14 



Where Cockney s pic-nic, where fond misses sigh, 

 And Papa grumbles as the dollars fly ; 

 Where rustic brides philander with their spouses, 

 And drink their ginger-beer from &quot; Vista &quot; houses ; 

 Where dumpy squaws dispense their tawdry 



wares, 



And brawling hackmen haggle over fares ; 

 Where puffing steam, thy glory to abase, 

 Sails up thy jaws, and whistles in thy face ! 

 I sing not thee. 



And why not thee? as here, by thee inspired, 



By nature kindled, and by muses fired, 



I wondering gaze ; while, leaning on my breast, 



In all the glow of instinct love confessed, 



My O-re-sc-qua, through her wild, dark eyes 



Dimmed with affection s thoughts, that gushing 



rise 



Fresh from her soul, untaught, into mine own 

 Pours them, as copious as thy flood is thrown : 

 And murmurs broken love notes with the breeze 

 That sings aeolian music through the trees, 

 Cooling the panting currents of her soul 

 That, thirsting, leap, beyond her pride s control 

 To meet mine own ! 



