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DETHRONED, RETHRONED
Not till she ends that wild refrain
Her thralls can catch their breath again,
And feel their bosoms beat.
So every day, with merry din,
Her revenues come clattering in.
And yesterday they did not fail
But ah! to-day Dolores found
A stranger, squalid, gaunt and pale,
Screaming a scrannel ditty stale
On her peculiar ground.
And just as thickly stood the ring
To hear the newer singer sing!
Then ’mid the ring, with face unstirr’d,
With unabash’d considerate mien,
Leaving the whisper’d jeers unheard,
Appraising but the sway preferr’d,
Stood she, the cast-off Queen;
Nor claimed again her wrested sway,
But listen’d—look’d—and turn’d away.
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