Leaving nought else to snuff but morning air;
Fair temple! once a scene too gay to last,
In every sense the focus of the fair!—
But now thy glories all away have past!
No more thy fiddlers country dances play
(Polkas, thank goodness, were not known); no more
Thy earnest votaries danced in wild array—
Until they sent their feet right through the floor;—
No—all have gone! the blight has seized thy hops!
Unwieldy brutes block up thy very door!