T. Moore.
The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.
Song.
There’s of benches a row in St. Stephen’s extreme,
And the minister’s sitting there all the night long,
In the time of my power ’twas like a sweet dream,
To sit on those rows in the Cabinet throng.
That bench and its placemen I never forget,
But oft when alone at the close of the year,
I think are conservatives sitting there yet,