And vex my soul with mischievous games;
But when to a lonely place I repair,
I make quite sure there’s nobody there,
And adore in the most abandoned way
That stumpy loveable coal-black clay.
I’ll never forget the dreadful day
When they “played it low” on that harmless clay—
The ruthless hand of a mother dear
Hid it away in a dust-hole drear;
But, ah! no words can properly tell