. Carols of Cockayne. ll the present hour,And yet he will go living on— I would he were a tree or flower ! MY SONG. T LEARNT a simple bit of rhyme— An easy air to sing;—I thought the ditty at the time A rather funny course, as I was green and young, My judgment might be wrong ;Still, folks applauded when I sung My only comic song. Twas all about a Cavalier Who finds a pair of gloves,Which implicate, its very clear, The lady whom he knight incontinently sends That lady to Hong-Kong—And thereupon abruptly ends My on\y comic song. Il8 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Twas most successful i
. Carols of Cockayne. ll the present hour,And yet he will go living on— I would he were a tree or flower ! MY SONG. T LEARNT a simple bit of rhyme— An easy air to sing;—I thought the ditty at the time A rather funny course, as I was green and young, My judgment might be wrong ;Still, folks applauded when I sung My only comic song. Twas all about a Cavalier Who finds a pair of gloves,Which implicate, its very clear, The lady whom he knight incontinently sends That lady to Hong-Kong—And thereupon abruptly ends My on\y comic song. Il8 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Twas most successful in its way, For I could understandEnough of harmony to play Upon a Collards voice (though never very sweet, And never very strong)Possessd sufficient force to treat My only comic song. One evening, anxious to impress The lady of my choice,I took some pains about my dress And more about my lo ! a miserable man (My rival all along)Stept in before me, and began My only comic song. ii9 BOW BELLS,. ^^T t he brink of a murmuring brook A contemplative Cockney reclined ;And his face wore a sad sort of look, As if care were at work on his sighd now and then as we sighWhen the heart with soft sentimentswells ;And a tear came and moistend each eyeAs he mournfully thought of Bow Bells. I am monarch of all I survey ! (Thus he vented his feelings in words)—But my kingdom, it grieves me to say, Is inhabited chiefly by birds. CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. In this brook that flows lazily byI believe that one tittlebat dwells, For I saw something jump at a flyAs I lay here and longd for Bow Bells. Yonder cattle are gTazing—its clear From the bob of their heads up and down;But 1 cannot love cattle down here As I should if I met them in say that each pastoral breeze Bears a melody laden with spells ;But I dont find the music in these That I find in the tone of Bow Bells. I am partial to trees, as a rule ; And the rose is a beautiful flower.(Yes, I once read a
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Keywords: ., bookauthorleighhen, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1874
