Around the sweet sound of thy name,
And the spell of those magical fingers
That kindled my heart into flame;
But the joy that I think on no more is,
And my throat feels an ominous lump,
As I muse o’er the wreck of thy glories,
Thou Magpie and Stump!
For day after day have I sought thee,
As flowers are sought by the gale;
And night after night have I brought thee