 | May Fair |  |
For England's vulgar groves and lawns,
Now Scotia's landscape on them dawns;
Beside them steals the muddy rill—
Above them towers the naked hill;
Around them vegetates the hovel,
Where brutes, both two and four-legg'd, grovel;
And lassies gay, with scarlet locks,
All innocent of shoes and smocks.
Till shown in pity to their sighs,
The Smithy's sacred smokes arise;
Where shines the drunken son of Etna,
The high-priest of thy temple, Gretna.
Before him stand the culprits pale,
Dim, dusty, draggled head and tail:
The lady like a drooping lily,
'Twixt tear and smile, 'twixt sad and silly;
The man, a man, no matter what,
Love thinks too rapidly for thought.
Down goes the fee, on goes the ring,
The little Loves all clap the wing;
The fatal word's by Vulcan spoken,
For which they'll wish his neck were broken.
Now Scotia's landscape on them dawns;
Beside them steals the muddy rill—
Above them towers the naked hill;
Around them vegetates the hovel,
Where brutes, both two and four-legg'd, grovel;
And lassies gay, with scarlet locks,
All innocent of shoes and smocks.
182
The Smithy's sacred smokes arise;
Where shines the drunken son of Etna,
The high-priest of thy temple, Gretna.
Before him stand the culprits pale,
Dim, dusty, draggled head and tail:
The lady like a drooping lily,
'Twixt tear and smile, 'twixt sad and silly;
The man, a man, no matter what,
Love thinks too rapidly for thought.
Down goes the fee, on goes the ring,
The little Loves all clap the wing;
The fatal word's by Vulcan spoken,
For which they'll wish his neck were broken.
| May Fair | |