While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping,
As of some toy-terrier snapping, snapping at my study door.
"'Tis some peevish cur," I muttered, "yapping at my study door,—
Only that,—but it's a bore."
Ah! distinctly I remember, it was drawing nigh September,
And each trivial Tory Member pined for stubble, copse, and moor;
Eagerly they wished the morrow; vainly they had sought to borrow
From their SMITH surcease of sorrow, or from GOSCHEN or BALFOUR,
From the lank and languid "miss" the Tory claque dubbed "Brave BALFOUR,"
Fameless else for evermore.