(Delicious picking,
Although no chicken!)
Who lick their longing chaps, and get a precious licking!—
Daniel, who dreads that any row
Should spring up anywhere, and he not breed the riot!
All hail, great Fog! not but a leetle rain—
A small, slight drizzling of natural, moist sorrow—
Would make our dark perplexities more plain,
And give us hopes of seeing a to-morrow!
Dear Fog, abate the vigour