Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/79

Dreams he of pale Hodgson's ghost!
Shouts again the ideal toast!
Lo! the bottle's petticoats
Change to gown of her he doats
Upon:—his youthful village love,
Left to pine while he would rove
Foreign lands and nymphs among.
Soft! he lists her well known song,
Wood-notes wild, so long, so clear,
Echo in his straining ear!
—Silly dreamer! wild-wood notes
Here be none!—save from our throats,
Shrill ear-piercing trumps that sound,
While we flit our victim round!

Unsuspecting yet he lies.
Dreaming of fair lady's eyes,
Visionary phantasms bright.
Mocking still his mental sight.
Kisses,—poutings,—true-love token—
Ancient crooked-sixpence broken—
All in gay confusion dance.
Then, the fond, the piercing glance
Her bright eyes' unerring dart.
Winged into his very heart.
Oh the torture! and the smart!
—Silly dreamer! dart or wing,
Here be none!—save from our throats.
Which with vigorous aim we ply,
As the lubbard wight doth lie,
Flushed with heat, and sleep, and ale,
While our hovering troops assail,
Juicy English cheek and lip;
Thus with oft repeated dip.
In we plunge the sharp proboscis.
Hunger is the best of sauces.
And we lack no cookery,
Griffin-blood, to relish thee!