HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS.
His Royal Highness is out of town.
The blinds are closed, and the shades are down,
And silence reigns in the house where he
Was wont to frolic with merry glee.
Lonely and drear as a desert-place
Is the home that misses his merry face;
And even the skies appear to frown
When His Royal Highness is out of town.
His Royal Highness will give command
As if he fancied he owned the land,
And all his vassals his laws fulfil
As if delighted to do his will.
So sweet and winning his royal sway
His slightest wishes they all obey;
With smiling faces on errands go
When His Royal Highness says thus or so.
You'd hardly think that the rosy chap
Sitting up there in his mother's lap,
Sweet and smiling, dimpled and fat,
Was very much of an autocrat;
Yet never a king on his throne could be
More determined to rule than he,
And a merry hubbub he's sure to make
When His Royal Highness is wide awake.
Some days he's merry; some days he's sad;
And none are troubled when he is glad;
Sometimes he's cross, and they're sure to say
"His Royal Highness is sick to-day."
They strive to humor his every mood,
And now the noises are all subdued;
On tip-toe lightly his vassals creep,
For His Royal Highness is fast asleep.
JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
