And haply in their breeze-swept song a requiem divines:
The people raised a little stone to keep her memory green,
And handed to the winds and rain the name of Josephine.
How quickly have the days gone by! she’s dead—now, let me see—
She’s dead twelve months: to-morrow is her anniversary:
Now who’s the Saint to-morrow? Ah, a semi—“Hedwig, Queen.”
I’ll use the black—and may God rest the soul of Josephine!
| [8] | A person who exaggerates his or her religious devotion. |
THE OLD MASS SHANDRYDAN
I can see it in my dreaming o’er a gap of thirty years,