——:o:——
THE LAST SHILLING.
As pensive one night in my garret I sate,
My last shilling produced on the table,
That adventurer, cried I, might a history relate,
If to think and to speak it were able.
Whether fancy or magic ’twas played me the freak,
The face seemed with life to be filling;
And cried, instantly speaking, or seeming to speak,
“Pay attention to me, thy last shilling!”