 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly |  |
37
XLIV.
Their sabbath day! Alas! to France that dayComes not; she has a day of looser dress,
A day of thicker crowded ball and play,
A day of folly's hotter, ranker press;
She knoweth not its hallowed happiness,
Its eve of gather'd hearts and gentle cheer.
Paris! how many an outcast might confess
Her first temptation in its guilty glare!
What saith yon sullen Morgue?—go, seek the victim there.
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | |