The shades of night were falling fast,
As thro’ a local village pass’d
A youth, who rode a Rudge, once bright,
He cried, as onward sped his flight,
“What roads!”
His brow was sad, the road beneath
Resembled much dull Hounslow Heath,
And in a voice, just tinged with ire,
Cried as he still rode through the mire,
“What roads!”