY AFTER LORD TENNYSON'S "BROOK."
I'VE spouted o'er the land o' Burns,
I've made a gushing sally,
Although I fear, with true Returns,
My speeches will not tally,
From town to town I've hurried down,
I've talked on hills and ridges;
At railway stations played the clown,
And gabbled from their bridges.
I've chattered over stony ways.
I've chattered through the heather,
I've doused and soused the Rads with praise,
To keep myself together.
I chatter, chatter, my words flow
As fast as any river;
Tho' some men's language may be slow,
I can talk on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out,
I bolster up each failing;
But though I wheedle, brag, and shout,
There's nothing like plain sailing.
Oh! bless me, what a lot of plots
My tongue elastic covers;
Though Tories ain't forget-me-nots,
Nor Rads precisely lovers.
The Franchise is my party cry,
The Lords my latest craze is,
And till they both are settled—why,
All things may go to blazes!
Yet, still my eloquence shall flow
Like some loquacious river;
For men may come and men may go,
I gabble on for ever.
England, September 27, 1884.