The blushing girl her lamb led home,
Perhaps resolved no more to roam
At peep of day together;
If chance so takes them, it is plain
She will not venture forth again
Without an extra tether!
A fair white stone will mark this morn,
I wear a prize, one lightly worn,
Love's gage—though not intended—
Of course I'll guard it near my heart,
Till suns and even stars depart,
And chivalry has ended.
Dull World! I now resign to you
Those crosses, stars, and ribbons blue,
With which you deck your martyrs:
I'll bear my cross amid your jars,
My ribbon prize, and thank my stars
I do not crave your garters.
THE CROSSING-SWEEPER.
AZLA AND EMMA.
A crossing-sweeper, black and tan,
Tells how he came from Hindustan,
And why he wears a hat, and shunned
The fatherland of Pugree Bund.
My wife had charms, she worshipped me,—
Her father was a Caradee,
His deity was aquatile,
A rough and tough old Crocodile.
To gratify this monster's maw
He sacrificed his sons-in-law;
We married, tho' the neighbours said he
Had lost five sons-in-law already.
Her father, when he played these pranks,
Proposed "a turn" on Jumna's banks;
He spoke so kind, she seemed so glum,
I knew at once that mine had come.