Call thy long legs transcendental
Into full and active play;
Vulgar be the monks or gentle,
If they’re monks, then strike away!
He however sigh’d, and wringing
Both his hands he thus replied:
My long legs, so apt at springing,
Are with Europe stupified.
And my corns are twitching sadly,
Tight the German shoes I’ve on;
Where the shoe is pinching badly
Know I now,—so pray begone!
MYTHOLOGY.
Yes! Europa must knock under,—
Who could stand against a bull?
Danäe we’ll forgive; no wonder
Golden rain made her a fool!
Sem’le was a victim real,
For she innocently thought
That a heavenly cloud ideal
Could not injure her in aught.
But poor Leda’s tale notorious
Really stirs up all our spleen;
Vanquish’d by a swan inglorious,
What a goose must she have been!