Might yet a portion of that land have sold.
Round yon trim cottage and the windmill’s tower
The moping owl shall hoot his sad refrain,
And with the bat disport at twilight’s hour;
Nought to disturb their solitary reign.
Where stood the umbrella tent, whose welcome shade
They often sought—to smoke, to flirt, to sleep;
Where Henton’s[144] band such charming music played;
Now, noisome creatures o’er the turf shall creep.
The cheery call of bugles in the morn,