He was “charged” in the good old fashion, as one of the criminal troop,
With a “Follow me sharp!” from the “Bobby,” which made him tremble and droop;
And his staff, as the “Peeler” shewed it in glory of pride and pluck,
Was seen as he went to prison, but nobody cried “Good luck!”
Wounded and hurt she sat there, in silence of pride and pain,
Her womanhood all insulted, her honour left under a stain.
Think of her secret anguish! think of her dull remorse!
When she got away from the fellow, who now rides an old white horse.
An alien, not a stranger, but yet ’twould be stranger still,
Tho’ he’s borne his rightful sentence, to hail him with right good will;