MARIANA.
(At the Railway Station.)
Her parcels, tied with many a knot,
Were thickly labelled, one and all;
And sitting down beside the lot,
She waited for the train to call.
The waiting-room looked sad and strange—
Closed was the booking-office latch!
She watched the sleepy porter scratch
His head, or whistle as a change;
She only said, "The night is dreary—
It cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary—
I would I were in bed."
She sought the grim refreshment stall—
The saucy barmaid long had slept;
O'er biscuit, bun, and sandwich small
The shining beetles slowly crept.
Hard by a signal post alway
Shot coloured beams into the dark.
She called the porter to remark,
In tones the opposite of gay:
"The hour is late, the night is dreary—
It cometh not," she said;
Then mentally: "The man is beery—
I would I were in bed."
About the middle of the night
She heard the shrill steam-whistle blow,
And saw the signals gleaming bright;
And from dark pens the oxen's low
Came to her; but she watched with pain
A train with many a cattle van
Sweep past her, and the signal man
Reversed his lamps, and snoozed again.
She only said, "The night is dreary—
It cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
Of lamps, green, white, and red!"
The tired officials kept aloof,
The telegraphic wires did sound
Their notes Æolian on the roof,
And goods trains shunting did confound
Her sense; yet still she waited on,
Until the porter came in sight—
"There is no other train to-night;
The next will stop at early dawn."
She only said, "I am aweary;
It seems to me," she said,
"Your tables, like yourself, are beery—
Go find me now a bed."