London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
 |
TEMPORA MUTANTUR! |
 | London lyrics |  |
127
TEMPORA MUTANTUR!
Yes, here, once more a traveller,
I find the Angel Inn,
Where landlord, maids, and serving-men
Receive me with a grin:
Surely they can't remember Me,
My hair is grey and scanter;
I'm changed, so changed since I was here—
O tempora mutantur!
I find the Angel Inn,
Where landlord, maids, and serving-men
Receive me with a grin:
Surely they can't remember Me,
My hair is grey and scanter;
I'm changed, so changed since I was here—
O tempora mutantur!
The Angel's not much altered since
That happy month of June,
Which brought me here with Pamela
To spend our honeymoon:
Ah me, I even recollect
The shape of this decanter!
We've since been both much put about!—
O tempora mutantur!
That happy month of June,
Which brought me here with Pamela
To spend our honeymoon:
Ah me, I even recollect
The shape of this decanter!
We've since been both much put about!—
O tempora mutantur!
Ay, there's the clock, and looking-glass
Reflecting me again;
She vow'd her Love was very fair,
I see I'm very plain:
And there's that daub of Prince Leeboo;
'Twas Pamela's fond banter
To fancy it resembled me—
O tempora mutantur!
Reflecting me again;
128
I see I'm very plain:
And there's that daub of Prince Leeboo;
'Twas Pamela's fond banter
To fancy it resembled me—
O tempora mutantur!
The curtains have been dyed, but there,
Unbroken, is the same,
The very same, crack'd pane of glass
On which I scratch'd her name.
Yes, there's her tiny flourish still;
It used to so enchant her
To link two happy names in one—
O tempora mutantur!
Unbroken, is the same,
The very same, crack'd pane of glass
On which I scratch'd her name.
Yes, there's her tiny flourish still;
It used to so enchant her
To link two happy names in one—
O tempora mutantur!
The pilgrim sees an empty chair
Where Pamela once sat;
It may be she had found her grave,
It might be worse than that.
The fairest fade, the best of men
Have met with a supplanter;—
I wish that I could like this cry
Of tempora mutantur.
Where Pamela once sat;
It may be she had found her grave,
It might be worse than that.
The fairest fade, the best of men
Have met with a supplanter;—
I wish that I could like this cry
Of tempora mutantur.
1856.
| London lyrics | |