When in calm and peaceful slumber, sharp maternal eyes are closed;
When I dipt into the pewter pot that held the foaming stout,
When I quaffed the burning punch, or wildly sipped the “cold without.”
In the spring a finer cambric’s wrapped around the lordling’s breast;
In the spring the gent at Redmayne’s gets himself a Moses’ “vest;”
In the spring we make investment in a white or lilac glove;
In the spring my youthful fancy prompted me to fall in love.
Then she danced through all the ballet, as a fairy blithe and young,
Stood a tiptoe on a flow’ret or from clouds of pasteboard swung—
And I said, “Miss Julia Belmont, speak, and speak the truth to me,