DIRGE. "Dr. Birch's young friends will reassemble to-day, Feb. 1st." WHITE is the wold, and ghostly The dank and leafless trees; And M's and 'N's are mostly Pronounced like 'B's and 'D's: 'Neath bleak sheds, ice-encrusted, The sheep stands, mute and stolid: And ducks find out, disgusted, That all the ponds are solid. Many a stout steer's work is (At least in this world) finished; The gross amount of turkies Is sensibly diminished: The holly-boughs are faded, The painted crackers gone; I was her own Nathaniel; With her I took sweet counsel, Brought seed-cake for her spaniel, And kept her bird in groundsel : We've murmured, "How delightful A landscape, seen by night, is," And woke next day in frightful Or what the Doctor 'd say,)— For those small forms that fluttered Moth-like around the plate, When Sally brought the buttered Buns in at half-past eight! Ah for the altered visage Of her, our tiny Belle, Whom my boy Gus (at his age!) Said was a "deuced swell"! P'raps now Miss Tickler's tocsin Has caged that pert young linnet; Old Birch perhaps is boxing My Gus's ears this minute. Yet, though your young ears be as Red as mamma's geraniums, Yet grieve not! Thus ideas. Pass into infant craniums. Use not complaints unseemly; Tho' you must work like bricks; And it is cold, extremely, Rising at half-past six. Soon sunnier will the day grow, And the east wind not blow so; Soon, as of yore, L'Allegro Succeed Il Penseroso : |