She died, and she left me the saddest of men
To indulge in a widower’s moan;
Oh! I felt all the power of solitude then,
As I ate my first natives alone!
But when I beheld Virtue’s friends in their cloaks,
And with sorrowful crape on their hats,
Oh! my grief poured a flood; and the out-of-door folks
Were all crying—I think it was sprats!
“THE CITY REMEMBRANCER.”