How I read and revelled in thy racy rhymes;
When in wine and wassail we to thee were vassal,
Of Water-grass Hill, O renowned P. P.——
May “The Bells of Shandon,”
Toll blythe and bland on
The pleasant waters of thy memory!
Full many a ditty, both wise and witty,
In this social city, have I heard since then—
(With the glass before me, how the dream comes o’er me,
Of those Attic suppers and those vanished men!)