And for his part he thought more highly
Of Ellen Terry;
Although he knew a girl named Riley
At Broughty Ferry,
Who might be, if she only chose,
As great a star.
She had a part in the tableaux
At the bazaar.
If I had said but little yet,
I now said less,
And smoked a home-made cigarette
In mute distress.
The smoke into his face was blown
By the wind’s action,
And this afforded me, I own,
Some satisfaction;
But still his tongue received no check
Till, coming home,
We stood beside the ancient wreck
And watched the foam
Wash in among the timbers, now
Sunk deep in sand,
Though I can well remember how
I used to stand
On windy days and hold my hat,
And idly turn
To read ‘Lovise, Frederikstad’
Upon her stern.
Her stern long since was buried quite,
And soon no trace
The absorbing sand will leave in sight
To mark her place.
This reverie was not permitted
To last too long.
Bell’s mind had left the stage, and flitted
To fields of song.
And now he spoke of Marmion
And Lewis Morris;
The former he at school had done,
Along with Horace.