 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
We often Laughed at Fanny.
1846.
We often laughed at Fanny,
But we loved her while we laughed;
She was so odd a mixture
Of simplicity and craft.
Whate'er she thought she uttered,
And her words—she “reckon'd nou't”
Of the fine flash talk of London:
Hers was Yorkshire out and out!
While her little schemes of cunning,
Which she thought so veiled, were still
As obvious as the channel
Of the purest mountain rill.
Thus her heart being good and gentle,
And transparent all her craft,
We often laughed at Fanny,
But we loved her while we laughed!
But we loved her while we laughed;
She was so odd a mixture
Of simplicity and craft.
Whate'er she thought she uttered,
And her words—she “reckon'd nou't”
Of the fine flash talk of London:
Hers was Yorkshire out and out!
While her little schemes of cunning,
Which she thought so veiled, were still
As obvious as the channel
Of the purest mountain rill.
Thus her heart being good and gentle,
And transparent all her craft,
We often laughed at Fanny,
But we loved her while we laughed!
A short life was my Fanny's,
And slight the warning given!
But her sins were those of childhood,
And her spirit is in Heaven.
All through her words, when dying,
Ran a vein of solemn thought;
And we felt how wise was Fanny,—
We had laughed more than we ought.
Yet even in those moments
Came out a phrase, a word,
That reminded us of periods
When the same with mirth we heard.
And we oft recall her sayings,
Her playfulness and craft;
But now—'tis odd—we weep the most
At what the most we laughed!
And slight the warning given!
But her sins were those of childhood,
And her spirit is in Heaven.
289
Ran a vein of solemn thought;
And we felt how wise was Fanny,—
We had laughed more than we ought.
Yet even in those moments
Came out a phrase, a word,
That reminded us of periods
When the same with mirth we heard.
And we oft recall her sayings,
Her playfulness and craft;
But now—'tis odd—we weep the most
At what the most we laughed!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |