——:o:——
A Dirge for the Departed.
BY AN OLD MEMBER.
Air.—“The flowers o’ the forest are a’ wede awa’.”
So mourn we to-night! Yet not all of them—nay!
But we miss many proud, Parliamentary, blossoms,
We lucky “survivals” assembled to-day,
Sad fog in our brains and soft pangs in our bosoms;
The fog for the future, the pangs for the past,
A past peopled fair with—we will call them flowers,