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THE LAST BALL OF THE SEASON
And gay soldiers fell before it, although used to war's alarms;
But they held methinks their cricket-bats as doughty as their swords,
And they never dreamt of Ladies at the oval or at Lord's.
Then we turned to Roller-skating, how the God of Love must wink
As he ponders o'er the havoc wrought on many a pleasant rink;
There the Ladies, as their wont is, held indubitable sway,
As they circled like the seagull in as fair and facile way;
And we yielded, though at Prince's woman held all hearts in thrall,
For we thought of our one Empire, that of Cricket—bat and ball.
Comes the era of Lawn Tennis, when the balls spin o'er the net,
What avail the "Renshaw smashes" when the Ladies win the "sett,"
And the boldest of all volleys will be found of little use
When the women gain "advantage," their opponents at the "deuce."
So we leave the lawn to Ladies, it were graceful there to yield;
But we thought that still at Cricket we were masters of the field.
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