We passed over the "Styx" without passing the "Pyx,"
Or the wonders of life ever learning.
Slowly but gladly, too tired to laugh,
We made room for the use of our betters;
Heavy our grave-stone, and our epitaph
Was a column of newspaper letters.
DALETH.
THE BURIAL OF THE SEASON.
NOT a "drum" was given, nor dance of note,
From the "course" at fair Goodwood we'd hurried;