A SUPPOSED IMPROMPTU.
The board is bare, the lights are low,
My songs are sung, but, ere we go,
One more I bring, and answer so
Your kindly plaudits ringing.
No wealth and rank belong to me,
But yet, where thought and word are free,
The voice alone a power may be,
And rule the world by singing.
How oft, of old, when reign’d the wrong,