And leaves the rink to solitude and me.
Now darkness o’er the scene a mantle flings,
And peace and silence through the air do float
Save where the band are packing up their things,
And the French horn emits a farewell note.
Save too, from yonder corner grumbling steals,
The fitter-on does to his mate complain,
Of such as coming there to mount their wheels
From liberal favours zealously abstain.
’Tis here beneath the bright and azure sky,