Or anon,—when evening lent her
Tranquil light to hill and vale,—
Urge, towards the table’s centre,
With unerring hand, the squail.
Ah delectablest of summers!
How my heart—that “muffled drum”
Which ignores the aid of drummers—
Beats, as back thy memories come!
Oh, among the dancers peerless,
Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!
Need I say to you that cheerless
Must my days be till I die?
At my side she mashed the fragrant
Strawberry; lashes soft as silk
Drooped o’er saddened eyes, when vagrant
Gnats sought watery graves in milk:
Then we danced, we walked together;
Talked—no doubt on trivial topics;
Such as Blondin, or the weather,
Which “recalled us to the tropics.”
But—oh! in the deuxtemps peerless,
Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!—
Once more I repeat, that cheerless
Shall my days be till I die.
And the lean and hungry raven,
As he picks my bones, will start
To observe ‘M. N.’ engraven
Neatly on my blighted heart.
STRIKING.
It was a railway passenger,
And he lept out jauntilie.
“Now up and bear, thou stout portèr,
My two chattèls to me.
“Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red,
And portmanteau so brown:
(They lie in the van, for a trusty man
He labelled them London town:)