VII.
Her hair's the brightest,
Her hand the whitest,
Her step the lightest,—
Ah me, those fate!
You need not tell a—bout
Cinderella,
For hers excel a-
ny boots you'll mate!
VIII.
With look the purest,
That ever tourist,
From eyes azurest,
Saw anywhere,
I met her blushing,
As I went rushing,
For bitter beer, down
The cabin stair.
IX.
Then she sat and smiled, where,
On luggage piled there, 1
She me beguiled,—ne'er
A smile like that!
And I began to Compose a canto
On Frank's portmanteau,
Whereon she sat.
X.
I've read in story,
What dades of glory,
Knights grand and gory,
For love have wrought.
But ne'er was duel,
Nor torture cruel,
I'd shun, my jewel,
If you besought!
XI.
For her voice is swatest,
Her shape the natest,
And she complatest
Of womankind.
And while that river,
In sunlight quiver,
Oh, sure, he'll niver
Her aqual find
XII.
Troth, since we've parted,
I've felt down-hearted,
And disconsarted,—
A cup too low!
And so I think, boys,
We'd better drink, boys,
Her health in whiskey,
Before we go.
1 This luggage included a long narrow box, and, from an
aperture at the top there emerged from time to time a
peacock's head, exhibiting (despite the presence of Juno) an
expression of sublime misery. I doubt whether that bird will
ever take heart to spread his tail again!
“He'll forget her to-morrow morning,” said Frank to his neighbour, in a pretended whisper, which all could hear, “and it's better so, poor fellow, for the girl's ridiculously fond of me, and I've got no end of her hair in my pocket.”
Of course, there were plenty of fools to giggle; but I never could see any wit in lies. I am quite positive, that, when we parted, she returned my regretful gaze, and
“Phyllida amo ante alias; nam me discedere flevit.”