A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.)/Impromptu—Old Vauxhall, Birmingham
Impromptu.
Written in one of the alcoves at Old Vauxhall, Birmingham, March 6, 1850.
Each passing day doth filch away
Some joy for which it stands our debtor.
And on we range, from change to change.
Not always, mark ye, for the better.
The time draws near—another year
Shall see the work of centuries fall;
For 'tis decreed—sad news indeed,
To do away with Old Vauxhall!
There's scarce a heart that will not start,
No matter what its rank or station,
And heave a sigh when they destroy
This favourite place of recreation.
If we look back on Memory's track,
What joyous scenes we can recall,
Of happy hours in its gay bowers,
And friends we met in Old Vauxhall.
There, fine old trees, the passing breeze
Hath kiss'd for many a long, long year;
This season gone, are every one
Doomed to come down, and disappear!
Beneath their shade fond vows were made,
As e'er "Virginia" heard from "Paul,"
For Cupid held an annual court
For years and years in Old Vauxhall.
Enough, enough, 'tis maudlin stuff,
I think I hear my readers say,
Houses are better far than trees,
And Old Vauxhall has had its day,
The pride and pleasure of the town
It long hath been, it now must fall;
Improvement wills it, so prepare
To bid adieu to Old Vauxhall.
Then let the fête, the dance, the song,
Be gayer now than e'er before;
Let young and aged swell the throng,
To view what soon shall be no more.
Let its last season be the best;
One blaze of triumph at its fall;
Let farewell visits be the test
Of what we feel for Old Vauxhall!