THE RINK.

Respectfully Dedicated to the Author of "The Bridge."

I SAT in the Rink at midday;

The clocks were striking the hour,

But you would not have known, for the April sun

Was quenched in a copious shower.

I saw the raindrops falling

In puddles in the street,

And I envied the throng that was passing along

With wet, but unrollered feet.

And far in the hazy distance

Of that dripping April day,

My snug hearth fire gleam'd redder and higher,

Because I was far away.

The rattle of wheels rang round me,

With a quaint and wooden roar,

And groups of the fair, with dishevelled hair,

Were lying about on the floor.

E'en I, in a moment of madness,

Had snatched at the fatal cup.

And my rollers were on, but I sat all alone,

For alas! I could not get up.

And like those rinkers rolling

Amongst their woodon piers,

A flood of thoughts came o'er me

That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by,

I had waltzed in that room at midnight,

With a fixed and a vacant eye.

How often, oh, how often,

I had wished that a cab from afar,

Would bear me away in its bosom

To my rooms, and a mild cigar.

For my limbs were hot and restless,

And my boots a serious care,

And the burden of mild flirtation,

Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it is changed and vanished,

It has fallen over the brink;

Before, we were sad, but now we are mad,

And the ball-room is turned to a rink.

Yet whenever I watch these rinkers

Amongst their wooden piers,

Like the sound of April raindrops,

Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands

Of skate-encumbered men,

Each bearing his burden of ladies,

Have rinked on this floor since then.

I see the long procession,

Still tottering to and fro,

The young feet clumsy and rapid,

The old feet clumsy and slow.

And for ever, and for ever,

As long as the raindrops fall,

As long as we've angling ladies,

(And angular too) at all,

The Rink and its ceaseless rollers,

And its broken limbs, shall appear

As the symbol of Bedlam's madness

And its accurate image here!

KIT NUBBLES

The Figaro, June 14, 1876.