If Orpheus came to Maga with a song
As sad as tongueless sorrow dying,
So sweet the weeping world should throng
To hear the strain, but come not flying
The Maga pennant, unassailable,
Then faith! the song were not available.
If Orpheus, singing in the lonely hills,
Should charm the world to raptured wonder,
And Maga came in wraps and frills,
And dainty tears, to cry his blunder.
Then faith! the world might wait laconical,
If Maga readjust his monicle.
But if perchance the godly singer,
Should pass, like bitter grief with time.
What Ho! The dandy crooks his finger,
And menials bring each Orphean rhime.
And Maga's bards, and Maga's sages,
Write epitaphs on tombs of pages.