O, beautiful bride, still so meek in thy splendour,
So frank in thy love and its trusting surrender,
Going hence thou wilt leave us the town dim!
May happiness wing to thy bosom, unsought,
And Nigel, esteeming his bliss as he ought,
Prove worthy thy worship, confound him!
A SKETCH IN SEVEN DIALS
Mary in her hand has sixpence,
Mary starts to fetch some butter,
Mary’s pinafore is spotless,
Off she goes across the gutter,
Gleeful, radiant, as she thus did,
Proud to be so largely trusted.
One, two, three, small steps she’s taken,
Blissfully away she’s tripping,
When good lack, and who’d a thought it,
Down goes Mary, slipping, slipping;
Daubs her clothes, the little slut—her
Sixpence, too, rolls in the gutter.
Never creep back so despairing,
Dry those eyes, my little Mary,
All of us start off in high glee,
Many come back quite “contrairy”—
I’ve mourn’d sixpences in scores too,
Damag’d hopes and pinafores too.
MISS EDITH
An Extravaganza
Miss Edith lifts the latch with care,
And now she must brave the chill night air.
She has violet eyes and ruby lips,
A dancing shape—and away she skips;
She hies to the haunt of a hermit weird,
With flaming eyes and a forky beard,
A shocking wizard—who, gossips say,
Has dwelt in his cavern a year to-day.
“O, ancient man! I am filled with fear,
My lover has left me full a year.
‘I swear to return in a year,’ said he,
‘Or question the man of mystery.
Your eyes are blue, and your lips are red;
I swear, my love, to come back,’ he said.
O, fearsome man! I pray of you,
Can he prove so false whom I think so true?”