IMAGINATION'S KNELL 



The Damon of the modern type 



His Phyllis oft will snub, 

 And 'stead of playing on a pipe 



He smokes one at his pub. 

 The classic garments worn of old, 



His decency would shock, 

 And wouldn't p'raps stave off the cold 



Like corduroys and smock. 



He's not in antique sandal shod. 



'Twould not exactly suit 

 The soil o'er which he has to plod 



So well as hob-nailed boot. 

 No flow'ry fillets grace his brow, 



He such displays forswears, 

 Instead of those adornments, now 



A * billy-cock ' he wears. 



In bright-hued prints of pattern loud 



Our Phyllis now is seen, 

 And pines till Fortune has endowed 



Her with a crinoline. 

 A crook, with ribbons gay bedeckt, 



To use she would disdain, 

 But takes * a gingham ' to protect 



Her bonnet 'gainst the rain. 



'Tis pleasant amid nature's charms 



To lie in quiet trance, 

 And tread, whilst locked in slumber's arms, 



The fair land of romance, 

 You're rudely roused, though, from your dream, 



Imagination's knell 

 Is sounded by an engine's scream, 



Which quick dissolves the spell" 



319 



