Could man believe a thing so soft,
So framed for gentle passion,
Might wound, and wound not once but oft
The jaunty glass of fashion?
Yet sooth it is; and here I stand
A martyr to my tenets—
That orthodoxy smooth and grand
Of LINCOLN's fane and BENNETT's;
Unruffled once and unperplexed,
Collapsing now like jelly,