——:o:——
Elegy.
Written over an old Pipe-Box.
The postman hits his last rat-tat to day,
And hies him to his lowly home with glee;
My wife reposes in her white array;
The night is left to “’Bacca” and to me.
Now starts a glimmering bottle on the sight,
And all the air a spirit perfume holds;
At sight of me the cockroach takes to flight,