That swarthy brow, that curling mouth, that ever seemed to sneer.
That brow of black, that mouth of scorn, looked signs of iron will,
And none believed Cecilius wished the Commons aught but ill.
* * * * *
Up from the Commons briskly the fair Landbillia came,
Offspring of great Gladstonius, that Plebs-loved son of fame.
And up the Senate stairs she passed, and, as she danced along,
Gladstonius warbled cheerily words of the good old song,
“She will return, I know her well!” thus the fond Sire out-sang,
And through the Senate’s portals his mellow accents rang.