He will understand thee, won’t he?—pay thee with a lover’s glances?
Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide,
Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.
Sweet response, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble charge
Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Laffarge.
Better thou wert dead before me,—better, better that I stood
Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good!
Better, thou and I were lying, cold and limber-stiff and dead,
With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed!
Cursed be the bank of England’s notes, that tempt the soul to sin!